I took a little detour today.

I went to a ninety-minute power yoga class. Instead of starting my second month of bootcamp.


I originally said I would stick with bootcamp for 12 weeks. But I didn't see changes as quickly as I expected. And while the feeling of accomplishment at the end of each session was great, I did not like the workouts.  I'm just not cut out for repetitive, continual, high-impact, shock-absorbing movements.

And I remembered how I always loved power yoga. As a physical exercise and as a mental workout.

So off I went to see what it was like after all these years.

I twisted, and stretched, held poses and balanced, and flowed from position to position in a bruising, soothing yoga class. My heart beat quickly, and the sweat ran off my face. Droplets dripped down my cheek and gathered at my neck. I relished the moments in child's pose.

And I discovered something along the way. Aging sucks. It really, really sucks. Years ago, it wasn't this tough.


But at the end of the yoga session, I felt relaxed and calm. Ready to sleep.

And it's not because the positions were any less taxing than the bootcamp exercises. Balancing on one bent leg, while holding the other across will make any heart beat madly and challenge any body's homeostasis. 

It's just a different form of intense physical exercise. A very, very different form.

Ergo I now face a decision: go back to bootcamp on Wednesday for another month, or go back to the only exercise I ever really stuck with and enjoyed--yoga?

I like yoga more. For my body and for my mind.

But I don't want to lose what I've gained at bootcamp. I need to be sure before I completely give it up. If I stop now, I don't think I'll ever go back to it again. I won't be able to tolerate another first week at bootcamp. When muscles and bones ached more than ever before. When I was so sore, it hurt all the time.

I need to make up my mind. Soon.

Today we played tag. In the park. Like children.


Very fun and very funny. When I was "it", the trainer taunted me to catch him. Little did he know I have been a die-hard Trojan fan for years and had my warrior moves on.

Naturally, I caught him instantly. And surprised everyone! Simple luck, but it was still a silly thrill. And it only lasted until I was being chased again. I ran as fast and as hard as I could to avoid being caught. Broke a sweat and panted out loud. Until I was "it" again.


It must have been a hysterical site: a bunch of moms chasing each other on the grass.

But we didn't care.

After an hour of punishing drills, sprints, dumbbell exercises and bruising core moves, we were thrilled to play.

For those last ten minutes, I felt like a kid again. Racing through the muddy grass, laughing and grasping for air at the same time. Everyone should do that sometime. Grab a robe and jump. Climb the jungle gym and go down the slide. Play tag in the park with a bunch of friends.

It was indeed an entertaining end to my first full month of bootcamp. I am no longer sore all the time. In fact, I am hardly sore at all.

I am stronger. Watch out.

For the first 59 minutes of bootcamp, I am miserable. I sweat. I grunt. I moan. Simply put, I hate it. I can't wait till it's over.

And then something happens at minute 60.

I feel thrilled and alive. And it's not just because the session is finally done.

For those few glorious minutes after the workout, I am high on natural chemicals released after a brutal workout. I am happy and proud. And feeling like I could it all over again. Crazy.

With Thanksgiving in two days, we are working out with extra fervor. We are paying in advance for all the stuffing and gravy and cranberries and apple pies we are sure to eat.

But how many calories can such workouts really burn? Maybe six or seven hundred at a time? It sounds like a lot, but in reality, one slice of banana cream pie will take care of that. And then what? It is way too easy to indulge and think I can consume without care just because I am working out so much.

The truth is, exercise does not give that much latitude. It makes you stronger and healthier and helps clear the mind. But it definitely does not allow for reckless abandon and wanton eating.

Unless you are an Olympian, or die-hard athlete, or exercise nut who spends several hours a day pumping and burning.

Than you can eat till the cows sing.

Missed bootcamp yesterday for a funeral of a friend's mother. A different kind of workout. Exercising the mind to find just the right words to say and just the right things to feel. Impossible.

Always tragic, never timely, funerals reinforce mortality. Not that I needed any reminders. After having lived more than four decades, I get it. It goes by quickly and ends in a snap.

