The other morning my son and I were sitting around waiting for me to take him back home for his week of school - he spent the weekend at my house. We had about an hour, and I was itching to work out. I turned to him and said, "Do you wanna to train me?" (I've got some fitness equipment at the house and unfortunately for me it is conveniently located near the TV.)
"Uh, sure!" he said. As he put on his hiking boots.
I jumped rope to warm up while he pondered the workout. "Wow, it's hard to think of stuff to do," he said. "Yeah, my job isn't so easy a monkey could do it," I replied grinning. "Okay, put down the rope," he commanded.
"Do two push ups, two punches on the heavy bag, and two squats with this kettlebell," he told me. "How cute," I thought. "Two reps. Guess, it won't be a tough workout." I did my push ups, ran to the bag, hit it, and did my squats. "What's next?" I asked.
"Now do four of each thing," he said. "Ruh roh," I thought, realizing evil might just be genetic. We did six reps, eight, ten, then eight, six, four, and back to two. By the time we finished I was sweaty, happy, and totally gonna make my clients do the exact same thing. Maybe a monkey couldn't do it, but my nearly teenage kid came up with a kickass program. "Now let's do a lap around the block," he said. (Shit! I thought)
He ran alongside me in his size 10 hiking boots, managing to both keep up a good pace and talk without stopping the entire time. I was impressed by that alone. "Phew! I'm getting tired!" he said. "Yeah, it's hard…" I started to explain, but then he instructed me to run with high knees, then kicking my heels towards my butt, in the process also buying himself a break. "Brilliant," I thought.
We went back into the home gym, and he told me to do overhead presses with the 25lb Kettlebells. "It's so funny, you are suffering and I'm just standing here," he said. I welled up a little. "You are a real trainer now," I told him.
He had me do two more exercises he made up that I will totally use—one thing with bicep curls and squats, and a sit up with the medicine ball that is really good—and he encouraged me to go faster. He even friggin' giggled a little. "You get such a funny face when you lift weights," he laughed. "Shhhh. You can't laugh at the weightlifting face," I said, even though everyone else does. Then he stretched me out ("okay, your fingers are little ants, and the food is right there, just out of reach. Run towards the food, ants!"), then I suggested we end the session with Queen and Aerosmith blasting from his I-Pod. He concurred, and then it was time to take him home. It was one of the few workouts of my life that was over much too soon.
I don't know if this is one of those stories that is cute to me because I love my son more than anything. But when I got into fitness, I thought maybe it would help him feel athletically capable in a way I never was as a kid, because he'd see me exercising and feel like he could do it too. Fast-forward, and I guess I now know it has less to do with him observing me and more to do with this all being part of his life. He's drawing program design from his sports experiences, time spent playing with me in the gym, and the little bit of P.E. he gets at school and scouts. I ought to put him on the payroll. Heck he only charged me three dollars! Hope word doesn't get out about that, he's totally undercutting me there, and he's a good trainer.
The other day he told me he was going to teach himself volleyball and practice until he gets good so he can beat the guys that say he can't play. He said it matter-of-factly, not angrily. He is starting to get complete confidence in his athletic abilities. Last week we found out that he made the school team!
Near the end of our session, I told him that he had designed an awesome workout, and I wanted to use it with the people I train. "Would it be okay if I credit you?" I asked with a serious face. He looked up proudly, flushed, and looked down. "Well, sure, it would be great," he said shyly. His grin was huge.
Funny, I miss him and I can't wait for our next session.
Til next time…
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