I guess it all started when they sent the note home.
The note that outlined the goals for President’s Physical Fitness Award.
The award I never got. Ever.
I don’t mean to go all Tiger Mom or anything, but I want my boys to win that award.
I want it real bad.
But not for the reason you think.
I don’t care about the award, per se. I don’t care about the prestige. I don’t care about the recognition. I don’t care about the flashy patch that they get (although it will certainly be put in the scrapbook).
I care about the fitness.
I care about the heart health, the lung function, the lean muscle and the flexibility.
I have been working out like a madman to get myself to an acceptable level of fitness. But what’s the point if the rest of my family is out of shape?
They’re not out of shape. Not now anyway.
That’s the point. I don’t want them to GET out of shape.
Plus, I want to spend fun, fit, active time with my boys.
But I need to exercise.
Mommy Boot Camp.
From now on, every Tuesday and Thursday, instead of spending a sweaty hour with Gabe, I am spending a sweaty hour with my children. We will run, play tag, and do burpees.
We started today.
We began the way Gabe does, with a quick jog down the bay front.
My kids jog a lot faster than I do.
A LOT faster.
Then we did a circuit. I brought a ball and a stretchy band. One of us did those squat-pull things Gabe makes me do, one of us did the figure-8 through the legs while balanced on the butt, one did jumping jacks and one did push ups. We did the exercise for 1 minute then switched.
Except it’s hard to tell one minute when you are balancing on your butt trying to weave a ball between your legs.
It’s also hard to tell one minute when all you can hear are whines of “this is boring”, “can I stop now?”, “why are we doing this?”, and “I have to pee”.
But we are not giving up!
I made them play tag. Have you ever seen forced tag? One kid stands there, the other kid touches him and the third kid says “I’m done”.
OK. Fine. Tug-O-War! Fun! Muscle building! Whoot!
I put the 11 year old and the 7 year old on one end, and me and the five year old at the other.
One – two – three PULL!
OK. No more dollar store jump ropes.
Then I had to yell at the 5 year old to tell him to stop whipping his brother with the broken jump rope.
Back to Gabe’s old standard.
Jumping jacks. Bicycle crunches. Squats.
In the end, we got 30 minutes of activity.
Nobody sweated much.
Next week we’ll try again.
If Gabe can put up with me, I can put up with this.