Boot(y) Camp

I started exercising regularly, really for the first time in my life, about two weeks ago. It’s remarkable how different I feel today after waking up at 5:39am (not a typo) for the last 15 days straight (not an exaggeration). Albeit, for the first few days, I felt as though I had incurred the full wrath of the gods: headaches, body aches, sleepiness, I almost hit a parked car on my drive to the boot camp facility. But what an amazing time it has been!

So, 5:39am – it’s time to wake up. I set my alarm for this time because I have a propensity to snooze three or four times until the clock reaches such an irregular number (not unlike 5:39am) that I’m forced to rise and meet the day. Hence, I start my day with the irregularity I have grown accustomed to in my snoozing. I walk to the kitchen in a haze, down a large glass of water, and reheat whatever herbal tea I forgot about the night before. I turn on the hallway light in an effort to be respectful of the sleeping inhabitants of the household, but royally fuck it up as I bang my knee on the wall and let out an astonishingly impressive war cry. I hear movement in the back room. I curse under my breath at this – my new early-riser existence – and how I need to hustle out the door in order to make it to class on time.

On some days I drive to boot camp and on others my friend drives. I’ve been very strict on myself, I drive or a friend drives to boot camp 6 days a week (I also practice yoga on the off day, and even sometimes on the boot camp days). Statistics will tell us that if you drive your car every day, you’re eventually going to get into an accident. Logic and math doesn’t stop me from driving, nor does it stop me from having an irrational but immobilizing fear of shark bites or plane crashes. What is does stop me from doing, however, is driving more cautiously. As I’m racing down the highway (not really a highway, but…dramatization), I pull off towards my exit (really, a right hand turn) and nearly smash head on into a car innocently and legally parked on the side of the road.

I’ll admit, this wasn’t a life-threatening accident – unlike the time in my young teens when my brother crashed his truck into the side of Pacific Coast Highway with Nirvana playing throughout as a reminder of the effects of reckless teenage angst – it was, however, like the time I wasn’t paying attention, averted my attention behind me, and slammed my bike into a parked car. Which, by the way, why was that not a lesson in school? Don’t even attempt to try to look behind you if you are riding a bicycle for fear you will be wrenched out of this sweet life by your inability to ride in a straight line, thereby hitting cars, pedestrians, trains, buses, and everything else in your path. I think I’ve determined I just can’t live around parked cars, or ride bicycles. That’s my revelation for the day. Right there. Parked fucking cars.

I digress. So, as I’m turning right on the sleepy, residential street where my boot camp is located, I was trying to catch a glimpse at how booked up the 5:30am class was (mainly because, what kind of assholes workout at 5:30am? I wanted to know.). As I reverted my attention back to the street ahead, I had to swerve to miss the navy blue BMW rapidly approaching two feet ahead of me. Disaster averted! There is a god to proclaim!

On each of these 15 days (minus two, so I guess I was exaggerating before), I wake up well before the sun has kicked the moon and night out of the sky, and I work out. And what do I have to show for it? My booty.




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