Ever since I signed up W to a children’s gym he has become 1000% more physical and aware of his body in the world. The gym is one of those franchise places, there is probably one in your town, that has a series of classes every day. Each class is divided by age range and in between each class there are sessions of “free play” children may come to once a week.
Thursday is our gym day. I pick up W before lunch from preschool and we rush over to free play followed by a 1:00pm class. He runs around the place with other kids his age while America’s top 40 countdown blasts from speakers in the corners of the room. Since day one he has been enthusiastic about having structured play time and a specific time. He loves his teacher, an older man who looks like he spent decades coaching every sport created under the sun, and he loves the assistant teachers who make him laugh.
Most of all he loves discovering his strength. For a boy who has been working SO hard on shifting his brain to using verbal over physical, I know having this outlet to enjoy and celebrate his power has been really good for him. I love seeing his pride.
Thursday’s physical energy becomes like a flicker of light that lifts and motivates him for days. He dances more, he bends and stretches more, and most of all he pushes himself in this way that I feel like I can hear his mental gears turning to make his body move.
I have never been a person who found happiness in physical activity. Other than enjoying the feeling of electric muscles after a long walk or elliptical glide, the pay off has always just been the goal: fitness or weight loss. Seeing someone love running and climbing and flipping and leaping the way I love plaid is wonderful. Heck he makes ME want to run and climb and flip and leap.