Boot Camp

Nickels and Hooman are getting ready for the Taekwondo nationals tournament right now. That means getting up at 6:30am, being on the local high school track at 7:30am, and participating in boot camp.

If you doubt the sincerity of the statement "boot camp", let's just say that Master had full-size tires on the track this morning, with waist harnesses around them, just waiting for the kids.

Being an occasional-optimist, Hooman was doubtful that Master was enough of a sadist to actually be true to his word, so when we pulled up alongside the field and he saw those Firestone beauties? He let out a sigh for the ages.

This has been quite an experience for the boys. Sure, they've had their hour-long baseball practices where they ran bases or attempted to catch long balls or did push-ups. But, this? This is a horse of a different color.

This is something I personally need. It's a daily butt-whoppin' in every aspect of the word, with no set of muscles or ounce of lung left untouched.

When the kids got in the car earlier this week and exclaimed that they had run two miles for the first time without stopping, I had an idea. And, before I could stop my mouth from speaking*, I had volunteered to start training for a 5K and run with them.

Needless to say, they were stoked. I don't think they had a clue that I used to run 5Ks with alarming frequency and attend kickboxing classes and do step-aerobics for hours during the week. They were unaware that I would start at the head of the White Rock Trail, cycle the length of it, and be off my bike before breakfast was served on most Saturday mornings.

In fact, I don't think my kids think much about me and my life before they were around, before I subjected my body to pregnancy and breastfeeding and countless nights of little-to-no sleep. So, I am going to subject them to a little bit of the cool Mom I can be.

I'll do my best not to embarrass them when we run together by moving just a bit faster than the 70-year-old men who paced me on the course last time I ran a 5K.** I'll try my hardest not to pee out of the obligatory maxi pad I HAVE TO WEAR now that my female parts have birthed three kids. I'll attempt to make it across the finish line in a respectable time without barfing or crying or pumping my fists as I hum the "Rocky" theme song loud enough so everyone can hear it.***

Maybe this will be the start of something the boys and Mom can do together? Something that will give them a lifetime of health and an appreciation for the sport?
And, maybe. Quite possibly. I might find that woman within me who used to love to run and cycle and aerobicize.

If, with all the training I'll need to do, I discover the cure for my chicken-wing arms? THAT will be a bonus.




*This is how most of my troubles start. I forget to engage brain first and tongue second.

**The only consolation was that he was known by everyone on the stinkin' course. Two seconds wouldn't pass by where someone wasn't shouting his name or high-fiving him or smiling his way. Obviously, NOT a rookie, like me, in Dallas running society.

***One of my proudest memories from a five-mile race in the West End: passing two muscle-bound twenty-something men in the last 1/4 mile of the race while channeling Rocky. It was epic. At least, in my mind.