About a month or two before Tate was born, our next door neighbors moved. I was hoping that a family with a stay at home mom with little kids would move into their house, because at that point I didn’t realize that there are bigger things to hope for in new neighbors when you’re in your childbearing years. You know what’s better? A personal trainer.
I remember talking to Nick when Tate was a few weeks old and he mentioned that he was thinking of starting a neighborhood boot camp. I told him that if he did, either Trent or I would come. Of course I really meant Trent would go. He’s the “yes” person of our team. He’s the man who once went on a sailing trip to Maine with two people he barely knew. I’m more of the I have a previous commitment/I don’t want to drive anywhere/my stomach hurts/my mom said I couldn’t go/I just have to many things going on right now/the kids are sick/I just don’t want to person.
But when it came down to actually meeting at the park at a specific date and time, Trent refused. His reasoning was that I was the one who committed us, so I had to go. I was –yet again- reminded why I should never say I’ll never do something. Saying it out loud guarantees that I will do it. I’ll never go to a huge state school. I’ll never work in corporate America. I’ll never be a stay-at-home mom. (What was my plan, exactly?) I’ll never cut bangs for myself again. I’ll never do a boot camp.
And yet there I was, out at the park twice a week working out with my neighbors. Then the time changed and it was too dark at the park, so we moved to Nicks garage and there I was, lifting weights in a garage with a group of neighborhood men and Korn blasting away in the background. For some reason there was a brief period when I was the only female who could show up and if there were ever a glimpse of my life that I could show my younger self, it would be one of those dude-garage work-outs. 16-year-old Kelly could just sit in shock and go What. Is. Happening.
Now, a year after our first boot camp, Nick is heading off to physical therapy school and we’re all on our own. But the good news is that we’re all on our own as the newer, better versions of ourselves. He not only got us all into the routine of working out, but he built up a community. I had a girls dinner with a group of neighborhood friends tonight and it was boot camp that made those friendships happen. Nick was the neighborhood Mary Poppins, showing up when we needed him, the leaving us all with a new group of friends and gym memberships. The analogy fits perfectly if you can also imagine Mary Poppins occasionally making fun of the Banks children for lack of coordination.
I can’t say that I’m in peak physical condition, but that’s my own fault for skipping the cardio I was assigned to do on my own twice a week. Well, the lack of cardio paired with my affinity for white wine and popcorn. But under the wine-popcorn layer, I’m a different, stronger version of myself. When my gym membership starts in June, I’ve got the experience and confidence to skip the machines and go straight for the free weights at the gym, possibly while wearing weight lifting gloves.
I spent the last few weeks of boot camp trying (at times unsuccessfully) to hold back from making Leslie Knope-esque speeches about my boot camp experience. The twice weekly workouts over the past year have been good for me in ways that go beyond my physical well being. Collapsing while trying to do push ups and having someone tell you “Sometimes it’s good to push yourself to the point of failure.” is a lesson about bigger things than core strength.
It’s all a big reminder to say yes to more things, or at the very least not writing things off as nevers.
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