Week 2


Oh how good it feels to have two days off and let the body rest. However, I have made an interesting discovery when I visited the bathroom yesterday. While checking out the downstairs area, I thought I had jaundice as my entire abdomen is yellow. Mild panic set in until I realized the yellow is actually bruises which explains why I have been incapable of doing sit ups. I suspect when I dumped off my horse last week, I probably buggered myself up somehow. With the existing pain of the ab work-outs, I didn't even realize that I'd injured myself. Another mystery solved. Thank God as I'd started looking for the alien that I'd given birth to. Moral of the story: make sure you're checking out your downstairs region on a regular basis.

Today's work out was all upper body. Abby would hate it. Lots and lots of arm hangs. Ab work was minimal. And thank God, no running.

It's vital that I report that physical contact happened today. While I was in the middle of push ups, Charla came up behind me and kicked the bottom of my feet. Did you hear what I said? Let me reiterate... she kicked my feet. Now, push-ups aren't my strongest point at the best of times, but having someone kick your feet does not help matters. But it appears that I had found yet another way to cheat at push-ups and apparently I haven't been standing on my toes properly. So a good boot in the old feet seemed to do the job. Ah, now I discover that push-ups really, really hurt.

I have a theory that she is going to up the pace this week. Today she was pretty gentle on us, probably warming us up after two days off. I suspect tomorrow is going to be terrible. The anticipation and wondering what torture is in store is almost as bad as actually taking part.

-No running today! No embarrassing songs!
-Going arse over tit while doing one of the exercises on the wet, goose-shit filled grass. We were supposed do these reverse jump lunges (not sure of the exact military technical name). You have to get in a squat position with your hands on the ground. Then your legs fly back at a great rate of knots until you're in a push up position. Then you reverse the whole thing with your legs flying back under you. Quite a dangerous maneuver if you're on wet grass. As my legs were shooting out behind me, I slipped on the grass and my feet kept going. The momentum was too much and before you can say hoo-yah, I'm flat on my nose, sniffing the grass. Nice.
-Yelling out "FOUR!" when I'm supposed to yell out "TWO!". Math was never my strong point. Anyway, how am I supposed to count when my hands are busy doing other things?
-During the "nutrition report" where she selects one of us a random to confess our eating sins, one poor soul (a new recruit on Friday who perhaps doesn't know the drill) tells us about his encounter with pepperoni followed by a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on Sunday. Charla observes this is pretty much a fat and sugar day for him. I don't know why these people can't lie, for I know what punishment is coming for the pepperoni and PBJ. Charla asks: "How much do you think the pepperoni is worth?" I'm screaming out: "Two! Say two! Pleeeeaaaase say TWO!" But no. Instead Charla jumps in and yells: "Don't take your lead from Barclay!" In a panic he stammers "10" so we all have to do 10 push-ups. I plan to take the guy out later.

The downsides:
-Shopping for food now takes 5+ hours as you have to read the back of every single label to eliminate the yummy food you're used to eating. I mentioned this to Charla at the end of the nutrition report. Her response was: "You'd better start reading faster, Barclay." The group fell silent.

-Still running off to the dunny every 30 minutes to take a slash

My punishment for not drinking enough water. The baggy t-shirt hides my magnificent technique.

Someone asked me last week why I was doing Boot Camp. I sensibly explained that I needed to get in shape and I was eating too much Cool Whip. His response was, "Sharon, did it ever occur to you to just join your local gym?" Well, quite frankly no. It did not occur to me do to that. It was like this: Boot Camp - Cool Whip, Boot Camp - Cool Whip. Boot Camp won out. There were no alternatives. My friend observed that perhaps I am a woman of extremes and at some point I might want to think about finding middle ground. Middle ground? What is that? This is probably also the reason I am single.

But anyway, let's get back to FitBoot. The reason I mentioned my friend's observation is that today, I wanted to be eating Cool Whip and sitting my fat arse right back down on that sofa, not running and singing daft songs. And certainly not doing sit-ups for most of the morning. It's clear that Charla has picked up the pace. Our side straddle hops (technical name for jumping jacks), lunges, squats and other exercises seem to be performed much faster than before. And now we're doing reps of 12 or 18, rather than 8 or 10 we were doing last week. A subtle difference, but enough to feel the burn. Also, not so many Hoo-yahs today. It's a good mental game. She keeps changing things so we never know what to expect.

