Last week we had a rare supervision hiccup where both Kev and I had scheduled things in the evening, so Momo’s long-held dream came true and she got to come with me to the mysterious, magical place I’ve been disappearing every Wednesday for the past almost five (!!) years: weightlifting with my personal trainer. I’ve wanted to take her ever since she expressed an interest in it, but the community gym’s age restriction is 12 and, y’know, personal training time is my time, but it was still fun having her there.

Man, though, I wish I had this kid’s healing powers. We walked home afterwards (stopping for slurpees, of course) and we were completely bushed, and usually, for me I just get more and more stiff over the next three days. Momo, of course, popped up the next day feeling fresh and limber and ready to go again right away. Me? Still feeling it.

I think she’s a convert though, or at least will be when she’s old enough to train at the local weight room. It was really great to see her push herself, and the look of pride on her face when she succeeded. It’s what keeps me going too, and I hope she keeps that healthy sense of how to push herself in good ways. It’s helped me feel a lot more simpatico with my body, and I can only imagine how much more confident and grounded I would have felt as a teenager if I’d fostered that relationship earlier.


(No dialogue; captions label six panels as ‘Momo’s first workout’, ‘One hour later’, ‘Two hours’, ‘Ten hours’, ’24 hours’, ’48 hours’. In each successive panel, Momo is looking more hale and hearty while Lindsay slowly looks more sore until they’re lying on the ground in the Family Guy ‘death’ pose)