My boy

I had another session with my 11-year-old personal trainer/drill sergeant tonight. I didn't get called "Maggot," exactly, but he has his own a way of making it clear that anything less than 100% effort is not acceptable. ("See my face, Mom? See all this sweat dripping down it? You're hardly sweating at all!") He's also off-the-charts competitive. ("I'm a tenth of a mile ahead of you! You'll never catch me at that rate! Remember when I beat you in those sprints last summer?") The little lunatic's heart rate on the treadmill actually hit 200 beats per minute. Frankly, I don't know if that's even healthy, but as I stared at the reading in horror, he reacted by throwing his arms in the air and shouting "YEEESSSS!"

Anyway, we did the eagerly awaited 1-mile run, 1-mile bike, 1-mile swim triathlon. And we both high-fived and hugged when it was over, because that is actually harder than it sounds.

Can't wait to see what he has in store for us next time.