They mocked me, outright.
They popped in my circa 1990 VHS copy of Denise Austin, the knocked up version.
Lexi and her friend giggled and poked fun at me, asking pointed questions about leotards and why is it so easy when she clearly - in their eyes - had a pillow lodged in that spandex.
Oh the folly of youth.
The next morning, they trailed along with me to Jazzercise, searching for ghosts at the Grange and occasionally stopping to watch me stretch and dance.
Someday soon, my daughter might be mortified by my dorkitude.
But I hope I am planting a seed, this commitment to fitness that bypasses aches and pains; gender or age. I hope that when the cringing stops, they see men - ok, one man - and women of all shapes, ages and sizes, shaking their money makers and breathing.
Fitness isn't for the elite. It's for everyone.
My friend, Erika, and I hit a trail by a lake yesterday, clocking six miles with her lab puppy and daughter in tow. The air was crisp, and perfect. We hope to keep it up, once a week, rain or shine. (And hopefully, we'll get back earlier for her to pick up her daughters after school. Yikes.)
Today, Bad Mom joins me for a walk by our skate park while our kids ride their bikes and relish their Big 5th Grader on Campus status.
I think this means she likes me. I know she's not coming for the sweat.