I’ve been busy. On all fronts. And things changed. Drastically.
This week marks the first time that I was able to persuade Princess to join us in our routine torture sessions before the sun shows his friendly, fat face. (I’m still moderately intrigued as to why she suddenly agreed to join us but in order to protect my sanity, I’m not going to dwell on that too long.)
Selling the concept of training in the morning was far easier than the execution thereof. It took a lot of persuasion to finally get her to wake up and get dressed in some kind of sports attire. Think ‘trying to fit and elephant in a mini cooper’. Not that I’m insinuating she’s fat because she definitely is not. She’s not even overweight. Besides wouldn’t I be an awful parent if I called my daughter an elephant? Even though she laughs like Heffalump. I’m getting side-tracked…
My point is, it was extremely difficult. Like watering a precious orchid on the edge of the highest cliff you can think of. I sat on the edge of the bed in the dark, touched her shoulder and whispered in the kindest voice I could muster at o4h40 in the morning. “Time to wake up…”
I tried again. This time telling her how she’ll regret not going.
She grunted again and turned her back to me.
I switched on the light and I think she cursed.
I’m kidding, she’ll never curse, at least not out loud. She got up. I woke Dude and started filling water bottles.
Eventually everyone was in the car on our way to gym. All four of us. (They had a friend sleep over and I needed a posse.) No-one was talking mainly because they were asking themselves what they’ve done wrong to deserve a life like the one they’re having. I tried lifting the mood by cracking a few jokes but it turns out I do my best work after 10h00.
I’ve never felt so proud walking into a gym, unless I count that time I benched my body weight. I was flanked by my two beautiful, chirpy kids even though they didn’t resemble beautiful or chirpy in any way. Not even remotely. They were more like a pair of grumpy, morning breath-ed, bedhead ridden, annoyed teenagers. They were the poster children of why people should NOT wake up early.
Anyhow, moments later, they seemed to get used to the idea of exercise and I think they both managed a smile of some kind. Then it happened. Seeing them do their thing on a wide array of gym equipment…I’ve never felt so old. (And having to spend fifteen minutes scrolling through years to log my birthday, certainly doesn’t help!)
It suddenly struck me that these two young adults, sweating away, were my kids. I’ve always hoped that by setting some kind of example, they would be encouraged to do some exercise as well, and by the looks of it, it might have actually worked…who knew? I’m acutely aware as to how special these moments are. And how rare these moments will become as they get older. For now I’m just basking in the blissful joy of having my kids join me, doing something that I love.
I smile when I see the Dude stacking more than one plate on either side of the barbell. He’s my Dude.
And the tall, blonde chick running on the treadmill…SHIT! I forgot about all the potential perverts…And she’s my Princess!
So she’s only going three times a week. Maybe two. And never without me…