My Three Year Old Personal Trainer

Weightlifting has been a staple in my everyday life for years. The bug bit me when I was in high school but, since I was not active in sports, I had no access to a gym and no guidance from anyone that could really tell me how to workout. I was on my own; starting with ten-pound dumbbells and a workout leaflet that came with the weights. Months later, after Mom and Dad realized what I was doing in my room, I received a vinyl barbell set and a small, department store bench that probably cost under twenty dollars.

I have since graduated from high school, the military, one failed marriage, several engagements and those "pre-school" weights. I now own a complete set of dumbbells, barbells, a nautilus machine and a bench that my wife bought me for my birthday. I turned my garage into a gym, canceled my membership to the local YMCA and, BOOM! I am often seen in my gym, clanging weights around and getting myself in better shape as the weeks go by, ready to take on the entire world!

Until my three-year-old "personal trainer" daughter, Emma, gets a hold of me...

Hours after lifting weights, Emma gets me out of bed, shouting words of motivation that keeps me from lying still for ten more minutes. "C'mon, Dad! Get outta bed and play with me! You have to dance!"

"Dancing" with Emma could mean so many different things and I never know what I have to look forward to each day. One day, we actually do dance, prancing around the living room while her choice of music plays on the one of the many radio channels our cable company provides. But on a day when she feels like going hardcore on me, I often find myself on the floor with her, bending my body and stretching my limbs in positions that the human torso was not meant to be in. Just when my body is about to give up, Emma presents me with another challenge by flinging her forty pound frame onto my hands and bounding hard upon my chest.

Rest is not an option with my personal trainer. When I have to have a drink of water, Emma follows me into the kitchen and makes for sure that the kitchen sink is my only stop. When nature calls me into the bathroom, Emma is right there on the other side of the closed door, knocking and demanding me to, "...hurry up and get out."

Next, Emma puts me through a forty pound resistance, total body workout that has me bending and stooping, lifting and twisting her body repeatedly while she is motivating me with shouts of encouragement. "Wee! C'mon, Dad! Faster!"

At nine PM, (give or take a few minutes), my personal trainer is off to cater to another client, her mother. While I am in the shower, cleansing myself of sweat and exercise stink, Emma is stimulating my wife's mind with jigsaw puzzles and storybooks.

I am bewildered every time I look at myself in the mirror.

I see my belly jutting out over my belt and I wonder, "What is Emma going to put me through tomorrow night?"