Zero to Sixty Minutes in Hell

It was only a few hours after returning from my second trip to the Minnesota State Fair (a.k.a. The Great Minnesota Get-Together, On-a-Stick Fat Fest, and Midwest Mullet Mania) that I Google searched “Minneapolis fitness boot camps.”  Damn those delicious Blarney Beans and Pronto Pups!  It’s time, supple Ellen, to get back on it. 

 Signing up for a boot camp would force me into an expensive commitment that I couldn’t blow off, right?  Well, if I had $600 to spend on “preventative health/ugly care,” I would spend it on this.  But I don’t, so I chose the poorer woman’s route and invested in a no-frills program (a class package for 1/3 the price).

 I attended my first class yesterday morning at 5:45am and spent sixty minutes in hell with five other (fit-and-fabulous) women who schooled the crap out of me.  I took advantage of every lower level option and still worried that my heart rate was going to put me straight into the grave.  At the end of class I ignored my nausea and vowed to give it another go on Wednesday.  I left the studio, after the instructor had the class give me a round of applause for not dying, and spotted an inspirationally kickass t-shirt on the way out.  “STRONG IS THE NEW SKINNY. – The Shed”  

 FYI, I can barely walk today.  Please see the chart below for all of the areas of my body that hurt. 

 

In continuing my journey to strong, I decided to enlist unsuspecting friends to help me complete my personalized boot camp.  Below, as Roombabe might say, is my Boot Camp Board of Directors.

  • The Shed Fitness/official gym of strong people, you are my temple of strongness.  I pledge to attend your classes on a regular basis and not die within the confines of the studio.
  • Roombabe/official MN Roller Girl, you get to take my before and (hopefully) after photos.  You also have the privilege of giving me circuit workout advice, but are banned from offering me nutritional advice (Pop-Tart sandwiches do not count as a healthy fruit and carb option).
  • MJM/official cheerleader, you’re my Oprah –  motivator, sympathizer, energizer. You, as you always do, keep me motivated as you share in the drive to lead a fit-and-fabulous lifestyle.
  • KAH/official gym guru, you get the honor of sharing your gym and fitness secrets with me.  As one of the strongest people I know, your back is literally made of a rock, you can help transform my poor excuse of muscle mass into a (sexy) Hulk-like beefy bod.  All I want to do is beat someone in an arm wrestling match.
  • RAC/official stylist,you are allowed to tell me which items of clothing look like sausage casing.
  • JKM/official physical therapist-in-training, I will enlist you in any and all fitness-related injuries.  Your ankle rehab advice is still being put to good use.  Soon enough I’ll have the strongest non-cankles this side of the Mason-Dixon.   

The search for strong is on!

Hearts + Farts

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One thought on “Zero to Sixty Minutes in Hell

  1. Ellen! I wish I was in Mpls because I looooove booty camp and I would go with you! By the way, calling it “booty camp” will make it sound and feel even more sexy and fabulous, Beyonce-style, while glossing over the fact that it’s a nauseating sweatfest of pain (that hurts so good).

    We don’t have any booty camp classes here right now, so we’ve established our own in the form of daily Insanity! workouts in the office’s main conference room. It too is a nauseating sweatfest of pain, which I love.
    Peace, love, and boobsweat. CD

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