Dec. 2026
Helaine Ortmann

A reel popped up on my Instagram feed. It was a 25-second video of my 84-year-old cousin at his Pilates class in Toronto. 

I watched Fred grip two parallel high bars and power himself upside down until his legs extended straight up in the air. Holding himself in this position, he pumped his legs back and forth in scissor format, then lowered himself to touch the mat with his feet. With a snappy bounce, he propelled himself back up in reverse, then finished off upright on his mat with a controlled touch down, reminiscent of Nadia Comǎneci back in the day. It was a feat of determination, will and strength; and nine years of working out three times a week.  I DM’d him (emails are so yesterday) to kvell about his achievement (k’naina hora) and he replied: “I fight to stay young.”

Here in Hamilton (Dundas to be precise), on most Friday mornings, I attend a somatic movement class. Our teacher Wendy leads our small group in slow, intentional and highly nuanced physical exercises that call on us to pay attention to how the movement feels inside our bodies, how we uniquely experience any sensation, and if there is a difference when we stop, and restore ourselves. Wendy models some of her practices on the somatic education method developed by Dr. Moshe Feldenkrais. 

The 75-minute-session is designed to protect us against osteoporosis or better manage it, strengthen our muscles, enhance our level of functionality, improve our balance, and support our overall daily mobility. It’s a tall order. 

We usually start with slow quiet micro-movements on the mat to “bring us into the room” and warm ourselves up. Then we take our pelvis on a ride around the four cardinal directions of the compass. We graduate to stretching our body parts, in a sequence of moves that encourages us to explore how flexible we are, but always within the parameters of what we feel is reasonable and right for us to try. As we do these things, Wendy advises us to listen to what the “floor” is telling us about our bodies and how we are experiencing the movements. 

Then, we learn how to propel ourselves from back lying, to side rolling, to standing upright where we practise the art of Tai Chi walking across the length of the studio. This requires painstaking concentration and control to deploy our feet, principally our heels and toes, to support our body weight to shift, slide, root, balance, lift, step, then repeat, repeat, repeat. Not only does Wendy expect us to breathe through these manoeuvres, she throws us a huge curve ball when she announces we are going to reverse our direction and walk backwards! All the while, our intrepid instructor intones, “This is walking, people. This is life.” 

We often conclude our sessions using kettle bells, free weights and resistance bands. The Romanian deadlift resonates most strongly with me. Is it because it promotes muscle growth in my hamstrings and glutes? Is it because it forces me to do a proper hip hinge? Is it because it prepares me to pick up a heavy bag of dirt to schlep into my garden without injuring my back? In a word, no; not really. Full disclosure: it is one of the only things that connects me, every time I do it, to my paternal grandfather, Uziel, who immigrated to Canada in 1909 from Romania; and who passed away when I was two years old. 

Despite our aches, pains and life-earned “issues,” and I submit they are many and diverse given we are a group of women in our 70s and 80s, we persevere; resolute in our determination and courage to live life on our own terms, maintain our health and well-being bis hundertzwanzig, and learn new skills and strategies to be safe and more secure as we grow older; just like my cousin Fred. 

All I know is this: when it comes time for our group of noble warriors to post a reel on Instagram, it’s going to be Bob Dylan’s nasal plaintive voice singing “Forever Young” that I want to hear playing in the background.