Let's Get Physical

I went to visit my mother this weekend. We have been talking about failing health a lot lately. We've seen so many family members going through various illnesses, which is what got us discussing better living. She already has improved her eating habits and said she wants to start exercising. She's even mentioned envy of my LO Racer 2006.

I told her that I had some low-impact equipment I could bring that would help her get started. I have this kit that has been sitting in my garage unused for quite a while. It came with 1-pound weights for wrists and ankles, a jump rope, hand grips, and a thigh master of sorts.

She sounded excited about the thigh master so I brought it to her. After hours of sitting around shooting the shit and drinking tons of coffee, our discussion turned to getting in shape. It wasn't long before she attempted her workout.

She sat on the edge of the couch, placed the thigh master between her legs. She pressed her thighs together and let out a holler. Mama done broke her cooter bone on the thigh master. She had it crammed too far back and when she squeezed, the center hit her right in the cooter.

I tried not to laugh at her but there was no controlling the giggles. She assumed she had the thigh master turned the wrong way, and while I was laughing my guts out, she tried again. She turned it pointing away from her cooter. She squeezed her thighs together one more time. The thigh master slipped off of her jeans and out from between her legs and whacked the dog in the head.

I was rolling. She dropped to the floor next to the dog and started rubbing her head and apologizing. She ran into the kitchen to get an icepack for the dog, and that just killed me more.

Whoever said that exercise never killed anyone, never asked Mom's dog.