Drilling into a New Year

I’ve never been a big fan of fitness classes. I can’t keep up with the moves, my 20-year-old t-shirts and shorts are out of place and the walls of mirrors leave no place for klutzes like me to hide. Exercising alone, in the comfort of my shabby and outdated workout attire, has always been much more appealing.

So I was surprised last week when I heard myself ask a neighbor friend if I could attend “Boot camp” with her–at 5:45 a.m. I had no idea what the class involved. Between Zumba, Bosu, Pilates, glide and spin, it’s hard to keep up with all the fitness trends.

When my alarm went off hours before the crack of dawn the next morning, my bed had never felt more divine. The sheets were soft and cool, the blankets the perfect balance of heaviness and warmth.

I scolded myself for volunteering for such a crazy idea. Nevertheless, volunteer I did and now my friend was counting on me to pick her up. So to Boot camp I must go.

Just twenty minutes after leaving the cozy nest of my bed, my nose was pressed against a dusty gym floor while a stop-watched carrying drill sergeant disguised as a small, blond fitness teacher stood overhead counting my push-ups. The name of the class suddenly made perfect sense.

During the next 45 minutes we ran lines and shuffled across the floor like high school hoopsters in slow motion. We did push-ups, sit-ups, burpees, squats, and jumping jacks. “Come on guys. This is suppose to be a sprint,” drill sergeant Jen scolded.

The Christmas truffles I had been eating for weeks shook like rocks in my head and the gingersnaps and frosted sugar cookies I ate the night before didn’t seem like such a smart bedtime snack. Thank goodness I remembered to grab a water bottle. It was gone half way through the class.

The final five minutes were dedicated to sit-ups. My red face looked like it would explode under the pressure of pulling myself up. I figured, in between grunts, that it had been at least 10 years since I had done a full sit-up. My abs had been sleeping a long time and clearly preferred to remain in slumber.

I cheated my way through the last of those, laid lifeless on the mat during the cool down, and shuffled out of the class.

“Isn’t that a great workout? Doesn’t it go fast?” my friend said cheerfully on the way home. Fortunately she didn’t wait for my response.

For the next couple days, normal functions like sitting, standing, and walking required considerable concentration. My whole body hurt. Laughing was torture. My only choice was to return to class in hopes of loosening up those stiff and neglected muscles.

Despite the pain, I have returned to the class three more times. The hour is grueling, but my classmates are motivating, the instructor is challenging, and I love how alive I feel when I drive to work.

Best wishes to all who are launching fitness goals in the New Year. May you find your inner drill sergeant—or a good Boot camp class—to keep you going.