Sweet Revenge

I'm about a year ahead of my husband in the fitness-regimen department. He has done some running and some weight lifting here and there, but nothing hard core. No P90X or group fitness classes, no official "training" or routine.

And in that year, he's made fun of me EVERY.CHANCE.HE.GOT when I was sore, couldn't move, complained and whined about my sore, achy bones and muscles. He thought I was exaggerating and kidding when I couldn't take off my own shirt or bend over to get something. He snickered when I'd reach for something and tears would stream down my face. Most of that has worn off as I've learned how to train my muscles and give them the right amount of work and rest. It also helps that I have enough muscles tone now to be past some of that nightmare.

But NOW, it's HIS TURN. He finally gets it. P90X has turned him into a cry-baby little girl (ok, that's probably exaggerating, but it makes me giggle to write it). He can hardly walk. I tell him to plow through it, to work through the pain. He looks at me through hateful eyes. He asks what he can do to get past the soreness. I just laugh. He wants to know when the pain will stop and the muscles will be trained. I just smile inwardly.

He's been apologizing a lot lately. And I've been soaking it up. Tonight I might rub mineral ice on his shoulders. Maybe. Then I'll dash off to kickboxing and revel in my glory.

This is what sweet revenge tastes like. I must admit, it's pretty tasty. But what whets the appetite even more than revenge is the fact that he's doing it. He's sticking with it and he is trying his best. And I'm so very proud. I will keep my mouth shut unless he asks for my advice and cheer him on. Because him taking care of his body isn't just for him...it's for me, too. And who am I to let pride get in the way?!