Ashton at the Gym

My 13-year-old son Ashton has joined our gym.

Lorie and I have been going to the Wellness Center which is affiliated with the hospital she works at for almost a year now. Before that, we were going to Gold’s. We’re believers in regular exercise, and the kids have been exercising since each of them turned 4.

Ashton has been doing three sets of push-ups for me for nine years. Lately, he starts with one set of 25 knuckle push-ups, and his other two sets are flat hand at 30 push-ups.

I had been wrestling with when exactly he would be ready to exercise on his own or join a gym or perhaps start using weights. You hear different things about when they can start, but really it boils down to the person and their mindset. If they’re ready, they’ll be into it.

A couple of weeks ago Ashton started going past his Daddy-set goals for push-ups. One day his three sets were 30-35-40. The next exercise session he went 30-40-50. This infuriated his six-year-old brother, who considers the two of them to be in competition.

But once Ashton started showing a willingness to push himself, I knew he was beyond Daddy-regulation and ready to join the gym.

He signed up eagerly. He was actually a little excited about it. The personal trainers there assessed him, designed a routine for him, showed him how to use the electronic key, and turned him loose.

Last week was the first time we went to the gym when Ashton was there to work out on his own and not meet with a personal trainer. I split off from him and went about my normal routine; occasionally looking around to see where he was and if he was still doing okay. He was moving from treadmill to stationary bike to weights to rowing machine all on his own.

I finished my two sets of cardio and moved into the weight area. As I was moving from one machine to the next, I passed my son. That’s kind of an odd feeling. Anyway, he was at one machine struggling with how to adjust the seat. So I stopped to help him out.

I waited patiently for him to acknowledge my presence, which he did not.

I tapped him on the shoulder. He looked up, ear buds still in and iPod still blaring. I waited for him to pause his music and remove his ear buds, which he did not.

I motioned for him to ditch the ear buds. He did so reluctantly.

“What.” He grunted at me.

“Do you need a hand with that?” I asked.

“No.” He grunted at me.

“You sure?” I pressed.

“Yeah.” He grunted at me.

In case you’re not aware, I’m not really used to be talked to like this. Especially not by one of my own kids. But I want the gym thing to be a pleasant experience and I want to treat him like he’s a real person and all that crap.

I watched him spin the knob to adjust the seat. I suggested he pull instead of spin. He pulled and the seat dropped. He straightened and stared at me, waiting for me to leave.

“We good?” I asked.

“Yeah.” He grunted at me. Putting the ear buds back in.

So…. Yeah.

My 13-year-old son Ashton has joined our gym.

Have I mentioned he’s a teenager now?


Thanks,
DCD