My sister and I are not athletes, as mentioned prior. My sister however, is active. She has been dedicated to her physical fitness since high school, even went to the gym in the final trimester of her pregnancy with my nephew. For my sister, there is no excuse not to get active, for me, there are so many excuses I have trouble finding which one to use on any given day.
When I was in both high school and University, my sister decided that she would become personally responsible for my physical fitness, much to my dismay. Her enthusiasm for the gym is outrageous and causes me to cry sad tears.
If I was a cartoon character, I would be Garfield. I love food, and I hate mornings (and don't get me started on Mondays and Nermal). I am a grumpy person in the morning, I don't like to talk to people and if you wake me up out of a deep sleep, I apologize in advance for my reaction. I do not, enjoy, getting out of bed. Let's face it, I'm lazy.
My sister wakes up fully upon alarm, and often, before it even goes off (I know, is that possible?!) She springs out of bed ready to attack the day from the start. I am at that point never, closest to it around 11am.
With her alertness, she would wake me up for the gym or related physical activity every morning, by pouncing on my bed and singing “Good Moooooorning, what a happy day” repeatedly until having to remove the covers and me from bed. She may as well have let off an air horn to wake me up, would have eased me into the day more effectively.
No excuse ever worked with Betty Anderson to avoid exercise, no, she was like the gym coach that always told you to “run it off”. I am thankful now, and to this day will only be my best at working out if I have some instructor military type making me. She helped me with this important self discovery.
Every day after we exercised I thanked her for getting me out of bed, and she would promise to do it again the following day. It was helpful, but also annoying. My sister started to get into running before she was into the gym, and this is the start of where her making me participate began.
It was a warm spring evening, my sister and I both in high school. I could jog, but I could never run at this point in time, to much effort. Therefore, when my sister went for a run, I would only join her on my bike (besides even if I tried to run I couldn’t keep up). She may be a doctor, but I think I am smarter. A bike has wheels and is a better mode of transport than the old shoelace express (I do not take ownership of this expression, but I do love it).
Before any good workout, it's important (at least I thought it was) to have a good meal first. On this special day, my mom had gone out of her way to cook up a stir fry (she went through a stir fry phase, note sarcasm). My sister announced to me at dinner we would be going for a run after, and spent the meal convincing me it was mandatory. My parents supported her.
After the meal was cleaned up, my sister an I changed into our workout clothes, and stretched. My sister's work out clothes at the time included a sports bra with a mesh running top and short running shorts that showed of her fit figure. Being the round shape that I am, I was rocking a baggy t shirt, a saggy sports bra, and sweat pants.
I pulled my bike out of the garage, and noticed it was starting to get dark. My sister gave me the hurry up and lets go look, and off we went. Every time we did this, I was always surprised at how fast I had to go to keep up with her, and I had wheels. I would entertain my sister by acting out various radio stations as we made our way down the road, and par usual I was suddenly thankful she motivated me yet again.
The sun set and the street lights came on. Our neighbourhood backed on to a ravine, that provided wildlife sittings (deer and rabbits count) and a place of complete darkness on one side of the road. As made our way to the first turn, my sister stopped running suddenly and turned to me.
“Get off the bike, I need it.” she was stern and very serious.
“What?” I had stopped and was sitting on the bike, looking at her very puzzled.
“I have to go home NOW, give me the bike.” she said louder.
Now I was completely confused. She wanted me to get off the bike after she pleaded I come with her, to leave me out here in the dark to walk home, alone. “What?” I said again, “Why?!”
My sister is a much more private person than I am, and so this would have been a tough time for her to live through, I will give her that credit, because she was forced to then say “I have to shit now, get off the bike, I need to go home.”
I got my leg half lifted over the bike and she was already on it and half way home. As she raced off into the distance she yelled back a sorry, and I found myself standing alone in the dark. For someone in grade nine, this shouldn't have been all that scary.
I didn't grow up in a “rough” part of town, I grew up in middle class suburbia. I did however grow up in a city where a very famous man and his wife abducted and killed two teens, and when seven years old the second victim was then missing in my town and parents went insane. I recall walking to school with all neighbourhood children and being scared that one of us was next. I had a sense of fear ingrained in me from a young age, and for a good reason.
It had been years passed and the man and his wife had been arrested, but suddenly this fear washed over me as I stood on the street in the dark, and for the first time in my life, I ran. I ran all the way home, gasping for air and using the adrenaline that was coursing through my veins. I kept thinking I saw a dark shadow coming out from the wooded ravine and it pushed me forward (it was most likely just the trees).
In the back of my mind I was cursing my sister, wondering how having to use the bathroom meant we couldn’t just turn around and go home, she just had to leave me out here all by myself. As I turned the corner on our circle (lunatics don't live on streets you see) I could see the house and finally felt safe.
Red faced, sweating and desperate for air I fell through the front door. As I closed it behind me I looked up the stairs to see my sister coming out of the bathroom. I was mad, and I stood there firm faced and yelled, “Thanks a LOT Bets, you left me...” and with that I cut myself off, raced up the stairs, and into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. All I could hear on the other side was her giggling.
The lesson of this story, never under any circumstances eat my mom's stir fry and leave the house. If possible, remain on the same floor as a bathroom. OK, so it was probably a one time thing, her stir fry never had that affect before or after. Because it was my mom's stir fry however, my sister and I now use this as a reference point for illness.
Example:
Betty: How was work today?
Me: Ugh, didn't go, stomach flu.
Betty: Bad?
Me: Stir Fry bad.
Betty: Shitty.
My sister and I have bonded over many strange things, this story of bonding, is one of my favourites.
