That’s what I did. I paid for torture. It sounded like a great idea at the time. Hey Ani, my friend Regan says, Dan is doing a boot camp on Mondays and Fridays at Green Lake. It’ll be fun. Let’s do it. “Aw that’s awesome,” I say.
Aw. That’s. Awesome. What was I on? I am PAYING a man to drag my butt out in public, bark out instructions, while I lift an 8 lb. torture ball with Velcro through my squatting legs. I am PAYING a man to have me run back and forth between trees. I am PAYING a man to tell me that Diet Coke is bad for you and that aspartame is made out of formaldehyde. Yes, he crossed the sacred Diet Coke line!
What is wrong with me? Oh, I know… that’s how desperate I am to get back in shape. Right now, I can barely feel my arms. My legs are quivering. I’m about to go take a healthy dose of Advil and jump in the shower… but not before I bend down and try to kick myself for the insanity i’m putting myself through. Bootcamp. What a great idea…
or, listen to the physical therapist. he probably knows more than i do!