In a bid to deal with our son’s low muscle tone I suggested we go for personal training at the gym and promptly bought one of those PT packages. It would a great Mother-Son bonding thing to do, I thought. It would be fun, I thought.
If you know me at all you’ll how much I hate going to the gym. I am the most UN-gym-type person you’ll ever meet. My idea of gym is leopard-crawling in at 5am and making a beeline for the treadmill where I spend 40 min doing a brisk walk, avoiding eye contact with everyone and people-watching from the bubble of my treadmill.*
This personal trainer thing is so far out of my comfort zone it’s like a whole other universe.
But, I thought, he will probably work more with Daniel and I can do my usual slinking-to-the-treadmill-thing.
Not so much. This guy clearly likes a challenge. I did unspeakable things like crunches, lunges and push-ups this morning. And star-jumps. Star-jumps people! I haven’t done those since I was 10 years old. I may or may not have look shocked and outraged when he
demanded suggested them at first. He may or may not have crossed his arms and stared me down a little. I’m usually a very difficult person to stare down, but I zipped my lip and star-jumped like a boss.
He, very successfully, managed to juggle my personal
torture training very well with keeping my son engaged and sweating and laughing. He didn’t complain ONCE.
I’m going to be so sore tomorrow, but it was fun. I might get used to this. I may even grow to love it.
Goes to show, you’re never too old to become a gym-bunny, nê?
*I mostly stare at the Lycra-clad women with faces fully made up and perfectly blow-dried hair. Who even bothers with make-up and hair at that ridiculous hour?