It was Saturday. I woke up jealous and angry. Some days are just like that.
The kids had soccer practice at two different times that morning. My husband, hung-over from 20 hours of travel and back from a 17 hour time zone difference, offered to taxi the kids around for the morning. In turn, I got to go to bootcamp.
Bootcamp was a 75 min class of coordination, strength, and determination. I’ve been nervous about going to this class because it is a kind of fitness I haven’t been doing in a long time. I think I am in not bad shape. I can do at least a minute of push-ups. I run. I have arms that don’t look like chopsticks or sausages. However…
I was paired with a tiny Asian dynamo who was about the size of one of my legs. She explained to me the exercises and how to do them, and then proceeded to do almost twice as many as I could. She whipped off chin-ups so easily I thought she was just trying to be kind by not doing them one-handed. About half-way through the class she said she was getting tired. I concurred, and she explained that she had already done a class earlier in the morning. Right: I managed to make toast for two kids this morning before I got to class.
This girl was so kind and encouraging it was hard to not like her. She kept checking in with me to make sure I was
breathing feeling okay. Plus, seeing her strong and teen-tiny body whip off exercises I could not help but feel a bit of a girl-crush. I had 30 lbs on her. She could double-jump the skipping rope and squat-press a tire over her head without breaking a sweat. She was way out of my league.
Later, coming home a sweaty mess, I mentioned to a running friend of mine my bootcamp experience. I mentioned all the redeeming qualities of Wonder Woman and how she’d put me to shame. For shizzle, I wanted to hate her but it wasn’t fair to her.
My friend, a lovely and compassionate being who has been such a support and inspiration for me, volunteered to hate her for me, sight-unseen. And then it hit me: that’s what friends are for.