It’s time to tell some truth about Dana and me. I know we come across as level-headed, educated former English teachers. I know we seem calm, cool and collected. Rational. Reflective.
These things are true about us. But not all the way true. Underneath, there’s something else.
Underneath, we are beasts.
It’s a huge part of who we used to be, years and years ago. Before this week, I would have said that we’ve moved on to be kinder, gentler wives and moms. But this week has proved me wrong.
We’ve joined a bootcamp together. And the beasts are back.
Dana says she hasn’t worked out in ten years. I’ve been a bit better than that, but not bootcamp better. This last week we got our butts kicked all over the gym. Lunges across the entire parking lot? Check. Four minute plank? Check. Four sets of one minute suicides? Check and oxygen, please.
It’s ok, though. Because Dana and I used to play some volleyball. The Division I college athlete kind. Our lives for years and years were all about winning or losing. It was our job. We trained every day to beat someone, driven by coaches whose job it was to win, at schools where athletics was the biggest money maker. And she and I are fiercely competitive. We don’t talk about those days in terms of “We beat Notre Dame at home” or “USC had a weaker team that year”. Oh no.
We wiped the floor with Notre Dame in front of their own folks. And USC sucked. I’m leaving out the expletives because we’d like this to be a G-rated blog, but there were lots. And most of them started with an F.
For us, there was no second place. There wasn’t even any second team. Dana played in an NCAA Final Four and knows this better than I do.
There were the winners. And then there was everyone else.
Right now, at the gym, we’re everyone else. The winners are shorter, younger and in better shape than we are. They never played sports in their lives. They whine and complain and crack jokes while they sprint faster and lift heavier weights. They don’t know what we used to be.
They don’t care.
I wish I could say that Dana and I are past all that now. That we’ve grown and are humble and happy to accept tips on form from a woman who put make-up on for a 6 am workout.
But we’re not past it. And we’re going to get them.
Just as soon as we can sit on the toilet without wincing in pain. Raise our arms to blow our hair dry. Lift our babies.
Then we’re coming for you, ladies. You may be faster and stronger now, but not for long. Not. For. Long.