this is what happened at Body Combat

Maybe (technically speaking) going to the gym today was not the smartest move.  I'm still battling vestiges of this month-long flu and my balance is not, shall we say, terrific.  But I was missing Teresa and her Saturday morning Body Combat class at Club La Maison.  I was in need of some air-punching, knee-stomping, kick-slapping action.  And besides, it's St. Patty's Day.  Teresa is always good for a holiday.

So I went, and 45 minutes in I was breathing heavy and thinking of quitting when a woman who has been absent from among us for quite awhile appeared in the doorway, her pink cap on, her smile still bright, her fists still ready to knock some air.  She has been battling a real illness, we have been worried for her, and when we saw here there, ready to give Combat a few of her rounds, the room erupted with cheers, Teresa the loudest of all.

We go to the gym to stretch our muscles, to move our blood, to make room for an afternoon cookie—of course.  But mostly it's the camaraderie that keeps us returning.  It's Teresa in her Irish hat and tie, her stick-on tattoos, her insistence that we keep going, no matter what.

It's the courage that we find in others.