We are the examples for our children. If we show them that it's okay to disregard our health, they will follow our lead. With my son's birth quickly approaching, I had a very small window to make some significant changes. I was 29 and could no longer run, so getting myself into shape seemed impossible until a friend of mine recommended (and subsequently loaned me a copy of) P90X. Although the now-famous workout had yet to reach the mainstream, there were still plenty of infomercials to be found on basic cable after sunset, and unlike most infomercials focused on fitness, this one seemed plausible.
I had been struggling to recover from multiple surgeries on both knees over a three year period, which, combined with my age and inactivity, had led me to fall into the worst physical shape of my life. I have always been a thin man, and while I never developed a gut that hung over my belt, I had gone to seed and was unhappy with my physique. That's when I decided I was going to do something about it.
And so it began: I was going to get into the best shape of my life in 90 days. With the help of a handy spreadsheet I found online, I was able to keep track of my workouts digitally, taking notes on limitations I encountered, as well as keeping diligent records of weights and reps. Endurance athletes are self-starters by nature, and as a former endurance athlete, the objective data in the spreadsheet was all the motivation I needed.
Completing the full P90X program was a humbling experience. In my mind, I thought of myself as an endurance athlete in the present tense, but P90X forced me to reevaluate. Pull-ups and chin-ups were particularly challenging ... as in, I couldn't do one. The program advises you to put one leg on a chair until you build up to doing them properly. When I started out, I discovered that one leg would not suffice. Instead, I needed both legs on the chair, and I couldn't do very many even with my legs doing most of the work.
That's where my daughter comes in. Seeing me exercise inspired her to participate. She was twenty-two months old and she knew her numbers and needed to help me count. The problem was, she was still ironing out the whole sequential order nonsense as well as basic pronunciation. Instead of counting my reps as "one, two, three," she would say numbers at random in her chirpy voice, making it even harder for me to perform any chin-ups or pull-ups.
She also had trouble with the number seven. If she referenced 7up soda, it sounded more like "smell it up," but when she was talking about the number after six, but before eight, it was "fuddiss." Don't ask me how she settled on those, because my wife and I still haven't figured it out, but my workouts became much less efficient with my daughter's assistance.
"One. Two. Eight. Fuddiss. Tree."
That's how you count! I was able to complete the program shortly after my son was born, despite my daughter's efforts. She may not have been helpful, but she thought she was, and that was good enough for me.
