I hurt. Not psychologically, of course; that part of my soul died years ago. But everything else is pretty sore, because I have made the not-terribly-well-thought-out decision to begin attending a fitness “boot camp” that meets in the park across the street from me. At five-thirty am.
Do you have any idea how early it is at five am? The sun isn’t even up yet! It’s the middle of summer! When I am waking up, I want the sun to have the decency to be there and ready for me, not hanging out below the horizon like some kind of lay person who doesn’t have to get up at five am.
When I get out of bed, I do not want to be able to look up in the sky and see stars, unless I have been hit on the head with something heavy. Actually, I don’t want that either, so let’s just call it a complete wash.
In case you’re wondering what is up in the pre-dawn hours in San Mateo parks, besides me, elderly Asian people and guys going through the trash, I would have to say “bugs” and I have bites from various wee beasties all up and down my legs* to prove it.
Oh, and the workouts? Yeah, they’re basically just your usual hour of jogging, squats, jumping jacks, butt-kicks, Frankenstein kicks, squats where you jump at the end, jumping jacks where you squat at the end**, hand weights, skipping, giant rubber bands that tie your feet together, and then you have to walk (while squatting), jump-ropes***, more running, high knees, pushups, crunches, planks, stretching, and one exercise that didn’t have a name because I’m fairly sure that the terrifyingly fit young woman who coaches us made it up on the spot, which involved standing on one rung of a jungle gym, holding onto another about three feet above it and pulling ourselves up with our arms. I have pains in places I didn’t think I had muscles.
*Okay, there’s only three. But they ITCH.
**I’m still not wholly clear on the difference between these two.
***It turns out that I am no longer any good at jumping rope. This makes me kind of sad.