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
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
-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
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!"
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
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:
Barclay, how many glasses of water did you drink yesterday.
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: You know the drill. Pick a number so that your team mates can
pay for you not drinking enough water.
Charla: How long have we known each other. You know that two is not an
acceptable number. Pick again.
Charla: Multiply it.
Sharon: I multiply it by 1. FIVE!
Charla: Try again.
Charla: Excellent. Everybody drop and give me 10.
-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
-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]
- "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
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
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.
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
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
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.
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
-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.
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
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.
"Hey Sarge, I think she's unconscious"
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.