So what's it all for? Mental exercise indeed. I'm beginning to think bootcamp isn't so hard after all. In fact, it's rather simple. Attend for an hour, do whatever the trainer says, then return home to collapse. No thinking required.

Only this time, I can't collapse. I have to return home to make a pecan torte for Thanksgiving dinner. My little contribution, oozing with calories and laden with fat. Hopefully all that sweetness will help me forget about living and dying. Or maybe...just maybe...it'll explain what it's all for.

For the first hour after every bootcamp session, I feel energized. Confident. Inspired to take on anything.

I'm working on bottling that feeling. So I can take it out and spritz it over myself throughout the day like expensive perfume.

Because the high feeling wanes. Soreness and fatigue take over. I am drained and wiped out yet too revved up to nap it off. It is a strange feeling indeed. Like I'm continually trying to catch my breath. And not quite succeeding. At least not yet.

I do feel stronger. The back of my thighs feel firm. When I flex my biceps, tiny muscles bulge a tiny bit. Small results but still. They propel me forward.

And I'm trying to get my eating right. I am told to add protein, reduce carbs, watch calorie intake and drink lots of water. This is not easy. It takes constant vigilance. Lots of effort. And willpower. Sort of takes the joy out of eating. I need to keep focusing on my purpose. That is, to get fit, get toned, fit better in my clothes, maybe even drop 5 pounds or so, get more energy. And fight aging.  No big deal.

Yesterday I made a decision to stick with this for 12 weeks. I read on various online fitness sites that it takes that long to see real differences. Afterwards, who knows? Maybe I'll continue. Maybe it'll get easier like everyone claims, and even become a habit I cannot do without.

Now that would be surprising.

It felt like an ant crawling down my face. From the top of my head to the bottom of my chin. Tickling my cheek. 

Only this was no insect.

It was a tiny bead of sweat. Building momentum, mass and speed as it trickled down and finally landed on my mat. Many more soon followed. Today was cardio day.

My heart raced, my lungs gasped, and my muscles nearly buckled. 

We sprinted. Forwards first. Then backwards. Then forwards again. Each time he yelled, "switch" we changed direction. Mind and muscle working together.

And all the while I was just trying to remember to breathe. Exhale. Inhale.

Exhaustion accomplished.

But then the trainer said, "Now we're going to bump it up a notch."

And he added all sorts of high-intensity exercises designed to keep our hearts screaming.

Our bodies moved for an entire hour with nary a rest. A sip of water here and there. A stolen moment to catch a breath. That's all.

At the end of the session, I sat on my mat. Recovering. Marveling. I made it through. Again. Knees quivering and body beaten.

And yet, there I sat feeling rejuvenated. Pumped. High on endorphins and all those other feel-good hormones released during serious physical exertion.

I could get used to this. Maybe.





 

Six minutes. That's about all it takes to consume a delicious slice of cake.

Multiply that by ten. That's what it takes to burn it off. Not fair.


One of the trainers gave me a motto to live by: nothing tastes as good as skinny feels. I've heard it before. But now it resonates anew.

When I spy something tasty and tempting, I recall my new mantra. So far, it's working. Most of the time, I'd rather fit into my skinny clothes than eat whatever treat is tempting me at the moment. Especially when I consider how hard I'll have to work out to burn that much energy.

And so it goes.

Today was the beginning of my third bootcamp week. Still tough. Still lagging behind the rest of the group. Still struggling to finish my sets.

But I actually might possibly be able to keep this up long-term. Maybe. In the meantime, I congratulate myself at the end of each and every session. Then, I come straight home to shower and recover. My heart seems to take long minutes to return to normal. It is still in overdrive.

I think that's a good thing.

She's tiny, and she's black. Simultaneously cute and sexy. And snooty. She taunts me. Hangs out in my closet...and beckons me to put her on just one more time.

She's my favorite little black dress. I wore her for a New Year's Eve party twenty-five years ago. My birthday.

Today, after officially completing my second week of bootcamp ever, I tried her on again. For the first time in decades.

Not because I expected to be able to pull the zipper all the way up. But because I dare to think it will soon be possible.

