I signed up for boot camp.
This is not an epitaph. It was a voluntary decision made after too many spicy tuna rolls at our local sushi house. But now I’m scared. There will be work involved. More work than placing one foot in front of the other while running.
I’m going with a friend so there’s no way to slowly back away and hope no one notices. Also, someone I know—who runs faster than I do—would chase me down. In the name of friendship.
This morning I received a super perky email from my would-be torturer/instructor letting me know that the first day was a short two weeks off and I should book the body assessments posthaste. There’s nothing perky about that. Sometime in the next week I will grudgingly willingly let a stranger poke and prod and measure parts that are best kept under wraps.
I think I can. I think I can. Crap. What was I thinking?
The upside is that my friend and I will get measured together. Solidarity sista. Never mind. That’s not an upside. Some tragedies are private.
The real upside is that I will know where I stand and what to do to improve my strength and stamina while shrinking the excess that our never-ending winter and spoons of Nutella wrought.
Step one: ditch the Nutella. snif snif
Twice a week I’ll be out there burpee-ing and squatting and throwing kettle bells around and hopefully not beaning myself in the process. If you’ve met me you know this is a probability. {I’ve thrown bowling balls backwards. Sober.} If we’re in the same class, my apologies in advance. And heads up.
Fear of hurting myself and being unable to complete the workouts aside, I expect good things. I’ve made the commitment. The last time this happened I ran a half marathon.
PS. I ran the Sporting Life 10k in Toronto last Sunday. I hoped to keep my time under 1h 14minutes—see Nutella reference above—and finished in 1h 10minutes. The race was fast and I felt great while running, but my goal is to finish 10k under one hour. Boot camp will help.
PPS. I passed people in my last 2k and gave myself mental fist bumps every time because while it’s all about the effort and feeling good about yourself and yada yada…I am competitive.
PPPS. My son sent me a message before the race, “Make me proud, maman.” I think I did.









