It all started when a friend was lamenting about walking laps around the church in the mornings for exercise and how monotonous it was getting through this long, cold winter.
I told her about my winter workout, how in a moment of insanity I had actually suckered into an infomercial pitch and bought the Insanity workout dvds to get me through until I could get back on my bike.
She asked if she could come over and do a workout or two with me to try it out.
I would love another person to be insane with!
She got hooked on being insane and started coming over three times a week. It was good because it helped me get in a more consistent morning exercise groove on those days when my pillow beckons me back for a second-round snooze after my kids get on the bus.
Meanwhile, the church-walkers she used to hang with felt snubbed and asked, “What gives?”
She told them she was being insane in my basement and they said, “We want to come, can we?”
We would love more people to be insane with!
So, on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings you can find a bunch of middle-aged women in my basement doing “suicides” and “butt kicks” and lots of other dodgy exercise moves chicks our age should never engage in.
When we started this ritual, I gave them a disclaimer about my house: “I hereby do not guarantee this facility as a sanitary exercise environment. Enter at own risk.”
They agreed and promised not to judge me, or at least save their comments for the ride home.
We exercise in the basement, which is my kids’ domain. There are areas down there I’ve just had to decide to turn a blind eye to until I’m an empty nester when I’ll do a full sanitation excavation.
Before they arrive, I try to do a basement check to make sure there’s nothing completely toxic.
But this morning I didn’t have a chance to do a check before we descended the stairway to hell, and I worried what we’d find the morning after an unsupervised Sunday afternoon/evening when my children are forced by their parents to entertain themselves unplugged.
What we found was a silly surprise. There on the couch sat a wide-eyed audience of plush pals.
I don’t know what my kids were doing yesterday, but they’d assembled spectators for it.
It was cute!
My kids are 12, 15 and 17 and I haven’t seen those fuzzy friends surface for a few years now, least of all assembled together!
We had a good chortle over it and worried what our audience might think of our Insanity workout. Though they were cute and fluffy, perhaps they weren’t as friendly as they looked.
They could be hecklers!
After all, we are a bunch of middle-aged broads bouncing around pre-groomed in the early a.m.
That’s enough to wipe the smile off even the cheeriest Build-a-Bear’s fuzzy face!
We left them in place for our workout and asked them periodically what they thought of our form and intensity level.
They were a polite audience and didn’t say anything back—just watched and smiled.
But who knows what they said after we left.
For all I know, it could be as bad as what my friends probably say about my house on the ride home.