My prediction was right. Today was leg, legs and legs. Another major change was that we were allowed to run at our own pace. So no songs, no running two lines, just a mile at your own pace. I surprised myself and came home in 8:39. Hoo-yah! Actually, as we were running some bird - not from our class - was running in the opposite direction towards us and yelled out
Hoo-yah! Automatically, we all responded HOO-YAH!. Very, very sad.

Once again, today seemed to be the day to pick on Sharon. Firstly, I get singled out for the "nutrition report". I cleverly rattle off the rabbit food and bird seed that I've been eating. I omit to tell her about the martini I had before going to bed. However, she tricks me on the question of the water. It went something like this:

Charla: Barclay, how many glasses of water did you drink yesterday.
Sharon: Five
Charla: How am I supposed to keep you hydrated and energized if you're only drinking five glasses of water?
Sharon: You could keep yelling at us.
(Charla grins)
Charla: You know the drill. Pick a number so that your team mates can pay for you not drinking enough water.
Sharon: TWO!
(Sharon snickers)
Charla: How long have we known each other. You know that two is not an acceptable number. Pick again.
Sharon: FIVE!
Charla: Multiply it.
Sharon: I multiply it by 1. FIVE!
Charla: Try again.
Sharon: 10?
Charla: Excellent. Everybody drop and give me 10.
Sharon: Shit.


-As I'm trying to brush away the sloppy goose shit, Charla says: "Barclay, you seem to be quite good at clearing away the goose shit. But I do notice how you kick it into other people's space." My response: "Oh yeah, I'm a master at moving shit around. I do it all day."
-I RAN 8:39!!!! The fasted mile I've run so far. However, I know I could not keep up this pace for more than a mile.
-I have a serious ab problem. While last week I thought I'd given birth to an alien by caesarian without anesthetic, this week, I believe I have been a victim of an organ theft. You know the ones where you wake up in a bathtub full of ice with a scar, minus an organ or two. I am in pain, complemented by some more pain. I will have to get back to my good buddy, Ibuprofen. We have these HORRIBLE drills of sit ups. I am still all bollocksed up from falling off my horse and could barely squeeze out three sit ups. This gives Charla great ammunition to yell at me:

- "Barclay, are you crying for [Abby] Dougherty's help?"
- "Can I hear an Aussie swearing again?"
- "Get your back off my grass." (again, she's on about the ownership of the grass)
- "Barclay, what are you waiting for?"
- and so on and so forth. You get the picture.

-I admit I'm not very good at the imperial measurement system. But I reckon that eight-10 glasses of water each day adds up to about 20 gallons. Single-handedly, I am keeping the Boston Water and Sewerage Department in business.

I sincerely hope tomorrow is not an ab workout day. I know have a very suspicious looking lump in my right abdomen, in addition to the bruising. Hmmm, could be a problem.

I'm trying a new approach - not being lippy with the instructor. I was singled out far too many times yesterday so I'd planned today to keep my head low and shut the F up. However, I am not very skilled at keeping my trap shut, which is one of the reasons I did not join the military. The other reason is that I have an authority problem... but that's another story.

So today, I tried to quietly do my exercises after successfully removing the goose turds from my patch of grass. Upper ab work was the focus so lots of lying on wet grass trying to get those abs to do whatever they're supposed to do. Just Abby and I predicted, she was singled out for the nutrition report. Carefully omitting the Diet Coke she sucked down during the day, she managed to breeze through her report. I made the mistake of helping Abby list yesterday's food, yelling out other fruit that she'd eaten during the day. Charla's response: "Barclay, are you her personal chef?" She may have also picked on me because when she called Abby's name, my hand shot up in the air and I yelled "Yeesss!"

Next on the list: Barclay. What the hell? This is my third time giving a nutrition report. There are a bunch of bozos in the back of the class that don't say a peep and I'm sure are eating pizza and KFC. Does this woman have it out for me? "No, no, no," I say, "I gave a report yesterday and Friday. Surely it's someone else's turn." Alas, no. I am the target yet again. So I dutifully list all the rabbit food and fruit that I'm eating. I think I'm doing pretty well, but the conversation quickly turns:

Charla: Doesn't seem like we have very much protein in there, do we Barclay?
Sharon: I forgot to tell you that I also had two boiled egg whites.
Charla: Woah, two egg whites. That hardly makes up your protein allowance. How am I supposed to build a machine when you don't give me the fuel?
Sharon: It's a mystery.
Charla: Yes it is a mystery, isn't it. Unless you're going to start eating those animals that run around, you'd better start getting more protein.
Sharon: Well maybe I'll have myself a big fat juicy steak tonight.

The hell sit-ups after the 1 mile run. I am red in the face because I am ready to expire.
I'm not cold but trying to gather the energy to do the next sit up.

