Degraded Youth of America
The other day (Wednesday, November 25, 2009; the day before Thanksgiving) I went to the Canandaigua YMCA to work out in their Exercise Gym (“Wellness Center”).
It’s part of my ongoing feeble effort to keep this 65-year-old bag-a’-bones alive.
And also to keep my blood-pressure down without medication.
About four years ago I retired from the mighty Mezz at almost age 62 because of “episodes.”
My doctors called them dizzy-spells, but I’m not sure that’s exactly what they were.
It felt like my heart had stopped, allowing blood to drain from my head.
My father used to have that; his heart would stop, and he’d keel over.
He finally had to have a pacemaker installed.
After numerous tests, including an all-night heart monitor, a neurologist in Canandaigua named Scott suggested it was probably a side-effect of the blood-pressure medication I was taking, a calcium blocker.
So I stopped taking it. No more “episodes” since then.
He also prescribed physical-therapy at Lake Country Physical Therapy.
The good people there suggested the best thing I could do was get back in shape.
Made sense to me. I was in pretty good shape before my stroke (I used to run footraces), but since then I deteriorated. I still could run, but much slower, and my weight ballooned.
So I started working out there; mainly their treadmill, a step-machine, and a recumbent bicycle trainer. —Lost about 25 pounds.
This lasted about a year, but then I happened to blog a local politician treated there.
The Physical Therapists went justifiably ballistic. I had inadvertently revealed one of their clients, violating a cardinal rule of medical ethics.
I was kicked out, but wanted to keep working out.
So my wife and I visited the Canandaigua YMCA.
They had an Exercise Gym loaded with cardiovascular trainers, all much newer than the Physical Therapy.
We joined, and have been members since.
Since then that Exercise Gym has been remodeled, expanded, and many new machines installed.
The YMCA itself renovated, doubling in size.
Its old swimming-pool was closed, and a new one built.
I try to work out at least twice a week; often three times. Current workouts burn at least 900 calories.
The renovation included a new parking-lot to the southwest; but I can’t get to it easily from the west on West Ave. with the bridge over Sucker Brook out.
So I park in the old parking-lot, the tiny lot the YMCA originally had.
I access it from Greig (“Gregg”) Terrace, as I did before the renovation. The old parking-lot is right adjacent to Greig Terrace.
The old and new parking-lots, at different levels, are connected by a long downhill driveway.
I have to go down that to get to the YMCA’s front entrance.
In so doing I passed a group of teenaged boys atop the driveway with skateboards, etc.
I was being followed by a YMCA janitor carrying a fiberglass extension ladder.
“Move along, fellas. This isn’t a skatepark,” he said behind me.
Suddenly a lady appeared far away, a YMCA receptionist, shouting “You boys have to move along, or we’re calling the Police. —Oh John, I didn’t see you up there........”
Fond memories of my time as a teenager, in the late ‘50s and early ‘60s, when a stodgy old deacon of the church I attended told me I and my kind were “degraded.”
His name was Middleswart (“Middle-zwart.”)
I promptly opened the founding chapter of the Degraded Youth of America (DYA).
Sadly, we never got out of northern Delaware — never had more than five members.
Like those malcontents in the YMCA driveway, we were attracted to the force of gravity.
Gravity could be harnessed to provide ultimate thrills and spills.
In our case it was sledding. And I soon discovered I possessed the fastest sled in the entire known universe; the incomparable “Flexible-Flyer.”
It was actually my father’s; about 30 years old. And broken so many times it was way more flexible than intended.
Its siderails had been broken, but they were long breaks, and could be tied back together with circling string.
NOTHING would beat the Flexible-Flyer — not even close.
A fellow-traveler from the DYA went out and bought a brand-new sled, but he got royally skonked.
He thereafter waxed the runners, but still got skonked.
Another gravitational attraction was roller-coasters.
Every summer our church held a picnic at a nearby amusement park. It had a wooden roller-coaster about the size of SeaBreeze’s JackRabbit.
My ne’er-do-well friend would stay seated as the coaster ratcheted up the first hill, and then stand up as it went over the top.
I guess the object was to stay standing the whole ride, but I don’t think he ever made it.
That thing slammed ya around so much in the curves, he’d sit back down.
The Flexible-Flyer was finally destroyed beyond repair when I landed sideways after a jump.
I suppose those youths left the YMCA, because there were no police-cruisers with sirens and flashing lights.
• “Canandaigua” (“cannon-DAY-gwuh”) is a small city nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” —It’s about 15 miles away.)
• The “mighty Mezz” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired almost four years ago. Best job I ever had.
• I had a stroke October 26, 1993. It was caused by a patent foramen ovale (“PAY-tint four-AYE-min oh-VAL-lee”), a heart-defect wherein an open passageway between the top two chambers of your heart never closes after birth. I never knew about this, and it passed a clot that caused the stroke. This is the same heart-defect that caused the stroke of New England Patriots linebacker Tedy Bruschi (“BREW-skee”).
• “Sucker Brook,” a small brook, threads Canandaigua, and is frequently bridged. “West Ave.” comes into Canandaigua from the west, and crosses Sucker Brook. That bridge is being replaced, so West Ave. is closed.
• Before my moving up to this area (late 1966), my family lived in “northern Delaware.”
• “SeaBreeze is a small amusement park, very old, northeast of Rochester, near Lake Ontario. It has a wooden roller-coaster called “The JackRabbit.”
