Stories in this collection:
My Uncle's Dream
Teachers: Not Only Smart But Also...Strong
My uncle told me a dream he had . And so I decided to write it like I was him. I hope you enjoy it.
My Uncle's Dreamby arcore23
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A match with my wife
At age 38 I had become a weekend warrior. My gym bag gathered dust in the closet buried under shoes and an odd assortment of seldom-used sports gear. I played golf weekly and on rare occasions would play some half-court hoops. I was 20 pounds over my fighting weight but gravity was still pretty much in check so I did not realize how soft I had become. At 6 ft and 185 I still looked “in shape” in street clothes. In private, my wife, three years younger, would make an occasional comment about my softening belly but that was it.
Shelly, my wife of 17 years and mother of my three kids, was slowly becoming a fitness nut. When I’d met her she was a vision in a bikini on a Florida beach. She ran track in college (three miles) and had long, muscular legs, a tight butt and abs and slender but muscular arms. She had kept active with aerobics and tennis through three kids and at 35 weighed only 10 pounds more than she had at 18.
I was too into business and other stuff to take note when she joined the new fitness club that opened less than a mile from our house. I recall her mentioning that she had a trainer and was working with free weights. I do remember giving her some tips on weight lifting with my rusting set in the corner of the garage. But a year or two later I could not have told you the name of the gym or of her trainer or how often she went.
At some point she started taking our 15 year old daughter and 13 year old son with her. They were both pretty fit and I was more interested in their grades and Matt’s progress in baseball than any stories from the gym.
One cold evening we were sitting in front of the fire. Emily, a precocious 15 came in and sat next to me on the couch. She began to probe my chest and biceps. “Pretty soft Dad,” she commented. I ignored her. “Man, Dad you are really in sad shape,” she continued. I still ignored her.
“Bet I can do more pushups than you,” she said moving to the floor. I half watched as she ripped through a set of 25 pushups. Her back was straight and she extended fully touching her chin to the floor. I was impressed but was too busy with some report I was reading.
“Can you do that?” my wife asked.
“What?”
“Emily just did 25 perfect pushups. Can you?”
“Sure.”
“I doubt it,” she replied with a challenge. She moved to the floor and began to do pushups. The muscles in her back and shoulders rippled as she moved effortlessly through repeated repetitions. She did look even more muscular than usual.
“Mom, you are so good,” Emily said.
Tim, the than 13 year old jumped in, “I can do more than either of them Dad,” he said hitting the floor. Tim began to do rep after rep very quickly. Unfortunately his form was not nearly as good as his sister or his mother and many of his reps were barely half moves.
“Slower and all the way down Tim,” my wife coached him.
“These are good Mom,” the boy replied.
“Not,” said his sister.
“You think you are so tough,” he replied getting up and getting in his older sister’s face.
“I’m tougher than you!” she laughed.
“No way!” he replied.
Emily was taller and built like her mother. Tim was stocky. He probably outweighed his sister but her pushups had been really good.
The argument continued and was annoying. My wife stepped in. “No arguing,” she said. “Prove it.”
They both looked at her. She said; “Over here,” leading them to the kitchen counter. “You too can arm wrestle to see which of you is tougher.”
Both kids were surprisingly eager to compete. Emily was certain she could take her younger brother while Tim was too macho to admit that a girl could take him.
My wife got them set and more or less even. Emily had a height advantage of several inches. On the count of three they started. Their young arms strained and remained even for about 5 seconds. Emily then began to gain an advantage. Tim struggled and tried his best but his arm quickly weakened and Emily pinned his hand to the counter.
He looked crestfallen. “You cheated,” she said predictably.
Emily looked indifferent. She had expected to win easily and so winning meant little to her. Or so her body language said.
“She started too soon,” Tim whined.
“No she didn’t honey,” my wife said. “She is just older and stronger than you are.”
He demanded a rematch which his sister consented to and then promptly beat him even more easily.
The kids came back to the couch. My respite was over.
“You’re both doing well,” I said trying to sound interested.
“Dad, you are no one to judge,” Emily said haughtily.
“Pardon me?” I said.
“Dad you are soooo out of shape. It’s funny.” She giggled.
“I am not SOOO out of shape,” I replied.
“Well your arms are soft,” she said coming over to feel my biceps. I flexed and the girl squished the muscle.
“Mom’s are much harder,” she said.
“What?” I replied.
“Look,” she said, “Mom, make a muscle.”
My wife smiled and complied. Her bicep rose impressively. She twisted her hand and the muscle moved and when she pressed hard it peaked. She then flexed her other arm. My daughter took the bicep in both hands. “Uggh,” she said straining. “I can’t squeeze Mom’s arm at all!”
“Want to feel?” my wife said. Reluctantly I did. It was very hard. I knew it was harder than mine.
“The trainer is doing some good,” I said passively.
“The trainer and four one-hour sessions every week with the free weights,” she said.
“Mom can do one arm curls with 40 pounds,” Emily bragged. “And the trainer said most men can’t touch that!” The girl was impressed with her mother. I thought the numbers had to be wrong.
“Forty pound dumbbells?” I asked.
“Yes,” my wife responded. “I can do sets of 10 reps. I usually do about 5 sets.”
I look surprised.
“Mom, you should arm wrestle Dad,” Emily said. “You could beat him, I know it.”
“Sure,”said Tim. My supporter was not very enthusiastic. “You can beat her. Right Dad?”
“Sure,” I replied reluctantly.
“Do it Mom!” Emily said.
My wife gave me a challenging look and smile. I could not refuse.
We set up at the counter. My wife’s arms looked very powerful. I typically find this sexy. Now it felt frightening. What if she won? What would the kids think? I should get back to the gym. Then I knew I had to think positively. No way she could win. I had 45 pounds on her. I was taller. I’d use leverage.
All the thoughts collided as we locked hands and I felt her powerful grip. “I should warn you honey,” she said sweetly, “I’ve done this a few times at the gym. And I usually win.”
Emily added “Yea. I saw her beat some guy last week and he was younger and stronger than you Dad.”
“Another one of the trainer’s students,” my wife explained matter of factly. “But he isn’t as strong as he looks.”
I was worried. My daughter gave a quick three count and my wife exploded. Clearly she had done this several times. Her technique was good. Mine was not and she was strong. In seconds she had turned my hand and was pulling my arm toward her chest. I pulled back struggling but was not gaining any ground. After several more seconds I tried to shift my weight but she moved faster rotating her shoulders and gaining leverage.
I pulled as hard as I could now but got nowhere. Breathing hard I looked up. My wife was smiling and did not appear to be straining.
I gave a lunge trying to bring our arms to neutral but she bore down and took my hand to the counter top solidly. It was over. It might have lasted 30 seconds. It felt like an hour. My forearm ached as she released her grip on my hand and straightened up.
My daughter raised her mother’s powerful arms over head in victory. Tim looked surprised but resigned. I told myself that it was time to get back to the gym, quickly.
