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“F-you red shirt guy.”


We pull up to the park and I give the boys clear instructions.

“Cash, you watch your little brothers. Always have eyes on them. Colton and Cooper, stay with Cash. I’m going to do my workout right here.”

I flopped my 20 pound sandbag onto the grass next to the mulch of the playground. Chris worked last night and it was sandbag day for the GRIT challenge. I needed to simultaneously get this workout in and care for the boys by myself. So we hit up a playground so they could play while I worked.

The playground was full. At least 15 kiddos and 7-10 parents. I grab my sandbag and start hauling it back and forth on my shoulders for the “carry” part of the workout. I’ve gotten a couple side glances but other than that most people aren’t paying me much attention.

Except red shirt guy.

As I’m army crawling along the edge of the playground, I look up to make sure the kids are still there and not bloodied. What I catch sight of instead is red shirt guy, taking photos of me.

Now, I do understand I’m a sight to see, floral leggings, bright yellow shirt, husband’s knee pads and plenty of body fluff. I don’t look like someone who would be doing a sandbag and army crawling workout. However, red shirt guy, taking photos of me to most likely post on the internet somewhere and poke fun, makes him king asshole of all the assholes.

Once I glared at him long enough and he realized I knew he was King Asshole, he was quick to put his phone away. He wasn’t however, quick to shut his mouth. He and his wife sat on the bench closest to me and made disparaging comments throughout my roughly 30 minutes of working out.

At the end of my workout when I collected the boys, Cash asked why the man was sitting on the bench talking about me. He heard him, because everyone heard him.

Red shirt guy was able to provide me the opportunity to teach Cash a valuable lesson. That mean people are everywhere, and we DO NOT allow ignorant people with small minds and no manners to keep us from doing the things that are important to us. The things we find value in. No matter how silly we may look doing them.

My opinion of me matters, red shirt guy’s doesn’t. I killed that workout.

The boys fought over who got to carry the sandbag back to the car and at that moment I realized how much I’m impacting them by showing up every day for myself. They’re not only watching me make myself stronger, they’re watching how I take on the red shirt guys of the world. Now when Cash encounters his own red shirt guy, he’ll remember this moment, where his mom kicked ass and he’ll say “fuck you red shirt guy!” and move on about his life.

So thank you red shirt guy, for being your disgusting self, because my son learned a lot from you about what kind of man not to be today. Those lessons are equally as valuable as the good ones.

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