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We talked it over and decided how hard could a course entitled "Outdoor Recreation" be? Â It would be fun! Â It would be a great opportunity to get a tan! Â It would also be the perfect opportunity for Kenneth to get to know Kenna.
Kenneth had returned just two months earlier from his overseas stint that finished his military career!  It would give him the perfect opportunity to spend some one-on-one time with Kenna, who had just turned one and had been born while he was in Germany.
We were smart enough not to elect to live in a tent for a week, as many of the participants were. Â We decided instead to come home in the evenings.
So! Â The first day arrives! Â We report for the orientation. Â As the instructors begin their presentation, I'm looking around. Â Janet and I stand out like opera stars at a Nicks basketball game.
"Animals" are prowling about everywhere! (that was the nickname on campus for the athletes short on brain but long on brawn.)  They co-mingled with ladies who stood about six feet with  muscles bigger than my brothers' who seemed to know exactly what the whole concept of "Outdoor Recreation" was REALLY all about!! Dang!  They were even on a first-name basis with most of the instructors.  They had to be the lady physical education majors.
I'm still undeterred! Â After all, the only thing we had to do was stay away from the jocks and the jockettes, do the minimum, lie on the beach the rest of the day, and collect our automatic "A" at the end of the week, tanned and beautiful for the remainder of the summer. Â WRONG!!!!
As I look over the syllabus, I see that after the morning orientation, we will have lunch; then we will spend the afternoon in light PT.  The rest of the week will be taken up by tennis, sailing, golf, swimming and rowing.
Janet turns to me and asks,  "What the heck is 'PT'?"  Now, this is a thirty-three-year-old woman with perfectly manicured nails, with  hair professionally coiffed whose most vigorous physical activity EVER was being a cheerleader in high school.
I, on the other hand, at least had played basketball, so I knew 'PT' meant physical exercise. Â
"Oh, it's physical calisthenics, but it says 'light', so we'll probably just do some limbering exercises."  WRONG AGAIN!!!
After lunch, Â it began! Â Three straight hours of jumping jacks, push-ups, duck-walking (we waddled, managing to bring up the rear of the group); sprints (I held my own; Janet quit in disgust, claiming a possible attack of asthma might be coming on). Â I'm 28 myself and hadn't lifted a finger to exercise since high school basketball.
At four, they finally dismissed us. Â Janet and I dragged our bruised and beaten bodies to the car, though I'm not sure our butts ever made it.
Driving back, we discuss whether we should withdraw; but, neither of us wishing to admit to the other that we JUST MIGHT be in over our heads, we decide the worst must surely be behind us now.  BOY, WERE WE NAIVE!!!
The next morning to say that we were sore would be an understatement. We walked like a couple of old, wizened cowboys who hadn't been off a horse in years. Â Every muscle screamed if we moved the slightest in any direction.
And that tan we were going to get???  While those silly "animals" and jockettes had smeared some horrible white gunk all over their noses and the rest of their bodies the day before, we had confidently applied our baby oil/iodine mixture to accelerate our tan.
So, to add to our agonizing muscles, we looked like a couple of fried lobsters when we arrived Tuesday for our second day of what was going to become a week of hell.
(To Be Continued)
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