It’s part of my ongoing feeble effort to keep this 65-year-old bag-a’-bones alive.
And also to keep my blood-pressure down without medication.
About four years ago I retired from the mighty Mezz at almost age 62 because of “episodes.”
My doctors called them dizzy-spells, but I’m not sure that’s exactly what they were.
It felt like my heart had stopped, allowing blood to drain from my head.
My father used to have that; his heart would stop, and he’d keel over.
He finally had to have a pacemaker installed.
After numerous tests, including an all-night heart monitor, a neurologist in Canandaigua named Scott suggested it was probably a side-effect of the blood-pressure medication I was taking, a calcium blocker.
So I stopped taking it. No more “episodes” since then.
He also prescribed physical-therapy at Lake Country Physical Therapy.
The good people there suggested the best thing I could do was get back in shape.
Made sense to me. I was in pretty good shape before my stroke (I used to run footraces), but since then I deteriorated. I still could run, but much slower, and my weight ballooned.
So I started working out there; mainly their treadmill, a step-machine, and a recumbent bicycle trainer. —Lost about 25 pounds.
This lasted about a year, but then I happened to blog a local politician treated there.
The Physical Therapists went justifiably ballistic. I had inadvertently revealed one of their clients, violating a cardinal rule of medical ethics.
I was kicked out, but wanted to keep working out.
So my wife and I visited the Canandaigua YMCA.
They had an Exercise Gym loaded with cardiovascular trainers, all much newer than the Physical Therapy.
We joined, and have been members since.
Since then that Exercise Gym has been remodeled, expanded, and many new machines installed.
The YMCA itself renovated, doubling in size.
Its old swimming-pool was closed, and a new one built.
I try to work out at least twice a week; often three times. Current workouts burn at least 900 calories.
The renovation included a new parking-lot to the southwest; but I can’t get to it easily from the west on West Ave. with the bridge over Sucker Brook out.
So I park in the old parking-lot, the tiny lot the YMCA originally had.
I access it from Greig (“Gregg”) Terrace, as I did before the renovation. The old parking-lot is right adjacent to Greig Terrace.
The old and new parking-lots, at different levels, are connected by a long downhill driveway.
I have to go down that to get to the YMCA’s front entrance.
In so doing I passed a group of teenaged boys atop the driveway with skateboards, etc.
I was being followed by a YMCA janitor carrying a fiberglass extension ladder.
“Move along, fellas. This isn’t a skatepark,” he said behind me.
Suddenly a lady appeared far away, a YMCA receptionist, shouting “You boys have to move along, or we’re calling the Police. —Oh John, I didn’t see you up there........”
Fond memories of my time as a teenager, in the late ‘50s and early ‘60s, when a stodgy old deacon of the church I attended told me I and my kind were “degraded.”
His name was Middleswart (“Middle-zwart.”)
I promptly opened the founding chapter of the Degraded Youth of America (DYA).
Sadly, we never got out of northern Delaware — never had more than five members.
Like those malcontents in the YMCA driveway, we were attracted to the force of gravity.
Gravity could be harnessed to provide ultimate thrills and spills.
In our case it was sledding. And I soon discovered I possessed the fastest sled in the entire known universe; the incomparable “Flexible-Flyer.”
It was actually my father’s; about 30 years old. And broken so many times it was way more flexible than intended.
Its siderails had been broken, but they were long breaks, and could be tied back together with circling string.
NOTHING would beat the Flexible-Flyer — not even close.
A fellow-traveler from the DYA went out and bought a brand-new sled, but he got royally skonked.
He thereafter waxed the runners, but still got skonked.
Another gravitational attraction was roller-coasters.
Every summer our church held a picnic at a nearby amusement park. It had a wooden roller-coaster about the size of SeaBreeze’s JackRabbit.
My ne’er-do-well friend would stay seated as the coaster ratcheted up the first hill, and then stand up as it went over the top.
I guess the object was to stay standing the whole ride, but I don’t think he ever made it.
That thing slammed ya around so much in the curves, he’d sit back down.
The Flexible-Flyer was finally destroyed beyond repair when I landed sideways after a jump.
I suppose those youths left the YMCA, because there were no police-cruisers with sirens and flashing lights.
• “Canandaigua” (“cannon-DAY-gwuh”) is a small city nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” —It’s about 15 miles away.)
• The “mighty Mezz” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired almost four years ago. Best job I ever had.
• I had a stroke October 26, 1993. It was caused by a patent foramen ovale (“PAY-tint four-AYE-min oh-VAL-lee”), a heart-defect wherein an open passageway between the top two chambers of your heart never closes after birth. I never knew about this, and it passed a clot that caused the stroke. This is the same heart-defect that caused the stroke of New England Patriots linebacker Tedy Bruschi (“BREW-skee”).
• “Sucker Brook,” a small brook, threads Canandaigua, and is frequently bridged. “West Ave.” comes into Canandaigua from the west, and crosses Sucker Brook. That bridge is being replaced, so West Ave. is closed.
• Before my moving up to this area (late 1966), my family lived in “northern Delaware.”
• “SeaBreeze is a small amusement park, very old, northeast of Rochester, near Lake Ontario. It has a wooden roller-coaster called “The JackRabbit.”
posted by BobbaLew at 12:53 PM
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