My mom isn’t like any normal 65 year old grandma out there; she’s a black belt in karate, does aerobics, zumba, lifts weights, and does all manner of exercises in an effort to stay fit.
Lately she has been frequenting the Wellness Institute with my step-dad who had decided to also travel down the fitness road after awesomely surviving a heart attack and multi-bypass surgery.
Earlier this week she invited me to come along to see this Wellness place which was much fancier than any gym she had ever been to before.
The plan was to do a nice light-ish aerobics class, relax in the sauna and hot tub, then have lunch before going back to my place to relax some more before picking my girls up from school and having a bbq steak supper.
After that they were all going to come watch me win my tennis match.
By the way…I suffer from perpetual positivity lol. I believe if you aren’t going to go into things believing you’ll succeed…why bother doing it at all.
We were originally going to also play around with the many weight machines there, but I decided not to do it that day because I didn’t want to work my arms too much and be too tired and sore for my tennis match later that day.
So I met my mom there at 9:45am and we had just gotten dressed and to the workout studio for the class when I remembered that I’d forgotten my inhaler back in the locker room.
She said to run back and grab it and she would gather whatever we needed to get ready for the class.
I assumed she meant maybe a mat and an exercise ball or something like that, but when I returned and got to my spot beside her I found the expected mat accompanied by a pair of dumbbells, a heavy weight bar, and a long, heavy-duty looking stretchy thingy…and a very sheepish looking mother.
Before I could ask her why the heck there was an arsenal of painful looking weights on my mat, the instructor walked in all peppy-like and asked how everyone was doing and got the class going.
I swear I heard my mother snort as she tried to smother her laughter beside me while inching away.
She refused to make eye contact no matter how much I glared at the left side of her face, which was quite impressive because there was no way she wasn’t feeling the stinging burn of my mutant powered side-eye glare.
I kept glancing at the clock but it was broken because two hours into the class it showed that only 30 minutes had passed.
I swear to God I would have given in and dropped to the floor in a squishy sweat-soaked heap by that time if it weren’t for the fact that the entire frigging class was filled with grannies and grandpas lifting those evil weighted bars above their heads as if they were as light as freaking feathers.
I was honestly the youngest there by a minimum of 30 years.
In my defense…THEIR weighted bars WERE as light as feathers compared to mine, because my darling mother – bless her soul – didn’t realize I had stopped lifting weights at home three months ago, so while I was happily skipping to the locker room to get my inhaler, she opted to drag out one of the heavier frigging bars for me thinking I was like…HERCULES…or some other fricking muscle-bound God used to lifting mountains or some such crap.
So there I was, dying, aching, in agony, having terrible visions of how my tennis match was going to play out that night after this frigging class, while these wonderful aged folk were happily balancing their feathery broomsticks above their heads.
And why wouldn’t I just stop, you ask?
Why…for the love of God…wouldn’t I just put down the damn bar and save my arms?
BECAUSE I’M NOT A LOSER PEOPLE! I DON’T GIVE UP! NO GRANNY WAS GOING TO ACCIDENTALLY THINK THAT HER BROOMSTICK WAS AS HEAVY AS MINE AND THAT I HAD TO QUIT BECAUSE IT WAS TOO FRIGGING HEAVY FOR MY LITTLE ARMS BUT SHE WHO WAS 150 YEARS OLD WAS ABLE TO KEEP GOING THROUGHOUT THE ENTIRE HOUR LONG FRIGGING CLASS AND BEAT ME!!! NO MA’AM THAT WAS NOT ABOUT TO HAPPEN!!! I WAS GOING TO KEEP LIFTING THAT STUPID BAR IF IT KILLED ME!!! AND I WAS GOING TO KEEP GIVING MY MOTHER EVIL SIDE-EYE GLARE THROUGHOUT THE ENTIRE DAMNED CLASS TOO!!!
I should mention here in really tiny letters:
…my mother’s weights were just as heavy as mine cuz she’s super strong and probably immortal, so quitting was DEFINITELY not an option for me! (but she also would never admit she was dying or give up cuz we’re both really competitive so I’m totally sure she was completely dying just as much as I was)
Aaaaaanyway, finally…FINALLY…the stupid, incredibly long, never-ending class finished and instructor lady said to lie on the mat to stretch.
I was seriously considering ignoring her at that point because God himself only knew if I’d be able to get back off the mat after if I were to even make it down there without the worlds loudest “OOOOF!” as I simply dropped unceremoniously on my ass.
Somehow I made it, stretched, and managed to claw my way back to a standing position.
My mother tried to tell me that she honestly thought it was an aerobics class that day. I still don’t believe her. I’m convinced she was trying to find new and amusing ways to pay me back for my childhood.
Later that evening when we went to my tennis match, my mother watched with way too much amusement as I dragged my spaghetti-like arms behind me over to my side of the tennis court while still giving her flaming side-eye.
I couldn’t help but laugh and shake my head though when I saw her grin and shrug her shoulders at me while I reeled my noodle-like aching arms to start my game.
P.S. Luckily for her…I still won!
P.P.S. My thigh muscles have been so painful from the weighted bar squatting that sitting to pee has been about as fun as repeatedly squirting myself in the eye with a water-gun filled with undiluted lime juice.
P.P.P.S. I have another tennis match tomorrow which should be even more exhilarating now that the painful muscles have set in. Thanks ma!
