A proud kid

In November of 2016, I wrote in a blog entry that my dad was diagnosed with Parkinson's disease.  A little over a year later, and this is him:

Yeah, that's right.  My dad's boxing. He boxes twice a week and goes to Pilates once a week. When I was home over Christmas I went to both with him. 

His boxing gym, Rock Steady, is specifically for those with Parkinson's (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ngeihe5MU9U).  And far from being some easy soft aerobics class, a class there is like a boot camp session. We punched bags, we ran laps, we did what they call rabbits and my ballerina self calls chassés, we did crunches and bicycles, we rode the stationary bicycles, we did the speed bag, which I never did get the hang of, we punched bags in a whole bunch of different ways.  And we played with a big blowup balloon, which was my favorite.  While bouncing it around in a circle, my dad said to me he loves that they're probably the only 60 and 70-year-olds around who get to act like teenagers on a beach.  I told him that this was my first time playing it where it didn't turn into a mean game of keep-away, and I much prefer playing with 60 and 70-year-olds than with teens. (Then again, I also prefer socializing with 60 and 70-year-olds to socializing with 30-year-olds.  I never have figured out how to carry on a conversation with someone my own age, so I'm probably weird like that.  Or younger people have forgotten how to have conversations without their phones. But that's a different blog post.)

I have no big point or witty comment with this blog post.  I'm just a proud daughter, bragging about my dad, who, along with everyone else at that gym, fights back against Parkinson's rather than feeling sorry for himself.