Part I: I’m a Winner!
I’m sure you’re tiring of reading about bootcamp. But I just can’t shut myself up about it.
When I started bootcamp last September I was a lot of things–but “fit” of any kind was not in the list. And really, I was only marginally interested in exercising, mainly because I don’t like sweat. Or exercise. I wasn’t thrilled about the weight I hadn’t gotten rid of since the second pregnancy, but I wasn’t unhappy. Going to bootcamp was simply a way to spend much-needed time with a friend while also feeling good (or at least not bad) about the way we were using that time.
During the fall that ‘friend’ turned into ‘friends’ and I slowly found myself being able to do more and more of the exercises, pushing a little further each time.
Somewhere around November or so, I was able to run the mile track around the City Park. Without stopping.
I made sure everyone I talked to that day knew about it. Some conversations I initiated just for the purpose of being able to nonchalantly interject: “Well, so, I ran a mile today without stopping. Yes, I did. Me. Ran. Mile. No stop. I know: shockingly awe-some. Thank you.” I am very subtle. Also: humble.
After repeating that Olympicish performance another handful of times, stretching it out to two miles, I decided the only rational and responsible thing to do with all this newfound athletic prowess is this: Warrior Dash. It’s a race. In the mud. With obstacles. And running. And fire. And water. And MUD.
So it is that on April 16th I shall travel to The Big City with some friends, where we will become Warriors, complete with warrior helmets. (If any part of me was on the fence about signing up for this, the warrior helmet completely sealed the deal.)
In the meantime, I’m training myself in Warriorlike ways.
This time last year, I had no idea how far a 5k was. But last Saturday? Ran in my first one. And you know how far it is?
F—[no air]—A—[can't breathe]—R—[where can I lay down and quietly die?]
But I did it.
And once I was able to breathe again, knew I was going to live, I was so proud that I’d made it! This, a concrete example of just how huge a change has been made in my life, all because I committed last fall to spending two hours a week with a friend in the back of an exercise class, sweating and complaining and complaining about sweating.
But as it turned out, more than just finishing that race, I’d managed to come in just a tad bit faster than the other 10 or so women in my 30-34 age group. So they gave me a medal.
Incidentally, that’s Mrs. Spackle there. She’s all aglow, growing a Baby Spackle right now. Meanwhile, I’m the cool medal-having chick walking around with a kleenex folded under the strap of her sports bra because I’ve learned that running tends to mean a good sinus-clearing for me. Don’t even pretend that’s not hot.
And the Number 2 medal? Went to another bootcamp friend.
Conclusion: bootcamp makes girls fast.
Not “fast” like “easy.” Why would you even suggest that? Is it something about the kleenex-in-the-bra thing?
I love accessories. You know this. So it will come as no surprise to you when I’m wearing that medal the next time you see me. The next THIRTY times you see me.
When I’m not wearing it? It’s hanging on The Husband’s side of the closet where he is sure to see it twice every day. To remind him that he’s married to Number 1. Not that he would forget. But still: Number 1.
I’m so glad the fast girls stayed home that day. Because it’s not that I’m all that speedy. The shoe chip recorded my race time at 27:51. There are WAY faster girls than me around here, especially in bootcamp. Typically when we run, I just pick one of The Fasties and make it my goal not to let her lap me. Sometimes I meet that goal. Sometimes I decide I’d rather breathe for a while.
So pumped was I that after the race I had The Husband take me and The Child to the golf course for an afternoon of 18-holes of family fun.
And between the running and the golfing on that beautiful day, I worked up a nice tan line.
Which subsequently washed off in the shower.
Golf course dusty-dirty is the closest I get to tan. And that is a LOT of dirt.
Part II: I’m a Loser!
But Sisterhood, even with that glorious medal-winning accomplishment, and even after showering away my tan, I’m still a mess.
Because three days after that I went to the evening bootcamp. I was shuffling to my right across the gym floor. And my right foot decided to stop shuffling without alerting my left. Or maybe it got caught on the astroturfy-flooring-stuff. Who knows. Down I went, sideways to my right, landing on my right wrist or forearm or something, rolling over my right side like a ninja (except SO NOT LIKE A NINJA) and popping back up to resume the shuffling. I felt beyond ridiculous, which is not all that abnormal for me when I think about it, but everything seemed to be okay so I kept going.
Until 10 minutes later when my arm started aching. And a few minutes after that when it made me dizzy to raise or twist it. And a few minutes after that when I thought just maybe I might be sick. NINJAS DO NOT PUKE AT BOOTCAMP, I told myself. Bootcamp Lady had me call The Husband to come get me, it obviously seeming a bad idea for me to drive. I called him:
Me: I’ve managed to hurt myself and I need you to come get me. We’re in the gym. Call or text when you get to the parking lot and I’ll come out.
He, sounding a little put out: You’ve hurt yourself and you’re okay enough to walk out to the parking lot but can’t just drive yourself home?
Me [envisioning jumping through phone, bodyslamming him, beating him with my one good arm], clenched teeth: YES. COME NOW.
I love this man, but really–sometimes he is such a man.
But anyway. He picked me up, drove me home, got me set up with ice and elevation and a scarf-turned-sling, coordinated a two-man retrieval system for getting my car home, ran interference between The Child and my gimpy arm.
I was trapped in my shoes (afraid to take them off in case an ER trip became necessary), in my sports bra (no-zip, over-the-head model), and in a left-handers world (I had no idea The Lefties have it so rough with the left brushing and left wiping and left everythinging).
Quite LUCKILY I did not break anything. A very slight bit of soreness, but not even ibuprofen-worthy anymore. However, sadly, I do think my sideways-Ninja-roll days are over. Which is a shame because I feel pretty certain it was a very funny thing to witness. I wish someone had it on tape. So I could watch it forever and ever. And share it with you.
And I so hope that the sideways-Ninja-roll is not a required feat for becoming a Warrior.
Part III: I’m a Winner/Loser!
So this Tuesday would have felt a total disaster, except that when I weighed in for WW, this:
Down another 3 from last month–although, if I’m honest, up a little from the race weekend. Perhaps too much celebrating at the dinner table afterward. But that I am consistently, steadily losing is a great feeling. And I’m closing in on the goal I set for myself: 125. Not quite my collegiate weight, but something that seemed just on the edge of doable. With Tuesday’s weigh-in being so close to dropping back under 130, I’ve spent the week focusing on fruits and veggies and whole grains.
And this morning I made it:
I’m under 130 and on top of the world.
And my arm mostly doesn’t hurt any more.
It’s been a wild week. Even for a NUMBER 1.