Some Saturdays, I have a teenage exercise partner.

My 15-year-old daughter started joining me at the small gym in the neighborhood where we live shortly after the start of the new year.  She went the first time out of embarrassment; she had lost the push up challenge.

For a year, I’ve been doing push ups as part of my exercise routine and feeling pretty good about progressing from being able to do none to doing at least ten without stopping. I was bragging one day about my abilities (okay, I know it’s only a few push ups but at 50-something that’s something to be proud of) and my daughter  told me she didn’t believe I could do it. So the contest began. I won.

Of course, she asked for a rematch.  I suggested she go with me to the gym and she liked the idea. We’ve been walking beside each other on treadmills (she can go faster and teases me about it) and moving up and down on the step machines.  We’ve been doing  push ups, and sit ups.

It’s been an enjoyable mother-daughter time for us, particularly during these teenage years when parents are at the bottom of the priority list. We have a favorite routine while we’re huffing and puffing. We watch reruns of “Everybody Hates Chris,” the comedy based on the teenage experiences of comedian Chris Rock.

We haven’t set a date yet for the rematch.  (I’m looking around for the Rocky soundtrack, just in case.)

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