I’m going to borrow from Clinton.
Because I can.
Working out is a grateful reminder that all my body parts are intact. It is the opportunity to keep whole. This one body I’ve been given carries my day, helps carry my family. This frame is my tomorrow, and I want to be around for my grandchildren. If I don’t take care of myself, no one else will.
Are more than markers on the elliptical. My older years hang on how I’ll do in these next ten.
We’re made to move, the office chair to car to store to office chair to TV couch a postmodern anomaly in human history. Tiring on the treadmill, I’ve wondered, What if I went just another mile…and another? How strong could I get? I’m my own limit.
So here’s a glimpse of me in action at the gym where my guys and I take classes. I’m a fish out of water, the runt of the pack. The women are afraid of hurting me when we spar. As I was taping, I told them I was doing a video on how NOT to do martial.
Not thrilled to be on camera, I asked Holistic Husband to cut some more footage as he prepared the links. He refused: “When we’re 70, we can show the grandkids. See? Grandma used to wrestle.”