Sick Muscles

"Saimi, my muscles are sick."

"No Pep, your muscles are sore." 

Pep was our foreign exchange student from Spain. He came to us when we still had our three boys at home. Pep was 16, a year older than our oldest son who was 15, then on down to our other sons, ages 13 and 12. 

His first host family wasn't a good fit so I figured, what's one more and included him into our family.  He took a weight class at the High School and it didn't take long for him to feel the ill effects of a vigorous workout.

"Saimi, my muscles are sick," he whined.

'Pep, they're sore."

"No, no you must understand me, they're sick."

Trying not to laugh at his whiney translation, I tried to get it through to him that the proper translation for 'sick muscles' is to say, 'sore muscles'.

He never bothered to grasp the 'sick, vs sore' so I let it go.

After all these years, our family still gets a chuckle when we think of Pep and his phrase for sore muscles.

Now that preschool is over for the summer, I've reacquainted myself  with the gym I ditched months ago. I'm already two days into it and tomorrow will be my third day in a row, if I can muster up the strength to get myself there.

Our trainer showed no mercy for my absence and to say the least, my muscles are 'sick.' So sick that going up or down stairs or trying to sit or even rise after I've sat is painful.

If Pep were here now, I would tell him I most certainly understand him. 

My muscles are sick, not sore.