Shit That Happens in Bootcamp Should Stay at Bootcamp. Until Now.

I’ve been attending the same Bootcamp for close to four years, now.   It’s been a great experience for me and I’ve learned quite a bit.  I now have a new appreciation for exercise and the complexities that it contains.  I appreciate good form and I am more self-aware.  There is another side to class that no one talks about…

Let’s face it, shit goes down when you start moving your body in ways that you never could have imagined possible.  Naturally, as a woman of a certain age, bodily functions can go a little…astray….and, at the least opportune time. 

Here is a Top Ten list of Shit that happened to me during Bootcamp class that should never happen to anybody.  Ever. 

10) Wayward Assistance-   This occurred in the first year of class and I was a newbie in dressing in those tight pants.  I erroneously went on-line and adhered to advice given by a twenty-something about not wearing underwear under the tights.  That way no panty-lines!  Yay! I thought.  Also at this time, I was a bit…leaky.  I’ve had three children.  I was nearing fifty, please.  I wore ‘assisted’ apparel for my lady bits so if any ‘leaking’ happened, I was prepared.  So, I stuck one of those babies to my tights.  No undies, remember?  Fast forward to half-way through class and my ‘assisted’ gear had traveled.  Holy fucking God it had unstuck from my tights and traveled down my leg to the inside of my knee!  I distinctly remember doing jumping lunges with that thing stuck to the inside of my leg and thinking “well, at least it will absorb my knee sweat…”  I walked out of class with it still stuck to the inside of my leg and wondered if anyone noticed that my right leg looked a little…thick.

9) Braille boards are a good idea – I can’t see shit when I remove my glasses.  I don’t wear my glasses in class and for four years I haven’t been able to read the nice little whiteboards the Coach places at each station.  I’m getting better at watching what others do before I get to that station…or I improvise until Coach corrects me.  I look like Mr. Magoo for most of the class. 

8)  What’s that smell?  –  Good diets + ab workouts = explosions that inevitably happen.  It’s a good thing the music is loud and it brings a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘Explosive’ Stars… Ventilation.  Good ventilation….

7) My hip doesn’t do that.  Ever. – I have arthritis in my left hip and it just doesn’t want to move on some days.  Sumo squats become semi-sumo with a little squat for good measure.  I fake it mostly….

6) Remember what? – With new exercises comes new things to remember.  I’m still trying to remember what day it is, let alone an exercise that I’m going to get around to in fifteen minutes.  Let’s be real.  I’ll watch but then forget and then make something up that kinda resembled what she showed us at 5:50 Goddamn AM when my brain was still back in my bed and my coffee was calling my name.  AND NOW WITH THE MICROPHONE, I CAN’T TELL WHERE SHE IS IN THE fucking ROOM AND I CAN’T GET AWAY WITH IT AS MUCH.   Just sayin’…

5)  Sweat is normal – Come on, it’s the body’s natural expression of “FOR FUCK’S SAKE LADY WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING TO ME?!  I’M LITERALLY CRYING NOW.  FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY PLEASE STOP!”   This is how I imagine my body reacts to me working out.  It’s crying and is begging for me to stop.  And then I look around and some of the ‘younger’ ladies and somehow, they haven’t even broken a sweat, yet.  I KNOW IT’S ONLY BEEN TEN MINUTES.  BUT IT’S BEEN TEN MINUTES!  How are you not sweating right now?  Yes, that’s my butt mark on the floor.  You. Are. Welcome.

4) That’s not crotch sweat- I refer you to #1 and sometimes leakiness is a part of sweatiness and we older ladies are keeping it classy by referring to it as ‘The Lady Trickles.”  Feel free to print that on a t-shirt.  

3) Hair floor catastrophes- What’s with all the spare-hair on the floor?  I’ll tell you what- your hair falls out after working out so much.  It’s trying to escape the pain.  My hair is contained most of the time, but some days it has a mind of its own and can’t control its excitement for Burpees…

2) Apparatus mysteries – I get tangled up in the TRX.  I call the exercises that are complex and compound “Half pike with an explosive star extravaganza” because I can’t remember the appropriate name nor how my arm is supposed to reach then stretch then do that bicep mid-air curl with a half-twist…thing.  Yeah. 

1) I’ve fallen and I can kinda get up but only because you shamed me into it.  Bitch – I say that with the utmost affection and gratitude.  Maybe.  Most days I would never get up off the floor but I see everyone else doing Deadman Burpees from Hell and I think, “Dafuq are you Queens doing?  FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STAY DOWN!  STAY DOWN!”  But no….EVERYBODY gets back up and they do it all over again.  Ugh. 

