Training day

“You want to go to the gym?”

If you are like me … you probably don’t.

You’d rather curl up in your favorite chair with a cup of coffee and a sleeve of crumbly cookies and scroll through Netflix for something that will take your mind off the world for roughly 45 to 120 minutes.

On the other hand, also like me, you might be painfully aware that the question is coming from a gangly teenager who is only two months (and a few days) shy of being eligible to drive himself.

After that … It is a mere 18 months until he’s packing up for college.

And then he won’t be asking me to do much of anything.

It is all part of the unspoken contract we have with ourselves as parents to soak it all in before it’s all over.

Time is of the essence.

So I change into clothes that might facilitate a four-way “stretch,” and start the search for my keys.

He raises his hand and swipes the air. Around his finger hangs the electronic fob. 

“Ahem.”

He might have stood there forever, silently dangling the non-jangling device, before I would have noticed my hunt would be for naught.

“I’ll drive.”

His voice, as he says this, is imbued with more snark than excitement. The last time we made this trip I had insisted on driving and, well, let’s just say I made one navigational error that would live on in infamy in the novice driver’s mind. He is careful in his gloating. Knowing full well he still has to play to the audience, who is at this moment feeling a bit chagrined.  

“Of course. You could always use more practice driving at night.”

We don’t speak much on the commute. Instead, we listen to the soundtrack he has carefully programmed so that it won’t require him to take his eyes off the road even for a second. It sounds like the fast-beat celebratory music that plays at the end of just about every 80s-era arcade game. I don’t understand how he does it, but the fast-paced beats seem to keep him calm and focused. It makes me want to crawl out of my skin.

And it makes me realize he’s not such a novice anymore.

Because in trying to block out the visions of Froggers falling off logs or getting splattered on roadways, I focus on his driving. The starts and stops. The consistency of speeds. Smooth and unlabored. He’s come a long way. Gone are the days we inched toward the end of the driveway … it seems five inches per minute.

Tonight, in a moonless sky, we will practice using high beams. 

He is good at it. Turning them down the moment a car approaches but before it comes into view. 

Before long we arrived at our destination. We park and head into the gym, I assume, to our separate corners. He will go to the free weights, and I will go to the circuits.  

Do you want me to show you how to use the squat stand?

I resist the urge to laugh at the oxymoron in that sentence, and just follow along.

Time is of the essence, especially in the world of personal training.