Charla moves onto another victim and I think I'm off the hook. But no. The woman who ate the Swedish Fish last week confesses that she had more yesterday. What the hell is she thinking? Is she obsessed with aquatic-style candies? Why will she not stop? Charla says to her: "Pick a number... and not the same number we had yesterday (10)." The Swedish Fish woman says '5'. Finally, someone who gets how this works and gives a low number. But before I know it, she's back to me:

Charla: I like the number five. What number do you like Barclay?
Sharon: I really like two.
Charla: Excellent. Multiply them. Gimme 10.
Sharon: (under her breath) Bastards!

I loved her dismissal today. Instead of a cheery "Goodbye" or her usual "Disappear", we get a better one: "Vanish".

Until tomorrow, when I really will try to keep my gob shut.

I vowed that today I would stay silent and perhaps Charla would focus on someone else. Instead, she zaps me at the start of the class. As we all line up to start the exercises, she calls me to the front of the class. Shit. What the hell have I done know? Perhaps she's found this web site where we call her a psychopath, and now I'm going to pay the price. She tells me to get on the ground next to her and start doing push ups. Shit, shit, shit. I can hardly do these bloody things. She's doing push ups as well, but twice as fast as me.
"one thousand and four, one thoudand and five..."

I'm trying desperately to keep up. As we're doing push ups, side by side she says: "Do you know who Casey Kasem is?" I say, "Sure, he's an old fart DJ." Charla replies: "Well, this is a long distance dedication." I'm thinking... what the hell is she talking about? What the F have I done now to deserve this? It's 7am, it's hot and muggy and I'm still asleep. Then she says: "Do you know who Carolyn Phillips is? She sent this dedication all the way from Adelaide, Australia." Aaaaaaggggghhhh! You colossal bitch! It seems that my old high school pal has found her own sweet revenge in return for me sending her a Hello Kitty vibrator three weeks ago. I'm told it was opened by the Australian Postal Service (I think it was going off in the parcel) and she had some explaining to do to her new boyfriend. Unfortunately, this has now started a rivalry which will involve each of us trying to get one better. Sadly for Carolyn, little does she know that Hello Kitty also makes branded sanitary pads and a douche. Start warning the Postal Service!

So for all of you who think it would be a smart idea to email Charla, don't bother. I'm sure this kind of ploy only works once. It's a brilliant one-off stunt that Carolyn pulled that simply can't be repeated.

-I HATE RUNNING! And those damn songs started again. The run was extended to a mile and a half, but we were back to running in a unit.
-Abby was covered in goose shit today. Her white t-shirt was one big nasty stain.

I realized today that we're not even half-way through this damn course. But I did notice that today I'm not quite as sore as I was last week, or even earlier this week. However, when I woke up in the wee hours of the morning, it was pissing down like there was no tomorrow. Oh no! The FitBoot rule is that training continues, as it does for military recruits, rain, snow, sleet, or heat. I do believe I must have helped an old lady across the street at some point because the rain stopped the second we started the class. However, the grass was perilously wet and I'm convinced 300 geese spent the night shitting right on the spot where I was standing. No matter how I tried to clear my area, I spent the day in goose shit central. My crisp white t-shirt is now a pukey brown color. Abby and I should buy shares in Tide and Clorox.

Thank God today was upper abs and arm work. Push ups are by no means my favorite, but I'd rather do that than run. Abby is the complete opposite. You should see her face when she's doing those arm hangs - a true look of constipation, brows furrowed, pearls of sweat on her forehead. However, on the ride to the office, she calculated that we did over 100 push ups today. Wow. I find it hard to believe, but with various reps scattered throughout the session, there's every likelihood we hit the century mark.

"Hey Sarge, I think she's unconscious"
I really did keep my cake hole shut today. Well, almost... until I just couldn't hold it in any longer. Thankfully I was overlooked for the nutrition report and she headed straight to the men in the class. Their report included: pizza for breakfast, a 16 oz steak, home fries, fruit cup and other horrors that I'm sure were giving Charla a mild apoplexy. As they continue to rattle off these culinary sins, my stomach is churning at the thought of how many push ups we'll have to do for our team mates' fall from grace.
32 push ups is the final number, despite me screaming out "Two, two!" It was at that point that I broke. I yelled: "You utter, utter bastards! I spend two weeks eating fucking rabbit food and you shit heads are eating pizza!" I believe at that point Charla ran to the other side of the class, cracking up. I could be wrong. Perhaps she was just trying to think of a punishment for Monday.