My grand idea to bond with my boy has practically killed me.
I don’t have a lot of opportunities to spend significant amounts of time with each of my children independently. When you have three kids, you tend to divide and conquer. And by “divide,” I mean I always end up with two and my husband one.
So when I was given a “Speed Camp” flyer that advertised a once-a-week-for-seven-weeks workout to both children and adults alike, I thought to myself, “Now HERE’S something I can do with Austin (my middle child).” He’s not a complainer and loves spending time with anyone who enjoys his company. I knew I needed to get in better shape and that he would benefit from the extra conditioning as we head into basketball season.
I filled out the flyer, wrote out the check, and walked blindly into the light.
The light that would become my death.
We have officially completed two sessions. Five remaining.
As the time ticked down on our second session, I did something I swore I would never do: I stopped working out before the workout was scheduled to be over. Because I didn’t want a gym full of kids to see me puke or faint.
I don’t think you understand how painfully embarrassing that is to a washed-up former athlete who prides herself on her overall health. To be fair, I donated blood less than 24 hours before the workout.
So when my son gave me a smug little smile once the rest of the group completed the full session, I announced, “I saved a life.”
Oh yes I did. I couldn’t let it go. I couldn’t let all of my competition know how weak I was.
Bonding over buttered popcorn at the movies would have been a better choice in hindsight.
Created by Heidi Woodard
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