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.