the swiftest boot kick of my life

So Bootcamp. Exactly. I don’t really know how I get myself into these situations. It probably had something to do with watching this living breathing version of a weightloss commercial – my father -- and years of watching him slim down almost approximately a 3^rd of his body weight. At some point, I mumbled the words, bootcamp sounds like fun and the next thing I know, I am pushing an ex track star runner/personal trainer from Uganda up a hill in Mundy Park. Be careful what you wish for.

Before it all started.

I go for my assessment at a Seniors Citizens Recreation Centre. This does not bode well in the back of my mind. What are they trying to say about me? I find out later that they just rent space there.

They take my BMI and I find out that I’m 2% off of my target weight. Not bad. I thought I was way worse off. The irony in all of this is that my lean body mass is a 128 pounds. No wonder people thought I looked anorexic when I was 120 lbs. I was just skin and bones at that point.

As for the not so lean body mass, well we’ll leave that up to the imagination. I just imagine that it doesn’t exist.

Then, they shove some papers in front of me and tell me to sign my life away. I look down, and it states that we are to not “indulge” in treats while we’re in the programme. Something to do with getting the best results possible or something? Who knows? There are no guarantees.

The fact that I can’t have “treats” makes everything that I wouldn’t normally consume, that much more appealing. Don’t ask me why, but perhaps it has something to do with the nature of us: we always want what we can’t have. Instead my strategy is just to stuff my face with what I can have so I don't crave the junk.

1^st week:

1^st day. I get up exhilarated by the unknown workout I am about to experience. Sheer naivety and eagerness drive me to seize the day.

Get there. See a sea of faces. I’m the 2^nd youngest in this crowd. Start running. They all take off. My lungs and arse set something resembling a pace. Shortly thereafter I get lost in the woods. I make a shortcut through the field so that I’ll make it back on time. The coach is picking up pylons in the field. He sees me and tells me to run back to the picnic pavilion shelter where we work out. I take off like a bullet. Bad idea. Why? He watches your every move.

2^nd day: Body Screaming

Every muscle in my body is screaming obsanities as I roll out of bed and get to the field. Hassan, the trainer, decides that my sprint the previous day proves just how much harder he needs to work me. He gives me the same weights as all of the men in the program. Bad News Bears.

3^rd day: I sleep in.

There is no point to getting up at this point because I verbally wail every time I have to adjust in my chair at work. If I sit for too long, I get stiff. If I walk for too long, I have to sit. There is no such thing as a solution other than to make a bee line for the hot tub at the pool and just veg.

4^th day: My body is beginning to forgive me.

The pain is there. I just decided at this point I’m going to have to just deal. Go do the work out, feel surprisingly refreshed and muscles are in agreement that this might be a good thing to explore.

5^th day: It’s Friday. Need I say more.

Every part of me likes this. Plus, there are two days of rest coming up which I can really use. Plus, it’s casual Friday at work so I get to wear jeans rather than nylons. The cherry on top of the Ice cream Sundae that I cannot eat.

This first week is over and I have come to conclude that I need something to continue after this gruesome month is over. I refuse to return to a state of jell-o again. At any rate, this has all been a rather interesting wake up call. Literally and otherwise. Updates to come. Hopefully it includes an improvement to the point where my dad doesn't beat me at everything. That is the only embarassing part about this whole gongshow of an adventure.