Maquinna's Poop du Jour: June 2005

Thursday, June 23, 2005

Rusty Girder, 2005

Dress Rehearsals

I made two practice runs this morning. One was taking a look at the route I'm going to have to run for my timed mile at the end of boot camp next week. Because I won't be there on the last day (that's the wedding day), I'm going to have to run my end-of-camp mile next Wednesday. It will also be a different course because we won't be in the same location. Still a mile, but this one will have a bit of a hill in it.

Sargeant Alexis took us on a half-mile run this morning as part of our regular boot camp activities, which covered part of the route I'm going to have to run next week. I can definitely say I'm noticing a difference in my endurance level. It's still not terrific, but I can run farther and longer than I did a few weeks ago. I just want to beat my time. It'll be harder with the hill involved but I understand better now why runners emphasize the mental challenges of running. I know there are mental obstacles I have to find a way through to make me better able to run the whole mile. I'm not going to beat myself up if I have to walk partway - I expect that'll happen - but I just have to not give into it too early.

This brings us to the second dress rehearsal of the morning. For the last week now I've been trying to find a time to try on my dress for the wedding again and make note of any final adjustments I might have to make. It's tough to get it up myself, partly because of where the zipper's placed. Even with help, I hadn't been able to get the zipper up all the way...yikes! I really didn't want to have to make any alterations if I could help it, though.

This morning I decided to try again, and this time it all came together. I got into the crazy bodyshaper and then into the dress. With a little help from the mirror to figure out where to reach for that zipper, it went all the way to the top. An enormous grin spread across my face when I stood back and saw the dress on me for the first time. It's as beautiful as I imagined. I put on the rest of the stuff to see how it would all look together - shoes, jewellery, everything - and I really did feel like a bride.

When the alarm clock goes off before 5 tomorrow morning, and I'm still in a sleepy daze from the late night beforehand, so sleepy that it wouldn't take much to get me to lay back down again, I'll just have to bring that image to mind. Without boot camp I don't think this would have happened this morning. I can keep it up for another week - impending timed mile and all.

Wednesday, June 22, 2005

Hosta Blossoms, 2005

Hosta Leaf, 2005

Spelling and Grammar Cop

I've always been finicky about grammar and spelling; it's simply part of my nature. I think paying attention to these things demonstrates some orderliness in the mind, which I admire, and also shows respect for those with whom you are communicating. This is not to say that I don't take liberties with language from time to time, and I do like to be amused when others play with language in ways that better communicate their intention. Sometimes that means spelling like 'Hooked on Phonics', or ebonics, to give flavour to words. That's fine - the point is, language is an art form we all use, and how we use it says a lot about who we are and what's important to us.

Poor spelling vexes me. Before I carry on, I want to say that there is a difference between simple typos and poor spelling. The former is just a mistake often brought on by too much speed; the latter is a chronic condition. Sometimes, particular words just trip up people, and they are always struggling with the correct spelling of that word while, for the most part, their spelling is generally sound. Whether someone's errors are typos, however, or the result of lack of respect for spelling and grammar, quickly become apparent.

(For the record, I fully expect that certain people will be closely analyzing this particular blog entry for my own mistakes. Let me give you some assistance: I sometimes have trouble with subject-verb agreement in long sentences. Start there.)

Current list of pet peeve words - ones I frequently see misspelled or misused:

Dependant/independant (and all other forms). Why do people always try to shove an 'a' in there? Folks: the word is 'dependent', and there is no 'a' in it or any of its forms.

Disorientated. This is not a word. The noun is disorientation, and one becomes disoriented. You do not become disorientated. This is one of these bizarre situations where people actually make language more complicated, instead of more simple, when they modify language.

Kewl. Frequently seen in cyberspace. Some might argue that this is an artistic interpretation of the word 'cool', meant to give a sense of the person's inflection if they were speaking the word. It is, however, in my humble opinion, utterly moronic. Analogy: 'cool' is Easy Rider, while 'kewl' is the latest Disney remake of a classic movie starring the talentless but highly photogenic teen icons du jour.