That’s it.  That’s the list.  I hope it brought a smile and we can all get real with our bad-selves and Lizzo our way through the rest of our workouts. 

At least, that’s my goal…

And This Little Piggy Went Wee-What-The-Actual-Fuck?

    A couple of months ago, I underwent a bunionectomy.  If you are unsure as to what that is exactly, its day surgery to remove a bunion from a foot.  In my case, it was a big bunion from my left foot.  It’s been an interesting few months of recovery. 

    My surgery was back in May and I won’t sugarcoat anything.  Ireferred to my surgeon as the MotherfuckigantiChrist more often than I care to admit. He warned me several times pre-surgery that it would be “painful and you are going to swear on me repeatedly.”  I smiled and said, “I’ve had three babies all natural, the last one ten pounds.  I got this.”  He smiled in response.  Now, I know why. 

    I remained in bed for four days following the surgery and had it not been for Hubby serving me food, coffee, and pain killers, it would have resulted in me rising from my bed and crawling to the window to throw myself to the mercy of rabid dogs.  Yeah, it was painful.

    I hobbled around and was finally able to descend stairs on a Tuesday.  I remember it well, since I was afraid of falling and scuttled down on my butt the entire time.  I used Hubby’s cane he had stowed away after his knee surgery.  It was going swimmingly, until my right knee decided it wanted some sympathy too, and erupted in bursitis.  Now, I was really down.  A bum left foot and a right knee that screamed every time I bent it.  

    I couldn’t walk up the stairs, I couldn’t stand for long periods and I could barely walk.  I needed crutches, a wheelchair, and a shirtless Spaniard named Marco feeding me grapes.  None of which, I had at my disposal.   

    My main mode of transportation was my ass.  Good thing it was large and squishy.  It made travelling a lot more comfortable.  Oh, yeah.  The entire time, I had a large pin jutting from my middle toe, which made for interesting conversation and people largely exclaiming ‘EWWW’ whenever I mentioned it.  

    By June, I was thankfully over the bursitis and off my ass, so I asked Coach if I could return to Bootcamp .  I still had a little sandle/boot on my foot and I still had the lovely pin protruding from my toe, but I thought I could modify my way through.  She gave me the nod and my first class was interesting.  She refused to look downward lest she gazed upon the ‘pin-ofevil’ and I hopped my way through every exercise.  I have to admit, I was doubtful I would manage, but I wanted to try.  I was so over the whole sitting–downand‘resting’ thing.  

    I muddled my way through everything she had planned and by the end of June I was hobbling on over to the MotherfuckingantiChrist himself to the have the ‘pinofevil’ removed from my toe.  

    Pin Removal Day, or as people tagged it, HolyFuckingMotherofGodThat’sGonnaHurt Day, was uneventful.  Everyone asked “Is he gonna sedate you for that?” or “Are you taking Ativan for that?” to which I had to answer a shaky “Noooo…why do you think I should?”  Their looks of disbelief and head-shaking told me I should probably pop a few pain relievers.  MotherfuckingantiChrist assured me that I indeed would “not feel it as much as you did when the stitches were removed.”   

    The stitch removal was a pain only reserved for those who have wronged the Saints in Heaven and have sided with Satan in a murderous plot to fling babies from rooftops.  That was some serious painful shit.  Hubby was there when I grabbed his leg in agony and swore relentlessly.  D1 the nurse, was horrified by my cry-babyness.  “Mom, EVEN THE CHILDREN I CARE FOR, DON’T CRY.”  Love you too, honey.  I digress.

    I entered the room to have MotherfuckingantiChrist prepare to pull the pin-of-evil from my toe with nothing more than a pair of tiny scissors and an expression of, “Hold still.”  I squeezed my eyes shut and muttered “For fuck’s sake,” recalling every word of caution and regretting the non-painkillerpopping.  I felt a little tug and the pin was out.  Done. 

    His retorts of, “I would never lie to you,” echoing the ever-popular “I told you so,” were still ringing in my head by the time I walked out of the room.  I sauntered out into the hospital corridor free of the pin-of-evil and feeling like I had just conquered Kim Jong-un in some sadistic tug-of-war.  

    Now, a month later the boot is off and I’m almost fully mobile.  I can do some cardio but still do the majority of bootcamp on one leg.  My middle toe is still tender.  Cut me some slack, will ‘ya?  

    My escapade into bunion surgery is almost to an end and thank Gawwwwddddd.  It’s been a long road and I’m almost fully healed.  

    In the meantime, there’s wine for that and to MotherfuckingantiChrist, thanks for telling me the truth.  I WILL NEVER DO THAT AGAIN.  

Cheers!