Why I Love Boot Camp

Actual quotes from this morning's workout. I'm leaving names out.

"I feel like if I move, I'll poop my pants."

"I think she's just trying to make the blog."

"You should write, 'And then this one girl pooped her pants, and then yelled HOOAH!!'."

I love this group of people so much.

Today was running (so yeah, profanity ahead). It was around 35°F, so that was perfect for me. I was in a tee shirt and my compression tights. Jimmy was concerned that I would be cold. I told him that I turn into a furnace when I run. By the time we were out of the parking lot, I was wishing that I had worn something lighter. I could honestly heat a moderate sized home with what radiates from my body when I run.

So, remember that hill that made me think Shit? We ran that again today. Three fucking times. I didn't puke this time, I only retched a little. But for the love of all that is good and pure, that hill is the suck.

By the time we got to the field I was feeling better; it's generally flat and downhill from the top of hell to the field (which, of course, means that the run back is generally flat and uphill). The drills on the field were good; the sprints with squats at the end of each leg were tough, but I felt pretty strong right up to the end. The ladder drills (also known as suicides; not because they kill you, but because they make you long for the sweet release of death) turned my legs into lead. No, not lead; plutonium (it's heavier, for my non-geek friends). I honestly wasn't sure whether I was going to be able to get back to the studio. Of course, Amber knows what she's doing and I was able to make it back just fine.

As usual, I went through the whole spectrum of emotions regarding boot camp. From hating it when my alarm went off (I was dreaming about shopping, people; you just don't interrupt that), to being glad I was doing it during warm-up, to wishing I could just melt into the pavement and disappear forever during the hill, to feeling like I could conquer the world when I was through. Fortunately, the emotion that sticks is that last one.

Here's a clip of the dreaded Accumulator day. I'm the fat one. But not for long. :)

Get in My Head

Today's post is going to take a bit of a different approach; I'm going to take you through the workout with me, and share a little of what's in my head. Those who know me know that there will be profanity; those who don't, well, there's your warning.

(The times are guesses; I didn't have a watch on.)

4:30 AM: Alarm goes off. Damnit. That dream was just getting good... (None of your business)

5:00 AM: In car. This is too hard. Is it worth it? Seriously, I can't imagine having to do this for the rest of my life to just not be fat. 5:30 in the fucking morning? Seriously? This is what I have to do to just look like a normal human being? Other people don't have to work this hard to not be fat. It's not fair. Whaaah...

5:30 AM: Warm-up. Okay. Feeling better. I can do this today.

5:35 AM: Group jog to first checkpoint. Hey, I'm alright. This is awesome. Candace is very cool...I like this group.

5:40 AM: Look up and see the first hill. Shit. (To be clear, this is what I thought, not what I did...)

5:41 AM: Struggle up the hill. I'm going to die. I'm going to die. Everybody is encouraging me and they are awesome but they know that I'm having trouble because I'm so fat and they feel bad for me and I don't want people to feel sorry for me I can do this OKAY GET OVER YOURSELF NENA these people are on your side they want you to succeed we're all here for the same reason I'm going to die I'm going to die hey I'm at the top of the hill...

5:46 AM: Step behind parked vehicle and puke a little. ugh

5:47 AM: Run to park; do shallow lunges while everyone else does step drills on the bench. I HATE MY KNEES I HATE MY KNEES I HATE THEM WHY WON'T THEY WORK RIGHT ANYMORE DAMN IT ALL TO HELL I HATE MY KNEES

5:50 AM: Running drills up and down field. This is great...this sucks...this is great...this sucks...this REALLY sucks...this is great...

6:10 AM: Formation jog to cadence back to studio. Sgt. Ken is tough and mean...make you reach for your canteen...high-step, sprinting, mountain climb...push-ups 'till the end of time...

6:30 AM: Back at studio. I am so glad I did that. Holy shit...my heart rate is already back down! Woo-hoo, this shit WORKS...

Somebody Please Talk Me Out of This

Whose big idea was it for me to train for a half marathon? That person needs to be slapped with a fish.

Oh. Right. It was my idea. Never mind.

Today the group ran eight miles. Eight. Miles. It sucked.

There is a famous running guru (and by guru I mean douchebag) who claims that there is no such thing as a bad run; there are only learning runs. Well, today I learned that sometimes you have a bad run. So, I guess in a way he's right.

My short runs had been rough all week; so I knew that today was going to be tough. Today, by mile three I was starting to feel fatigued. That is when I knew that it was going to be even worse than I had anticipated. One of the coaches ran with me to the turnaround at mile four, and that helped a lot. I ran most of the way up to mile 5; then it felt like I had been hit with a truckload of bricks. The walk breaks became frequent during the last three miles. I ended up finishing in 1:45.

My current condition: my right knee is inflamed and pops around a bit in the socket if I bend it too far; the bottoms of my feet hurt; the arch of my right foot doesn't feel quite right; my fingers are swelled up like sausages; and I stink so bad I could make Right Guard turn left.

And I have tons of stuff to do today. Oh, the joy.

Great Start to a Birthday Lunch

Okay, so I have a birthday story.

Best guy friend, Andy, wanted to meet Julia and me at Hooters to buy us dinner for my birthday. So we decided to meet at 3:00 (late lunch/early dinner).

I got almost there and I ran. out. of. gas.

I am a moron.

I had forgotten that my car dinged at me on the way home from KY on the previous night. You get one warning with my car; after that you have to actually *look* at the gas gauge.

So I had to call him on his cell and ask him to come get me to take me to a gas station. He was very gracious about it; if it had been him calling me, I would have LMAO.

So, he pulls into the parking lot where I had coasted in, and I get out, and as I'm walking to his car, I slide on a big sheet of invisible ice and bust my right knee into oblivion.

I had not been drinking at this point.

He still didn't laugh at me*. He is truly a great guy. Maybe a saint. I would have been howling.

So I hobble into his car, we go get the gas, and on the way back to my car, we see a black hearse pass us in the oncoming traffic.

He looks at me and says, "This is not a good sign. Oh, look, locusts."

Happy birthday to me.



*Of course, Julia was cracking up at this point. She is, after all, my offspring.

Addendum: I ordered a grilled chicken breast spun in 911 sauce. The fact that I did not get the breaded and fried chicken wings is huge for me.