And when that happens--whether on this upcoming birthday or sometime afterwards--I'll be more fit and in better shape then when I originally put her on as a twenty-something-year old.

Now that's just plain cool.

And it helps me get over the indignity I suffered when I fell on top of another bootcamper today. I was supposed to jump over her while she held a plank. I was fine for the first several jumps. But then fatigue took over.

She was so nice about it. Everyone was nice. They wanted to make sure I didn't get hurt. But I did. Just not in the way they thought. No muscle was injured. No bone was hit. No scrape or burn. I bruised something much more fragile.

My ego.

Oh well. Gotta keep on going. Because today my ears didn't plug up. And I actually enjoyed some of the session. It felt good to stretch out my legs while doing walking squats.

And best of all, I noticed the tiniest, ever-so-slight mark of definition on my puny biceps while doing curls with my five-pound weights. Wow. 

Just came home from another bootcamp session. Realized that it is NEVER going to get any easier.


It will always stay hard. As soon as I get stronger, I'll do more push ups, more pull-ups. I'll run faster. All in the same amount of time.

At least my muscles don't feel nearly as sore this week as last week. I can actually hustle up the stairs without thinking. I can straighten out my arms freely. The others warn me that I'll still have days where the soreness will kick in. But never as fiercely as it did that first week. I am relieved. And grateful. I was not going to be able to manage that level of muscle pain much longer.

And today we got to box. Gloves. Punching bags. The works. Crazy fun. Unfortunately, it didn't last. As soon as we put away our fighting equipment, we started sprinting. And doing this crazy caterpillar crawl on hands and feet, but without knees touching. First downhill. Then uphill. Sheer torture. Cardio exhaustion and muscle burn at the same time. And then jumping jacks--while moving backwards in a line and then forwards. Without any break in between. In fact, breaks are limited to a few minutes for water, and an occasional moment to catch your breath. That's all.

By the time the hour is over, I hobble over to my car. My legs shake. It takes at least 15 minutes for my heart to stop beating like mad. And my ears plug up, which I've been told means I'm close to passing out. Or maybe it's from too much pressure on weak sinuses that are already inflamed from persistent allergies. It lingers for about 30 minutes or so. It is really annoying. I try not to talk because my voice just echoes right back in my head.

The trainer said if I throw-up, I get a free t-shirt. I can't decide if that would be mortifying or rewarding. Like a sign that I've been initiated. Gross.

Fortunately, I've been able to hold that back.

For now.

I did something crazy, impulsive and totally out-of-character last week.

I started a bootcamp program. Three times a week, for one hour, at the local park.

And now I'm paying for it.

Really.  I have never felt such incredible soreness in my thighs. I stare at the staircase in my house with fear and trepidation. How will I make it up? I grip the handrail with all my might, trying--and failing, to get myself up with the sheer strength of my arms. No success. My legs burn with each step.

Anything that requires any degree of squatting causes major pain. Even walking. I never realized that we keep our knees slightly bent when we walk.

I've devised a method to get into the car seat. Open the door. Lean against the top of the seat. Slide down the leather till I plop down in place. Allowing gravity to do some of the work helps. So does the fact that the seat is leather.

Going to the bathroom? Ouch each time. Getting back up? Forget about it. And with all the extra water I'm consuming, it is simply a chore I cannot avoid. So I grimace each time. 

Yet something keeps me going. I'm just not willing to quit yet. That would be too embarrassing. Too defeatist. I'm too ashamed to quit in front of the six other moms in the program--all of whom have been participating for months and are in incredible shape. I envy them all and am simultaneously inspired.

And, for some completely odd, inexplicable and perverse reason, I am enjoying this. Four sessions so far, and I've made it through each one. Forget that I can't always keep up. Forget that I'm always the last in the group to finish my squats and burpees and push ups and sit-ups. Forget that I look like Gumby on steriods, lacking form and finesse.  I don't care. It's all good.

Because I started something that is brutal and challenging and hard. And I am making it.

Even if I can't feel my thighs anymore.