The other day, my 13-yr-old cheerleader daughter beat a 15-yr-old boy in a push-up contest.

It wasn’t something she set out to do. It seems, however, that in the last few minutes of world history class, some of the boys decided to rib her a little.

“Do you know how to do a push-up?” one asked.

With the literal interpretation of an autistic child, she answered that she did and proceeded to get out of her chair to demonstrate.

“Wait!” said another boy, grinning impudently. “We mean a one-armed push-up!”

Unphased, my daughter got on the ground and surprised all the boys by doing two one-armed push-ups.

Amidst dropped jaws and exclamations of amazement, the class turned to the the boy who had challenged her to do a one-armed push-up, asking him if he could do that. He shook his head vigorously. “No way,” he said. “There is no way I could do that!”

Not to be outdone, another boy in the class challenged her to a push-up contest, which she accepted. After she had obviously beaten him and continued on, to the delighted laughter of her classmates, the teacher finally told her to go ahead and get up off the floor.

Her cheer coach was not surprised in the least, when I told her about it. “Next time,” she said, “have them challenge her to starfish jumps. She just keeps going.”

We figure she must have inherited her hidden wiry strength from my husband, who has always had greater strength than he appears to have.