Last weekend, my cousin visited me with his two delightful children. When his talkative and hilarious six-year-old son wanted to explore the storage closet in the corner of my living room, I said, “Go right ahead, but there’s nothing too exciting in there.”
I walked over to find him staring at a shelf holding two five-pound hand weights.
“I lift weights sometimes,” he said.
“Oh yeah?” I replied, knowing that his parents are quite active and health conscious. “You work out?”
The kid then sat on my couch and leaned back proudly. “I have . . . one ab.”
I tried my best not to double over laughing.
“I almost have two,” he continued.
Moments later, he asked if he could try my rowing machine, which also happened to be in my living room in an attempt to combat winter laziness. His mom coached him through the motions, and then informed him he only had a minute left.
“Noooo!” he shouted. “I need more abs!”
His little sister echoed this refrain when she got on the machine moments later, and when they finished, they checked the display. Together, they had rowed 37 meters.
“We got 37 abs!” they yelled, triumphant.
Never did I think I’d be so entertained by the youthful pursuit of exercise excellence.