My husband George and I met on a blind date five years ago. Of the many things discussed that night, one that particularly delighted us, was discovering our shared love of fitness. I had recently become hooked on Barry's Boot Camp, and after a few weeks of dating, I invited George along for a class. He was a bit worried (he was still in a phase where he was trying to impress me), but he agreed to join.
Something happened during that class. Side by side on our treadmills, we playfully competed in our sprints, clapping our hands and shouting encouraging words to each other. We stood side-by-side lifting weights, glancing back and forth at each other in the mirror with sly smiles. When it was over, we felt like we had made it through a war together. I no longer cared what my hair looked like or that I was sweating like crazy. The shared flood of endorphins and pride at a job well done overshadowed everything else.
That one class kicked off a theme for the rest of our relationship. We began to take Barry's together several times a week, and when the time eventually came for George to propose, he did so on their treadmills!
Fitness was the cornerstone of our relationship, and it turned out to be a firm bedrock on which to build a life together.
One day, a friend invited us to participate in a 5k she was organizing, so we signed up. We immediately fell in love with races and began doing them together regularly. They provided really cool opportunity to spend quality time together and develop a shared hobby. But when our son was born, it seemed like the days of enjoying those weekend morning adventures together were over.