Tonight, Jaclyn and I tried to partake in a free couples “date night” class at Burn Boot Camp. Looking for any reason to work out — and knowing that they provide on-site childcare — I was optimistic about the training session.
And yet, once we arrived, a bad feeling started to set in. Maybe it was the fact that Miles was crying when we left him in the babysitting room, maybe it was the fact that he had also been crying the entire drive to the gym… Honestly, it was both, and I really wasn’t liking our odds of getting just one goddamn hour to work out.
Sure enough, about ten minutes into the workout, one of the attendants stepped up to Jaclyn. “Are you Miles’s mom?”
I agreed to go check in on him. He was, predictably, wailing despite being in a room filled with toys based on familiar characters (Chewbacca! Batman!) where he was surrounded by other kids who were impressively trying their best to make him happy. I scooped him into my arms and held him for a few minutes, trying to help him calm down and find something to engage with that was interesting enough for him to ignore his primal fear of abandonment. Eventually I was able to sneak away after he became fixated on a musical piano toy.
When I returned to the workout room, I had no idea where I was supposed to go or what I was supposed to be doing, so I did my best to assimilate back into the class while knowing deep inside that such persistence was foolhardy. I had just finished what frankly felt like ten rounds of tricep pushups when the childcare attendant once again approached us.
And with that, we (literally) threw in the towel and decided that we’d have to leave. A disappointing end to our date night workout, although even a mere 25% of the whole session was enough to make my arms sore.