Chelsea came home this weekend. We talked about the race, and our "training". I told her that because she thought I could run a 10k gave me great joy. Her belief in me made me want to be in better shape. As you know I have been walking daily these last couple of months. I have been feeling spunky, proud, and all around pretty darn good about my progress until Chelsea told me we had to step up our game. Step up our game.
I truly did not like the sound of it.
"Mom every morning at seven we are going to FaceTime each other," She told me to add a certain App to my iphone, a work out routine, "...then we will do this work out routine together. Won't that be fun?"
(Hint to daughter: Fun: Is going to the brocante. Fun: Is sitting at a cafe after a ballet, drinking a glass of wine. Fun: Is being with you anywhere anytime NOT doing squats at seven in the morning.)
Modern world.
Modern girl.
Brocante loving mother responded after registering the bomb she dropped, "What?" Gulp, "Work out together? You mean: Monday morning, my phone will ring, I literally will roll out of bed, on to the rug, and do a work out routine that will hurt like hell, leaving me somewhat died. Fun?"
"Come on my you are going to love seeing me! It will be fun."
My daughter has a warped sense of fun.
Chelsea added the App to my phone. Then with such excitement in her voice I thought for a moment we were going to go to the brocante or something, she said, "Okay let try it now. Take off your shoes. ready?"
Insert - Pain.
Insert - I am out of shape.
Insert - Walking is nothing compared to this.
Insert - If I hurt this much today tomorrow I will not be able to move.
Insert - I better move downstairs, 'cause I will never make it downstairs after this, never! My thighs, buttock, arms, stomach are screaming, "What are you doing? Weren't we just fine the way we were?"
The next day she borrowed my lipstick.
Oh those darling lips!
I thought for a brief moment we would not do the workout routine thing until she returned to Paris... maybe we would go shopping or out to lunch, or anything then torture ourselves. But oh no, that was not in the plan.
"Okay Mom are you ready to go at it again?"
"Do what?"
Chelsea laughed.
"No I am not ready."
"Come on, it will only hurt for a few more days, and then you will be stronger..."
As she went on about what great shape we would be in, how our legs and butt and stomach and arms would be so toned and beautiful. I thought to myself how lucky I am to have a cheerleader. Well I thought lucky for ten seconds, then we started with the "Butt App", I am not kidding that is what it is called. It should be called, "Kill Yourself Slowly" App.
While lifting my leg for the 30th time in a Donkey Lift (Who comes up with these names?") I moaned, "O-U-C-H, ouch ouch ouch..." to silent ears. Instead the Cheerleader cheered, "Now the other leg."
"I do not have another leg. It is hiding."
She counted, "1 - 2 - 3 - 4..."
After the work out I no longer had legs, nor arms, nor a body. Instead I felt like a combination of cement blocks and wet noodles.
So now not only will I be walking I will be doing a FaceTime workout routine with Chelsea every morning.
I hope Sacha doesn't have a game plan, or something "fun" to do with me.
As she left to catch the train back to Paris, a sudden thought occurred to me, "This is only the beginning. Oh I see she thinks I will start to run and then we will do a marathon or something?"
And with that I started to fancy the idea of walking to Saint Jean de Compostelle and with that the Butt App made me smile.
