Category Archives: I Work Out (Boot Camp)

Day Two. It Hurts.

Today I completed day two of boot camp.
There are four places on my body that do not hurt. My feet, my hands, my face and my you know what.
I pretty much hate every minute of it while I’m there, but I absolutely love the way that I feel as I’m driving home. I feel so accomplished, so strong, so full of energy, so ready to take on the day.
Yesterday all of the newbies had to do a timed mile. I came in third (out of four people total) at 12:00 exactly. Before we started, the instructor was all “this is not a race. This is to test where you’re at, so we can pair you with the right people for our running exercises.” I wasn’t happy with my results, but I wasn’t surprised either. I suck at running because I hate running. I have tried for many months to love running, but it hasn’t happened yet. Every time I run, I think “Man, I hate this.” People who say things like “I look forward to running!” really worry me because I don’t think it’s normal to look forward to something so awful.
Speaking of awful– push-ups are the worst. The absolute worst. And guess what? They LOVE to do push-ups in boot camp. And not the kind where you are on your knees, oh no. They like to do The Real Push-ups. I had to do a push-up test and guess how many I could do? Seven. And those seven almost killed me. My body was shaking, I was sweating and the instructor was all up in my face saying “PUSH THROUGH IT! YOU CAN DO IT!” And I was all “No, I can’t! Look! I’m shaking!” THE WORST.
There are things that I love about it. I love being outside while it’s still dark, I love the cool morning breeze all up on my sweaty face. I love watching the sun rise while I’m on my back and Hot Trainer is all “leg blasts! Butt up in the air!” I also love the minute it is over and how accomplished I feel that I managed to get through the entire workout without farting, because, MAN, it’s hard to NOT fart during boot camp.
I’m looking forward to the next six weeks. I can’t wait to see the results of what I know now will be extremely hard, challenging but very rewarding work.

Extreme Buff Camp

On Saturday morning, I did something kind of crazy.
I enrolled in Extreme fitness boot camp.
That means that starting tomorrow morning, and every morning, five days a week for the next six weeks, I will wake up at 4:45 am (four! forty! five!) to get ready to be tortured with various outdoor exercises for an entire hour.
Drastic, but absolutely necessary.
I’ve gained eleven pounds in the past few months. Then I’ve lost those eleven pounds and then I’ve gained them back again. It’s frustrating, it’s unhealthy. Truth? I can’t blame my thyroid disease. I can’t blame the fact that I am insulin resistant. (Because all of my test results are great!) I can only blame the fact that I’ve been too lazy/exhausted to work out consistently. Also? Chick-Fil-A chocolate milkshakes, which are basically the best thing to happen to my mouth since bean dip.
I need to be challenged (bored to death of the gym) I need to be pushed out of my fitness comfort zone. Fitness boot camp seemed like the perfect thing to get me out of this funk. I can’t lie– I’m terrified (because I am a Fitness Wimp) but I’m up for the challenge. I want to see how far I can push my body, I want to see what I am capable of outside of Zumba and running on the treadmill.
And I can’t lie, I want to get buff.
For the next six weeks, I plan to write about my experience. I hope to be able to share new exercises that I learn and hopefully some healthy recipes (I say hopefully because I am SO BAD at cooking, but I will try!) Once the six weeks is completed, I will share before and after photos/measurements.
Wish me luck. I’m gonna need it (so that I don’t end up in urgent care. Because I ALWAYS end up in urgent care.)

Gym Ra(n)t.

I’m starting to hate the gym.
I should rephrase that.
I’m starting to hate MY gym because my gym is kind of an asshole.
It’s small. There is no child care. They have awesome machines that we are not allowed to use unless we pay for (semi) private sessions with one of their “trainers.”. They added a sauna, but you have to pay extra for it. The aerobics room is tiny and I almost always am tempted to “throw an elbow” because woman don’t respect (aerobic dancing) personal space. The mats are all ripped to shreds and are in desperate need of being replaced.
You know what else? The instructors at my gym are kind of awful. (with the exception of Aerobic Dance Queen, Anna.) The last time when I took Zumba (which, by the way, I need to write about) the instructor constantly talked about food. She would be all “woo! Think of all of the PIES! AND COOKIES! AND ICE CREAM! you can eat after burning all of these calories!” Not EVEN lying.
Here’s the thing.
I have no right to judge my gym. I am a gym Hot Mess.
I fit in perfectly! This gym was made SPECIFICALLY FOR PEOPLE LIKE ME!
Let me give you just a few examples of what I mean.

  • I lost the rubber strap for my Generic mp3 player, so I use my cleavage to hold it when I’m working out or sometimes, I use the string of my sweats and tie that bitch all up in my waist area.
  • I only have 2 pairs of workout pants. And both pair have holes in the crotch. And I can’t find my sewing kit.
  • I can’t control my grunting. Nor can I control my occasional crying on the treadmill (not “sad” crying. But “fuck, yeah, My Body. YOU ARE DOING THIS.” crying.”)
  • My ankle crack. Severely. Like, every single time I take a step, run, squat. If you think I’m exaggerating, here is some actual proof. (Yes. I youtubed that shit. FOR YOU!)
  • Every towel I use at the gym is pretty much COVERED in bleach stains. I can’t bring myself to use my “good towels” to wipe other peoples ass sweat off the bike seat. I just can’t.
  • I am gassy. And gas + any machine involving squeezing the lower half of my body= *pffrtattaaaataa*
  • I have unusually tiny ears. So none of my headphones fit properly in my ears. They’re always falling out, so I’m constantly pushing them back in. And then, sometimes (and when I say “sometimes” I mean “pretty much every time I’m running), while I’m struggling to push one back in, the other one falls out and I lose control of my generic MP3 player and it falls out of my hands, hits the treadmill, goes flying across the gym.

You see? What right do I have to call my gym an asshole for having ripped up floor mats when I am walking around, squatting WITH HOLES IN THE CROTCH OF MY PANTS?
And yet?
I do.
Maybe if my gym tried a little harder, I’d buy some new pants. Maybe if my gym got some new floor mats, I’d go buy a new arm strap for my mp3 player.
Step it up, My Gym. I need some motivation to be a Better Gym Person. I’m not getting it by looking at your broken machines with notes on them since JANUARY 14TH.