Another Day, Another Ache

I was assured by our instructor that Day 3 of boot camp would be more “laid back” than the previous two workouts, and I guess you could say it was. Maybe it’s because I’m so sore; maybe it’s because it’s just the first week and I’m not into a routine yet; maybe it’s because I hate exercise, will never like exercise, and am not destined to get fit again in this lifetime. I hope it’s not the latter, but I’d have to say that Day 3 was still pretty tough.

We got a bit of a late start, and we also got a new "boot camper" who was recruited by his boss at work (boy does she feel terrible right about now). This was his “trial” workout, and I do hope he will be back (though I believe it’s iffy at this point). More on that later. So we started a bit late, and we began by doing some “simple” lunges to warm up. Oh, I warmed up alright. My legs were on fire! For every 20 lunges my instructor did, I think I did eight. The warm-up made me feel completely inadequate, and we hadn’t even starting “working out” yet!

Next our instructor set out a series of "stations" and placed each of us at one. Each station was assigned a specific workout, and we were to do two minutes at each station and then move. I’d say the weight and cardio stations were split up pretty evenly. I began at a weight station, which I was happy with because working out my arms really isn’t too hard for me. Must be because I’m a mom and haul around about 30 pounds of gear and a 30-pound kid everywhere I go (“Hode me, Mommy, hode me!!). So while I was on weights, I watched everyone else perform.

Some of these workouts, though fabulous for getting into shape, really don’t make the person performing them look very “fabulous” while doing them. (Nor do they leave much to the imagination, if you get my drift.) Case in point: the mountain climber. You get into the push-up position and then pull your knees up to your elbows back and forth as fast as you can, kind of like trying to run in the push-up position. At least most people faced their backsides toward the fence, but those with lower-cut shirts were out of luck! And the bounce-bounce-bounce-jump, where you spread your feet about shoulder-width apart, do three bouncing squats as low as you can go, then bounce your legs together and jump with your hands pointing straight above your head: I think it was the three dipping squats that made this one interesting. Then there’s the old favorite from Day 2: the praying-position-bounce-to-squat-with-your-arms-out-like-you’re-about-to-attack move. This one’s great if you’re looking for interesting interpretations of a move. Everyone did something different here.

So for the first few stations, I was on weights, breathing normally, and enjoying my surroundings (i.e. making fun of everyone in my head). But then I hit the first cardio station, the praying-position-bounce-to-squat-with-your-arms-out-like-you’re-about-to-attack move. Now, as I’ve said before, I danced for much of my life, so when I do “moves,” I usually figure I can at least look somewhat graceful compared with those who do not have that background. However, it became obvious in this first week of boot camp that grace is nonexistent. But the next move, the sideways-step-hop-over-the-ball-then-squat move, I was sure I would nail being it was much like a step aerobics move (I was a step aerobics queen in the 90s). The apparatus was step-like, but it was topped with a bouncy ball, not just a rubber step. So basically, you sideways stepped, bounced on top of the ball, then landed in a low squat. Not only did I lose my balance and fall off a couple of times, it was so exhausting that I had to actually cease movement completely a time or two! Next was the jump station (are you noticing a pattern here, that all cardio seems to be clumped together, therefore destined to cause as much pain as is humanly possible?), where you basically just jump as high as you can with your arms pointing straight above your head. Seems easy enough, right? After about three jumps, I had to take a break. You just can’t realize how hard this stuff is unless you’re actually doing it (and performing while completely out of shape, as I am right now). The next few stations were also cardio, and by the time I got back around to my original station, sweat was pouring off my brow and I was having to wipe it about every 10 seconds just to see, and my workout clothes were completely soaked and stuck to my skin. But it was over (I thought).

Nope, not done just yet! We still had abs, which was a welcomed relief and much easier than cardio. (I’m starting to see a pattern in myself at this point. Strength training, not so rough; cardio, an ass-kicker.)

So, toward the end of our station exercises, I looked over near the entrance gate and noticed the new “boot camper” sitting slumped over and holding his head. Our instructor had gone over to check on him and proceeded to run about looking for water, a towel, and a mat. It was getting dark at this point and hard to see, but I’m pretty sure he thought he was going to pass out or throw up (and so did everyone watching). Finally, he laid out on a yoga mat with his legs propped up on the bench for the rest of the session. One of the boot-camp members is a physical therapist, and she took over from there.

