For the last two Sundays, two of the hottest days that Britain has ever seen (this may be a slight exaggeration…) I have spent the morning sweating ungracefully at a boot camp. Yes, that’s a BOOT CAMP.
We have managed to wangle some regular Sunday morning babysitting, and the lovely husband suggested I join him at his weekly boot camp. I have seen the state he’s in after his Sunday morning beatings, and it’s not pretty. But I said yes anyway, because I’m not a wuss. (I am a wuss. But don’t tell anyone.)
I am not a boot camp kind of girl.
I don’t like being shouted at. I don’t enjoy competition (unless I am really, really, really good at something, like Guitar Hero, or poker.) I hate burpees. Don’t know what a burpee is? Have a look at this video. It’s the most evil exercise of all. And even worse if you’re carrying a little weight. Ahem. At boot camp, they are very fond of burpees. They make us do the ‘expert’ version with the jump:
So, the first week, me, the lovely husband, and his little brother rocked up for our beating. Me and the little brother were bloody terrified. We stood around nervously chatting for a bit, and I had that horrible nervous-in-the-pit-of-your-stomach feeling that you get before an exam. The trainer leading the session bounced up with a freakish and worrying amount of energy, and explained the warm up. Basically, a four mile run, in scorching heat. We all plodded off, muttering miserably, and I set up camp at the back of the pack.
I won’t lie, it was hard. Normally, a four mile run wouldn’t bother me, but I was comparing myself to all the other people in the class, and realizing just how much work I need to do to get up to a really decent level of fitness. And I was sweating like crazy.
It was an out and back route, and once the fastest runner got to the furthest point, we all turned back, so as to keep the group together. I made it back in fourth place because I never stopped running, when at least half the class wilted in the sun and ended up walking. Suddenly, I wasn’t feeling too bad at all.
The rest of the first class involved hill sprints and burpees and squats. In the midday sun. Evil, evil, evil. And yes, I was the slowest in the class, but I gritted my teeth and kept going when others melted and gave up once again. I ended up knackered, but feeling like I’d achieved something.
So, this week, I went back for more.
Today, we did a hilly running circuit of 1/2 mile, followed by a series of burpees. Followed by another lap of 1/2 mile. Then more burpees. Repeat ad nauseum, quite literally.
I managed 7 laps. I am still the slowest runner in the class, but completed an average number of laps, because I kept going, at my own pace, didn’t walk once, didn’t stop ever. At the end, the instructor said that I was “amazing,” “a warrior” and “an inspiration.” I was chuffed to bits.
Do you know what? I am a warrior. A sweaty, bloody minded, girly warrior, carrying a little baby weight, bringing up the rear of the class, and not letting it stop me.
Maybe I am a boot camp kind of girl after all.