Quote as a noun. This one is strictly personal. I grant that even the Oxford English Dictionary has relented on this one, but I simply cannot. Quote is a verb. Quotation is the noun.

You need only remember this: sloppy grammar and spelling equal a sloppy mind.

Tuesday, June 21, 2005

Charles River Museum of Industry, 2005

A Haiku Upon Discovering One of Kitty's Gifts

Small crunchy bird's head;
Once it flew, now it is flat.
My shoe needs cleaning.

Monday, June 20, 2005

Sisters, 2005

Miss Manners

Has there truly been a breakdown of common etiquette - or was etiquette ever truly common? Once again my adventures as Super Auntie have been met without even an email from the child's parent acknowledging that a gift arrived in the mail. How did I develop the habit of the thank-you note while my siblings did not, never mind impart that habit to their children?

I don't expect anything in return for gifts, really. I'm definitely not keeping score. My family's on the other side of the continent and I get to see them but rarely. It does sadden me that I will probably never know my nieces and nephews well, but that was something I had to accept when I decided to move so far away - and to be honest, I doubt we would have been particularly close had I remained at home.

Were we taught to do this as children ourselves? I can't say that we were. Perhaps a few times, as a child, I wrote a thank-you note for some nasty itchy sweater, struggling to find more than two words to diplomatically express my thanks without faking enthusiasm (I sure didn't want to encourage more of that kind of gift...). Mostly I just want to be assured the gift actually got there. Trusting in the delivery of a gift slipped into a black hole of a mail box is sometimes a little disconcerting, and I'd at least like to know that one child isn't wondering why their sibling or cousin got a gift three months ago and they didn't.

What should be a simple form of civility has now become a lost art. Perhaps because I'm more inclined to put my thoughts into writing, the act of the thank-you note doesn't seem like such a chore to me. Those who are parents like to scoff and roll their eyes when we who have yet to become parents add yet another thing to our list of things our child will always or will never do, and yet this is one skill I must add to my list. Simple expressions of gratitude and politeness never, I think, go out of style.

Friday, June 17, 2005

Railway Bridge

How Did I Get Here?

5:40 am

I'm jogging down Salisbury Street with a dozen other women, panting loudly, willing myself to make it the whole way back this morning without stopping part way. The thought which occurs to me is...how on earth is it that I'm jogging down Salisbury Street right now when I was this close to not even getting out of bed this morning?

5:00 am

Alarm goes off, for what must be the third time. I don't remember the first two times. I sit up straight right away and swing my legs over the end of the bed, but the rest of me doesn't want to get out. I groan and wipe my eyes. Craig asks me if I'm OK. I reply that I'm simply exhausted, since I didn't get to bed until past 11 the night before. It's so hard to get up after having class the night before and having an hour's drive home - this time through a virulent thunderstorm. He says 'you can do it, xxx' (term of endearment concealed here to protect the rest of the public from rolling their eyeballs). Somehow I get up and start getting dressed, but my legs are leaden and my head is in a daze.

5:45 am

Make it around the designated lamp post and head back up Salisbury Street. All the way, no stops.

Thursday, June 16, 2005

Mist on Pond 2

Mist on Pond 1

Grrrl-illa in the Mist

I've noticed during the last few mornings, now that the cool weather has returned, that there's a thick and floaty layer of mist through much of the wooded and watery areas on my drive from home to boot camp to work and back. I decided this morning I'd take my camera with me and stop on the way back from boot camp and try a few shots.

Mist is sort of hard in this situation because it's really easy for it to become blended in with the overcast skies. The white balance is also a challenge - and also an opportunity. I noticed afterwards that some of my shots benefitted from cooling down the white balance to give the mist an even more ethereal feel.

