Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Shawn has made me stronger, more flexible, and more aware of each and every muscle in my body than I ever expected to be. Curse you, Shawn!
I told him early on, this is why I’m not a dancer. Yeah. I think that was pretty obvious.
Years ago when my friend Gail and I took “Beginning Tap” with our adolescent offspring (my daughter, her son) I learned exactly why my mother never wasted her money on dancing lessons for me. I told Gail I should be in “Remedial Tap”; I was no ordinary ‘beginner’. There were a couple of tiny 6-year olds in the class who always picked up the new steps immediately, in sharp contrast to us. Gail pointed out to me on the way home one night that the little kids actually look like they’re dancing. “While we,” I observed, “look like we’re breaking down carburetors.”
So, “Just six more!” and “Ten more seconds!” and “You can do it!” from Shawn lead me to “Curse you, Shawn!”, “You’re killing me!”, and “No, I really CAN’T!” back at him. We use a lot of exclamation points over at his gym.
I mop my brow with a towel, take a swig of water from my BPA-free bottle, and try to get my heart rate under control.
Then it’s another round to complete the workout.
Shawn? --he never breaks a sweat. I guess that’s part of his charm. He's very muscular and the picture of fitness. But why is that red pitchfork standing in the corner?
Next post: One great story about Shawn, his family, and how very UN-Satanlike he is!