Imagine coming face to face with a woman who is so openly hostile you believe she might punch you in the face if you so much as touch her, let alone tell her to do 20 burpees followed by a sprint down to the park bench and back.
Yes, unless your sense of self-preservation was completely non-existent, you’d probably back away slowly, making the sign of the devil as you go.
Not my bootcamp trainer. No sirree. She stares death straight in the face at 6am three times a week and says chirpily “Off you go, those burpees aren’t going to go away by themselves now, are they?” And off I saunter, muttering something about death and hate and other meaningless vitriolic dribble.
I attend a Bootcamp session in a local park two to three times a week. It is the absolute best worst part of my week. I loathe getting up at 5:30am (it’s winter, dark and cold at the moment) and am incapable of making small talk with the other attendees at 6am.
At 6:15am I have emitted my first incomprehensible grunts, most of which contain the phrase “Oh [swear word] I hate [exercise type]!”
6:30am rolls around and the only respite from sweating my backside off and cursing the instructor and all her relatives are the ugly wide-mouthed stinking-of-sleep yawns coming from my face.
It’s not until 45 minutes into the session that I become in any way human, let alone pleasant enough to converse with. At 7am, I am almost my normal self and can possibly smile. Finally Boot Camp is over! The day has begun! It can only get more pleasant from here!
I’m not lying. I am an absolutely horrible human being when I’m exercising at 6am. But I do it for a number of excellent reasons:
I like to eat and drink.
Ever the glutton, I can’t go past cheese, chocolate, wine, potato chips or a good creamy pasta. I’ll give you the hot tip: this does not end in a healthy weight range. Attending Boot Camp and sweating out those alcohol and sugar laden toxins actually keeps a lid on my waist line ballooning to “Oh how exciting- you’re pregnant!” mis-exclamations.
This is my only exercise opportunity.
Before the day starts, before children really need me, before tuckshop begins and chores and work and jobs need to be done, this is the only point at which I can get this done. I can aim for later, but let’s face it, that’s not going to happen because: life and children.
I really do feel more energetic.
Outrageous but true. Who’d have thought that slogging your guts out first thing in the morning would actually make you feel more lively for the rest of the day?
I’d like to live longer.
Just about every health professional in the world will tell you exercise is instrumental in a long and healthy life. I quite like being around on this planet, so I might just tough it out a bit longer at 6am.
I laugh. A lot.
Because getting up at 6am and exercising is an abominable thing to do, there is instant camaraderie amongst our band of sweaty attendees. We laugh (well, they do, I join in around 6:40am), we joke, we actually have fun.
At the end of the day, it doesn’t really matter how you fit in exercise, or whether you’re pleasant while doing it: only that you do. You’ll feel better after, I promise I’m not lying!