So we did our abs (not too bad, though the body lifts added in for good measure about took me down), and we were done. Our instructor informed us that we’d have one more week of being sore (to use the word lightly), and then we’d “love it!” So I’ve decided to take her word for it and keep on keepin’ on. It’s tough, I dread it every day, and I’m thrilled today to have a day off. But after each session, I feel so much better about myself and so much closer to my goal: to be as fit and healthy as I can possibly be, and to have completely changed my bad habits into good ones. If this boot camp can get me to that point, then all the pain and suffering (OK, suffering might be a bit harsh, but pain is not) will be totally worth it. Good job Helena Boot Campers (and I hope we see you next week new guy)!

Single Mommylogues Note: I will begin posting blog entries (including photos, so that should be fun) specifically about Extreme Fit Training Boot Camp next week in the blog section of their site, ExtremeFitTraining.com. Check it out!

Boot Camp

So a friend of mine is teaching a monthlong “boot camp” exercise class this month right down the street from my work. It’s her first time to do it, and she recruited people to join on facebook. So I thought, “Why not?” It’s close-by, I know the teacher so she can’t kill me, and I’ve been looking for that perfect jump-start to my weight loss (I’ve been using the “baby weight” excuse for far too long, as you know). A real no-brainer, right?

My friend, a former coworker, is someone who I would consider a “true” athlete. She doesn’t just hit the gym three days a week or walk in the neighborhood with the girls every now and then, she really gets down and dirty: triathlons, marathons, long-distance bike rides, you name it. She’s that adorable lady every woman wants to be: She eats perfectly, drinks her water, has zero body fat, is bubbly and always smiling, and actually loves working out. She is the woman all women want to be but very few have the drive to become. Give up sodas and cheese and bread and red meat and wine and actually have to eat our broccoli and squash? No way! For the past two years, I have been the “No Way!” woman: unwilling to give up the things I loved and seemed to depend upon to get through they day. Despite that, I figured I was ready to go. Who needs to build up to it? I was ready! So I signed up.

Did I know what I was getting into? I thought so. Did I realistically think I could do it? Why not, I’m an athlete (or used to be). Would I stick to it this time and not bug out? Of course. Am I ready to give up many of the things I love so that I can become that “perfect woman” who eats right, loves exercise, and is the picture of health? Yes? OK, yes.

My first class was this past Monday, and a group of us met on a tennis court in a local park. I scanned the group and immediately realized that I was not the only one who needed to get into shape. (Initially, I was worried everyone in the class would be world-class athletes just trying to fit in some extra workouts during training for whatever major race they had coming up.) We all have our own issues, and we’re all there to get healthy no matter what our shape. So I felt pretty good about it.

First, we began to warm up. To me, warming up means sitting on the ground stretching, maybe taking a short walk around the park chatting with the group and getting to know one another. In this class, warming up was more like the calisthenics you see in football training. Ten, then 20, then 30, then 40, then 50 jumping jacks was our warm-up. Then on to the workout: bicep lifting (two eight-pounders, not the normal 2.5- to five-pounders) followed by football feet as fast as you can followed by triceps lifting (again, eight-pounders) followed by left-right lunge plies followed by up-down, up-down, right knee, left knee, followed by . . . well, you get the drift. It was nonstop! (Only one person threw up.) The premise of this training (what my friend kept reminding us as she also reminded us how much we were “loving it!”) is that you can do anything for two minutes. Yeah, but two minutes followed by two minutes followed by two minutes followed by two minutes and on and on and on for more than an hour! Needless to say, I survived the first class.

The next day, I wasn’t too sore when I got up, and I was pumped! But as the day wore on, the pain crept up on me, and in places I didn’t realize I even had muscles! Walking stairs was next to impossible. Getting up and down out of my office chair required a grunt and then a sigh. Lifting my one-liter water bottle in an attempt to get in the half-body-weight amount of water required before class drew a sharp pain in my shoulder. But I made it through the day and headed to Class No. 2 pretty positive.

Ahhhh, Class No. 2. What can I say about Class No. 2? I have never, and I mean never, worked that hard in my entire life! Growing up I danced and played softball, and I played ball in leagues during college and later in life, as well. I once trained for a marathon but got pneumonia and wasn't able to do it. And, for the most part, I have always been an active person. So I really thought I might have a leg up in this “boot camp.” Oh how deluded one can be. Did I mention that this was only Class No. 2? We sprinted and did frog leaps and lunged and ran backward and ran with a bungee cord around our waists with a partner providing resistance and did push-ups and diamond push-ups and triceps dips and Pilate’s abs and rope-pulling abs and, well, some other “challenges.” I have never been so tired and sore in my life!

