Yesterday, I had some training to attend for work and as a result had to miss my regular spin class. The reports of what was said in my absence were startling.

“It sure is quiet in here today.” Yes, I could see how the absence of my grunting and occasional singing to the music would lower the volume a tad.

Then I may have been referred to as “Mister Sassy.” Sure, I tend to ask for the resistance on the bikes to be turned up, just to play with my classmates. Oh and there is my tendency at the end of class to ask if we can go longer.

Okay, I can see my guilt on both charges. Perhaps I am a bit of a Mister Pain in the Assy. Guilty sure, quiet no. At least my confession can be heard loud and clear.

Heading home from work, I stepped onto an elevator. A few floors down, a tired looking woman entered.

As we continued to descend, I made small talk. Eventually, the woman clarified why she looked a tad bedraggled. “I’m headed home to take care of my son. He has a bad case of influenza.”

Normally in such cases, I’m just filled with sympathy. In this case however, I was stuck in an elevator. No air circulation. Confined space. Trapped with a potentially unsuspecting flu bug host.

Looking at the closed elevator door, I considered scratching and clawing at its stainless steel like a feral cat in a cardboard box. Instead, I counted the seconds and tried to remember the last breathe of fresh air that had filled my lungs. All I could do was pray, “Get me influ-outtahere!” Well, that and her son’s speedy recovery, but you get the idea.

I have achieved a certain level of confidence at the YMCA’s noon exercise classes. I sort of know the routines and for the most part I hold my own. Sure, I’m usually the only dude among the fit moms, but I have embraced my role as the token man and they have accepted me.

Today, I strolled into tabata class with my signature over confidence. First, push ups. No problem. Burpees were up next. I had this.

Then came the next move, one that I didn’t recognize. The instructor called it a Cross Jack or something of some sort. She demonstrated. Arms crossed and unwound, feet crossed and unwound, there may have been a jump thrown into the mix. My likelihood of success was about zero. I shrugged. I had faced down more fearsome moves. I had this.

Then it started. The arms, the legs, an uncoordinated jump. My body was moving every which way with no apparent pattern. My classmates moved with grace, I moved like a broken River Dancer on ice. It was a sad thing to see in the mirror. Sad to see in any way.

Soon, my prayers were answered and the routine moved to a more reasonable form of torture mixed with sweat and breathlessness. My classmates appeared to accept me back into the fold. I was back, but a little of my shine had been removed. Glisten replaced with uncoordinated humiliation.

I tend to have a bit of a Peter Pan Syndrome, always strutting around as if I am forever young. Playful. Childish. Slightly (okay, a lotly) immature. Those are my tendencies.

Well friend, let me tell you about how I encountered my true age. A stark reminder that I have grown up.

That’s right, I attended school conferences and sat in a chair. A student sized chair. Sad to say, this Peter Pan no longer fits.

Checking the pockets of an old suit coat, I found something unsettling. A post-it note containing names and what’s worse, one was crossed out! Oh, my! What in the wide world was I doing? One shudders to think.

Curious how the amount of homework due in our household goes up exponentially, as soon as the request is placed for help cleaning the house.

Curious, indeed.

SVELTERDOODLES

“Need a snack? Need a punch of protein? Need a cookie that will pump you up? Flex that bicep, grab a Svelterdoodle, and enjoy!”

Cookie Ingredients

1/2 cup Butter

3/4 cup Sugar

1 Egg

1 1/8 cups Flour

1/4 cup Muscle Milk Vanilla Flavored Protein Powder

1 teaspoon Cream of Tartar

1/2 teaspoon Baking Soda

1/8 teaspoon Salt

Topping Ingredients

2 Tablespoons Sugar

2 teaspoons Cinnamon

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

Cream butter and sugar.

Mix in egg.

Mix in flour, protein powder, cream of tartar, baking soda, and salt. Set aside.

Combine the sugar and cinnamon for the topping.

Roll Tablespoon sized balls of dough in the topping mixture.

Place on parchment paper lined baking sheets.

Bake 8 minutes or until lightly browned.

Makes about 18 cookies.

Revised Source: “Snickerdoodles” recipe in my cookie cookbook, “Today is a Great Day for a Cookie,” available for free at www.CookiesbyDave.com.

Fast you go

Keeping the time

Respond to my touch

“Stop!” on a dime

True story, as I was driving home, I saw a man walking in a sweatshirt. He was walking in just a sweatshirt, because the folks of Minnesota have for the most part just given up. Also, his skin was extremely light. Five months with no exposure to the sun will do that to someone or an entire state full of people. Oh, he was yawning too. As a result, he looked a lot like this…

Dear God,

Please send Vitamin D. Much appreciated.

Sincerely,

The Good People of Minnesota.

Picking my son Sam up from confirmation class, he asked me something completely unexpected, “Can I sit in the front seat?”

Partially confused (actually completely), I replied with a question, “Can you?”

Partially proud (actually completely), Sam clarified, “Yes, I’m twelve now.”

Hum, I guess he’s right. Probably every previous trip his mom or brother had been in the front. Now, it was his turn.

That’s when I probably felt old that another son was growing up (no, completely old, that’s how I felt).

Next up, “Sam’s Bold Move to Control the Car Radio.” Coming soon to a blog post near you.