Boot Camp

I'm going to do it. Boot camp, that is. I have finally narrowed my activity of choice down to one here in town that starts at 5:30 4 mornings a week for a month.

For those who know me, I'm sure this will give you a good chuckle. First of all, I'm the furthest thing from a morning person you will ever meet. I have a hard time getting out of bed at any given moment in the a.m. (yes, 11:59am too). It must be psychological from my school days or something. Even on Christmas morning as a kid I let my parents sleep because, well, I was sleeping too. Morning sleep is when I get my best sleep it seems. So when Charlotte is up at 6:30 and trying to pry my eyelids open so that I'll look at her, I have to admit that I am not a ray of sunshine.

Moving right along. Secondly, I am the gimpiest person around. Between my bad back, sore joints, bum knee, and constant tripping, (which, by the way I have a theory on; you can click here for details) So being out in the rain, limping along as I mutter under my breathe with my eyes half closed is going to be quite the site to behold I'm sure.

So why boot camp? Well, I was brainstorming of activities I could do to get rid of that darn rubber tire around my waste effect my jeans seem to give off when I sit down (or stand up). I mean, whole wheat chocolate chip cookie recipes don't seem to be making a whole lot of difference. But then neither are going for long walks with the baby or doing a certain shred exercise video.

I wanted to try belly dancing, but I was afraid I would poke my audience's eyes out with my G sized nursing boobs whirling around. Come to think of it, I may have ended up knocking myself out with those puppies. So no to the belly dancing.

Swimming would be good, except that I wouldn't be caught dead in a bathing suit. I don't think anyone could pay me enough to put my thunder thighs on display and cause a tsunami as I jump into the pool. Then again, I would probably float pretty well with that inflatable looking tire around my waist. Call it pride if you will, the pool is not for me.

Dancing? While I am a secret wisher that I could dance, I cannot. As in cannot, will not, should not. I am a menace to the people around me on the dance floor. You know that song Murder on the dance floor? Yeah, that was about me. Stupid left feet.

Running is my all worst nightmare, (sorry RW. For the record though, you have highly inspired me to get into shape while avoiding bicycling, even though swimming and running are not my thing)

So boot camp it is. I have no idea how in the world I will be able to get up for this. But I figure a screaming-in-my face-coach at 5:30 in the morning is just what I need to get these old bones to move. It's not that I lack motivation. I want this michelin man look gone just as much as the next girl. I just lack motivation to go by myself and exercise by myself. I need someone on my back, pushing me and giving me direction. So here goes nothing. I think I'll stock up on the ibuprofen tonight though. It's going to be quite the show tomorrow morning.