The humiliation that is Adventure Boot Camp …

Third week in, and I am loving it about as much as I do a waxing session or a pap smear.  If they could find a way to combine them, would not even hint at how much I loath my Adventure Boot Camp sessions.

At least a pap smear takes about 4 minutes, and really when it is over, you sort of look back and go “well that was not that bad, see you in 1 or 3 years.”

I am officially the “fat chick” at boot camp.  The fat old chick.

If my self-esteem could take any more of a dent, I might need to up my Seroquel.

The slowest out of EVE.RY. fuck.n one!  I am the one who is last.  I am usually 40% of the way through the routine when everyone is finished and starting from the beginning.

The trainer now knows my name.  And screams it across the field.

It is one of those occasions when you do not want to be noticed.

You know when you have to run with your rolled up yoga mat above your head, whilst going up-and-down with your arms to the fence and back again?  Just like that.  I eventually just left the mat behind. Really no one can scream at me enough to do push ups with a mat whilst I am running. Not even my mom!

I am so exhausted, and so unfit that I want to cry.

I am waiting on the endorphins that make me feel happy.  It is now 23h16 and still no endorphins,  I don’t think they are coming tonight.

It is okay to cry at Adventure Boot Camp because no one really notices.  Your breathing is coming in short bursts anyway, and you are sort of lying on the floor wondering when it was that life got this bad …  and sweating so much, that a few more bits of moisture on your face is a bit of a non-issue.

So of course you can cry, no one realises and no one cares.

It is only the third week in, and I am officially stuffed.  Buggered.  Fucked. The slowest chick there.

I regret every McDonalds breakfast. I regret every “buy large and save more” bag of Chuckles.

I do not regret the wine.  I think about the large glass I am going to pour as soon as I get home. I have decided to stop eating and get all my calorie intake from a few glasses of wine.  Technically it will be my 5 servings of fruit and vegetables per day.  Right?

Holy Mother of Mary, this getting old and trying very hard to not get any fatter, and hope that maybe, just maybe I can get by a month without my daughter asking me if I am pregnant ….. excuse me whilst I lie on the field and throw up.

Yay for Adventure Boot Camp …. said no one ever!

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