As a deformed geezer who drinks red wine to avoid heart problems and thinks exercise and healthy foods will kill you, I’m proud, happy, and practically in a coma to report that I’ve had the best workout recently. that I have had for months. And with not one but two personal trainers.
I am referring, of course, to my granddaughters.
Due to coronavirus restrictions, I had not seen Chloe, 7, and Lilly, 4, since the summer. And we had to wear masks and keep a safe social distance.
My wife, Sue, and I had to do the same this time around, when we watched the girls for a few hours while their mom and our youngest daughter, Lauren, a talented photographer who has her own business, Lauren Demolaize Photography , was out. on a photo shoot.
Fun, entertaining, and potential heart issues included:
Run around the yard in a fiery and almost debilitating tag game.
Play wrestling with a rubber ball.
Play wrestling with a plastic ball.
Kick a soccer ball.
Chase and pop bubbles as they float in the air.
Twisting spasmodically in an unsuccessful effort to keep a hoop running for more than three seconds at a time.
Pushing Lilly on a swing, running to stand in front of her and rushing to push her again when she said she wasn’t going high enough.
Fall to the ground and pretend to be knocked out by Chloe’s high kick.
Sprinting alongside the girls as they came down the slide, which they did, one after the other, a dozen times.
Throw each girl in the air and catch up with her, trying not to break a vital organ.
And, what we baby boomers call the sport of folds, playing on horseback, a game in which yours truly was the horse (instead of my usual role as the back of it). I got on all fours as the two girls jumped onto my back and urged me to get dizzy, which I did, slowly and pathetically, up and down, until I collapsed into a heap, after which the girls wanted me to give them another ride. As my whole skeletal structure started to crumble, I wondered: they pull horses, don’t they?
Needless to say, but I’ll say it anyway, we had a blast. Unlimited exuberance and narrow avoidance of hospitalization is what happens when grandparents and their grandchildren finally reunite after weeks of separation.
Since we all wore masks and were outside, Sue and I were able to get closer to the girls only if we were at home, but we still had to be careful. The granddaughter’s throws and horse rides were done while we were facing each other.
Still, Chloe and Lilly could run an outdoor health club. And I, a hip grandpa hoping not to be a broken hip grandfather, or even a hip replacement grandpa, could be their first, best, and oldest customer.
“You’re fun, Poppie! Chloe said as I searched for some air after one of our vigorous exercises.
“Even though you are old!” Lilly added helpfully.
After Lauren returned, Sue and I returned home, where we ate dinner and watched a movie, in which I doze off so often that I must have looked like a bobblehead doll.
“You had a good workout today,” Sue said as she turned off the TV and we walked over to the bed.
“At least you didn’t have to call 911,” I noted.
“It was like being in the gym,” Sue said.
“I hope it’s not yet several months before I can join,” I replied. “And when I do, the girls can push me on a swing and give me a senior citizen discount.”
Jerry Zezima is a columnist for MCT. (TCM)
Jerry Zezima writes a humorous column for Hearst Connecticut Media Group and is the author of five books. His latest is “Every day is Saturday”. All are on Amazon. Email: [email protected] Blog: www.jerryzezima.blogspot.com.