A few weeks ago an email popped into my inbox from the speed skating club — E., who teaches the Masters class, would be running a summer dryland training course if enough people were interested. There was a link to a survey at the bottom of the email where you could show your expressed interest.
When I first filled out the survey, under ‘Number of family members interested’ I selected ‘two’.
As my hand hovered over the mouse to click send, I sat back in my chair and imagined what it would be like running sprints with elementary aged schools kids, or worse, doing squats with teens, and switched the ‘two’ to a ‘one’. Then I emailed E., and asked her to tell me if any other parents were interested in doing it because I was but also didn’t want to be the only mom out there running around in a field with kids.
Even I have my limitations and working out with a group of people, all of whom I could have birthed — including the person training us — makes the Top Ten.
It’s funny, when you’re a kid, you can’t wait to grow up. I remember thinking 24 was old and how I would be married with kids before I reached a quarter of a century. 42, slowly moving in on 43? Ancient. Nowadays, when I see a policeman or doctor, for a split second I wonder how it is that they are so young before it occurs to me that, no, they aren’t training them at a younger age–it is me who is older.
The whole thing is just weird because in my head, I’m still in my 20′s. Yet I know there are younger people out there who view me as old just like I did when I was their age. How is it even possible I’m at an age where I need to check the 40 – 45 age group in a survey?
As luck would have it, it turns out some other adults are interested in training so I’ll be showing up in workout gear, ready to go–just in case.
Or maybe I’ll just do it anyway. Because in 20 years I’ll look back and think about how young I was.