Leg Wrestling

So I got into a leg wrestling match with my brother at my birthday party when he beat me in arm wrestling. I had been curious about this for years. My brother is very nearly five years younger than me and, while I was able to pick him up and toss him when we were kids, time has taken us in different paths since then. My brother and I both went to college but, while doing that, he worked in construction and I worked in child care. His self-fulfilling prophecy of being taller than me also came true. He swore it would happen when he was younger as if unconsciously tapping into some universal karmic alignment that would even the scales of my occasional bullying.

So there we were on the first weekend in August, each of us having had one or two to drink and about to arm wrestle. We hunkered down over a cooler which served as our level surface. The brother was in good humor about my chances, probably not wanting to embarass me too much at my own party. Neverthless, the match was over pretty quickly. My lugging dozens of kids around on a daily basis provided me with maybe thirty seconds of resistance before he slammed my right arm down. I was crushed and not surprised at the same time.

I truthfully can't remember if he, or I, or our audience of half a dozen suggested that we leg wrestle to even the score. But I was thankful for it. My brother is a manly sort of chap having framed and sided houses for years. But, blessedly, this translates to his upper body and, where my abs are pretty flacid, my legs are like steel chords. I was in marching band in high school and I've been a bike rider for years; I walk places and, the past couple years, I like to jog. I slammed my right leg down, overturning my younger brother, in as much time as it took him to best me in the previous match. With four cute girls watching, I was vindicated. Part of me still wonders if this moment was one that my baby brother designed.