A Call to Arms

One doesn’t realize what one misses until it’s gone.
It’s a lesson I am painfully aware of as I write this blog.
Literally, painfully aware.

For three days, I have had limited use of my arms.
I haven’t been able to move them above shoulder height.
I look like a robot when I try to bend them.
Or one of those guys in a double arm cast that you see in movies.

It’s a temporary condition, and the result of an event that happened earlier this week that had the best of intentions.

I have three athletic boys who were apparently imbued with their skills from the hand of God Himself because there is nothing athletic about my wife and me.
One of my boys was joking around with me about being healthier and exercising.

Those were some things that have been on my mind lately, so I thought, Why not seize this opportunity to spend some time with my boy? So I told him, “Okay, let’s exercise and you be my trainer.”

We went down to the basement and the first thing he did was ask me to do some push-ups. I struggled my way through a few.

Then he upped the ante, by putting a basketball on the floor, and told me to put one hand on the ball and one on the floor. Then he instructed me to do push ups like that.
I couldn’t do it.

Now, before you think I’m raising a masochist, let me clarify that my son was actually really good at this whole training thing. He was encouraging, challenging.
But there is one key factor that he didn’t understand—I’m not trying to get back in shape. I’ve never been in shape. So I can’t get back to some place I’ve never been.

The exercise session continued with some bear crawls (which I have issue with, I’ve never seen a bear crawl like that). Crab walk (again, not a true representation of a crab’s method of transportation).

I was able to do some more regular pushups.
And even did a couple of those one-hand-on-the-basketball ones.

Our session ended with me begging to stop.
He relented.
I laid on the floor feeling nauseous.

But we did it, and I felt a little proud. Not of me, but of my son and his patient instruction.

Everything was fine for the rest of the day, but in the middle of the night, I noticed some pain in my arm. I thought I had slept in a weird position and it was just cramped. But then I noticed both arms were in pain. Not in a heart attack kind of way, but in a “oh, Lord, I worked out” kind of way.

I thought it was temporary.

But that was three days ago, and after numerous stretches and doses of advil.

And here’s the crazy thing . . . I wouldn’t trade it for one minute. Not because I want to get in shape, but because of the time with my son. I love that kid. And I love how he orchestrated the whole training session.
I love his heart during the whole process.

And I will go back to this “gym.”
We just need to dial it back a little bit.
My son discovered his dad is more of a beginner level, and not as advanced as he assumed.
And I also need to first regain the use of my arms and shoulders.

Tim Walker works at Orange and is a husband, father of three boys, editor, writer—well, you get the idea. More of Tim’s words can be found at www.timswords.com.