So, did I really know what I was getting into? Absolutely not. Am I glad I made this decision? Absolutely (I think). I just hope at 6 o’clock I’m able to get up from my desk (period, just get up from my desk), change my clothes without my coworkers hearing me scream in pain, walk down to my car without my legs collapsing, steer my car a mile down the road without my biceps twitching in pain, and get out of the car without bursting into tears at the thought of what lies ahead in Class No. 3.

It’s going to be a long month.

Potty of Gold

This past holiday weekend, I decided that Kensie and I were gonna hunker down and get this potty-training thing licked. I had an extra day off of work, and as advanced as she seems in so many other areas of her preschooler-dom, I was sure three days was plenty of time for Kensie to be up and running (or, should I say, down and peeing). Who needs outdoor barbecues with friends and football or fabulous days frolicking at the beach when you’ve got a naked toddler running through the house with a potty full of urine shouting, “Mommy, I tinkled! MOMMY, LOOK AT MY TINKLE!”

Kensie had shown interest in potty-training last December when visiting my brother’s family in Denver (my niece enjoyed showing K her “old” potty and how she now used the “big” potty as a grown-up three-year-old). So about six months or so ago, when the interest resurfaced, I bought two potties—one for upstairs, and one for downstairs (secretly thinking my kid was a genius not yet being two and already wanting to use the big-girl potty). And for the past three or four months, K’s been using them when it’s convenient and fun for her. When I introduced pull-ups a couple of months ago in preparation for potty training, she was at first excited but soon enough just treated them as diapers with a little bit of pink splashed on them for good measure. Pull-ups proved no help in our house.

So this past Friday, I prepared myself for a tough weekend of gentle coaxing, massive amounts of juice and popsicles, puddles of pee on the carpet and hardwoods, frustration, excitement, and finally, the brass ring—my sweet girl wearing cute little panties, running to the potty at her convenience, and, most importantly, NO MORE DIAPERS! All the money I would be saving; all the guilt about contributing to the degradation of our environment of which I would be letting go. Diaper rashes, poopy bottoms, dried-out wipes all over the house, saggy britches—all GONE! It sure sounded great at the time.

Friday evening went well enough. We hadn’t gotten the big-girl panties yet (the trip to Target was planned for early Saturday morning), so I just let Kensie run around naked for a few hours. She loved it! She went and used the potty when she needed to (and when I urged her to if it had been awhile), and not one accident. Saturday morning, I got Kensie all pumped up about the panties, she got to pick them out herself, she got a bunch of new PJs, to boot—she was a happy camper with a lot of new stuff (and you know how kids love new stuff). When we got home, K pulled all the panties out of their wrappers and paraded around with them (she preferred to show them off instead of actually putting them on, which might have been a sign) as if they were $100 bills she’d found lying in the street (and she actually knew how much they were worth). I finally got her to pick a pair, we put them on her, and not an hour later, I heard Kensie in the other room burst into tears. She came running into the kitchen, urine running down her legs, screaming, “Mommy, I tinkled on the flo-ah! MOMMY, I TINKLED ON THE FLO-AH!!” After much discussion: “Baby, accidents happen.” “But I peed on the flo-ah, Mommy!” “Honey, it happens to all little kids during potty training. See how Mommy cleaned it up? It’s OK if you have an accident.” “BUT MOMMY, I PEED ON THE FLO-AH!!!” Needless to say, I decided that pushing Kensie at this point was not the best idea.

One thing I’ve learned from both my niece (who’s extremely intelligent and quite tall, but who always seems at least two years older than she is) and Kensie (who is also quite advanced and tall for her age) is that I have to remember how old they really are, not how old they seem to be. Kensie just turned two in July. TWO!! Why in the world would I put that kind of pressure on a baby (yes, she is still a baby)? After much consideration (and a framed “words of wisdom” my mother pulled out of some random box in her office waxing poetic about not pressuring people into doing things that are uncomfortable for them), I decided now just wasn’t the right time to potty-train. Though my girl is pretty advanced in many areas of life (all two of her years), she is just not ready to get rid of the diaper. So I’ll keep changing, and wiping, and putting on diaper cream, and tossing dirty diapers, and waiting until the day my baby lets me know when the time is right for her. And when that day comes, I’ll mourn the loss of my adorable baby . . . then I’ll head out and buy that new Jeep I’ve been wanting or maybe even pay off my student loans with all the extra cash I’ll suddenly have at my disposal!