No Butts About It

Ardi was down with bronchitis the other week.  It is the weather, I tell you.   He was much better this week.  Yesterday he said he was ready to resume his exercise routine.

"Do you want to exercise with me, Mom?"

Tell me, how can one refuse such an offer?  I couldn't.  

I could have though.  I could have refused.  I could have come up with half a dozen good reasons. 

I could have simply said NO.  

But since it has been quite a while since I've gone out for a run (it just keeps getting colder and colder out there) and I haven't gotten any sort of exercise (outside of mini-dashes towards the bus stop), I figured it would be as good a time as any to exercise.

So I said, "Sure!"

Sure ... sure ... sure I said 'sure.'  That was yesterday.

Ouch ... ouch ... now all I can say is 'OUCH.'

I don't know what it is about exercising with Ardi.   When I do the routine on my own, I go through the motions and the counts.  Of course I do it without the benefit of Ardi's watchful eyes and interjected advise like 'do not let your elbows touch down' or 'try not to lean forward' or 'breathe in as you go down, breathe out as you come up.'  I go through exercises he has taught me and wake up the next day without any aching bones nor painful muscles. 

But EVERY SINGLE TIME I have done the "same" routine with Ardi nearby, I wake up with sore body parts.

Yes, indeed.  Today, my butt is aching.  

[Pardon me.  I think the proper way to say it Down Under is 'my bum is aching.']