Thirty jumping jacks was all I had to do. Little boy was really eager to “workout” with me. As I prepared to start my first one, he yelled out, “One!” and continued on counting right in sync. I gave him a big smile and did my jumping jacks with great gusto and good cheer.
And then he got into the teens. “Fifteen…Seventeen..”
This isn’t so bad I thought. I’m okay skipping a number or two.
And then we were in the 20’s.
And then we were back in the teens.
We were not getting any closer to 30. At all.
Things continued on in this vein.
Little boy was belting out the numbers and I was flapping my arms.
I thought to myself that this would make for an even better workout and I was okay with that, until I started tiring. And then I realized that instead of a mildly more intense workout, I was really trapped in some Kafkaesque novel. The fun was quickly leaving.
And then somehow or other, we were there! Thankfully.