Posted by She Said
Our family recently joined a gym, and as much as as it surprises me to say it, I am actually enjoying it. Originally it was the variety of programs for the kids that got us to step foot in there in the first place, but now Greg is training for his first 5K. And me? I took full advantage of the FREE month of Pilates given to me, a membership prize, so to speak. Now that my month is up and there is no way in hell I am going to shell out more bucks to continue Pilates, I have now turned to the world of the <free> group classes. My first (and so far only) one was the Body Push class which uses a barbell and weights during its THREE THOUSAND SIX HUNDRED seconds of
torture fulfilling and body-bettering exercise.
Luckily, I saw a woman who has a daughter at the same school as my kids heading to the class at the same time, so I tagged along with her and got the scoop on what to expect from the class.
The class was incredible, truly. But it wasn’t the challenge of the class or the collective energy of the group keeping up with the chiseled and humorous instructor that was the most memorable part of my inaugural Body Push.
It was the 50-something man behind me asking me if the woman I was talking to when I entered the class was my DAUGHTER.
My daughter? Excuse me, Grandpa?
How <insert expletive of choice here> old do you think I am?
It must have been the daggers darting from my eyes that made him backpedal. Or maybe it was the tone of my answer, “No. We have kids at the same school,” I seethed, spittle and all. Which I am certain made me look even more youthful.
“She looks like she is about 16,” he about-faced.
OK, then, TECHNICALLY I could be her mother.