I've been concentrating on shooting backgrounds, as well as separately photographing objects from different angles and bodies and body parts to use in masking and compositing experiments in photoshop. I've been exploring the work of the German photographer, Loretta Lux, whose composite photographs I find very attractive. They have a painterly quality that's very old-world, like albumen frescoes, and the longer you stare at them, the more disturbing they become. I think I'd like to try something in that vein, but with a softer feel to it.

Wednesday, June 15, 2005

Colouring Boys

Checked Out

I've officially checked out. My brain is not on the job at all, nor is it likely to be anytime during the 8 1/2 working days left before I take time off for the wedding and honeymoon. It's not like I have a ton of stuff to organize; it's more just wishing the day would hurry up and get here. Craig, who has to determine which of the vehicles in the fleet will ultimately be the least shaky option for this trip, probably has more on his plate than I do. I guess the truth is that it doesn't take much these days to persuade me to avoid work, especially when I can give about 10% of my effort and still get the job done reasonably well.

Boot camp is starting to catch up with me, I think. My legs feel like lead and I just want to nap. I'm still doing quite well. Sargeant Erica had the temerity to suggest today that I might be ready to move to 10 lb weights instead of my 5 lb ones, based on her observation that she's seeing some definition on top of my arms and I don't seem to have trouble lifting the smaller weights. I replied that it's the lack of definition under my arms that is more of a concern, and frankly I didn't think it would be wise to consider such a move until I was actually able to do a push-up from my toes. It's hard enough right now just from the knees. Red Sox catcher Doug Mirabelli put himself on the disabled list for several weeks after trying to swing David 'Big Papi' Ortiz's much heavier bat - what does that tell you? Don't mess with shit you aren't ready for.

Tuesday, June 14, 2005

Squint

Better Living Through Chemistry

UV rays. Bugs. Pollen. Smelly Pits. Frizzy Hair. Plaque. And everything else...

It amazes me how much time I spend swallowing or slathering chemicals designed to protect my body from undesirable states, from sunburn to pregnancy. This is a list of all the chemicals I voluntarily and knowingly use on my body on a daily or near-daily basis, not including food or food-like substances:

Dove soap * Shampoo * Conditioner * Hair De-Frizzer (rather pointless in this humidity, but what the hell) * Hair Straightener (no, they're not the same things) * Hair smoothing balm (stop laughing) * Anti-perspirant/deodorant * Body spray (juniper or grapefruit when I'm feeling fruity) * Oxy zit cream (10% benzoyl peroxide) * Toothpaste * Mouthwash * Claritin-D * Patanol eye drops * Flonase nasal spray * Sunscreen * Bug spray (DEET) * Birth control pills * Lipitor (for cholesterol) * Multi-vitamin ('women's variety') * Mascara * Lipstick * Nail hardener * Hand cream * Facial scrub * Facial moisturizer * Body moisturizer * Baby powder * Vaseline petroleum jelly (for callouses on my heels) * Marshmallow night cream

I'm sure that if my boyfriend were to draw up his list, it would have fewer items than you could count on one hand. Soap, shampoo, pit stick, tootpaste - that'd be about it. Of course, this might explain why my hands are soft and smooth, and Craig spent the weekend coaxing years of grime out of his navel with a Q-tip and rubbing alcohol, but only after repeated coercion.

Still, it's rather bewildering to contemplate just using these things everyday, never mind setting up a system where I can actually find all of them.

Monday, June 13, 2005

Daddy's Girl

I Kick Ass

Sometimes I find compliments very uncomfortable things to hear. Two incidents over the past few days have given me that little squirmy feeling in my gut, although recognizing it the first time did help make it a little more palatable the second time.

Several of my photography classmates and I were out on the Esplanade in Boston on Saturday, in very oppressive muggy heat, documenting the 'Backyard Festival' sponsored by the Life is Good company in support of Project Joy, a charity that helps children who have had to deal with trauma. After shooting for awhile the coordinator said to me, very sincerely, that she had been watching me shooting and thought I was a natural for that kind of work.

It felt really weird hearing that - probably because I really do want to be good and part of me wants to think I'm getting there, but another part tends to despair at how much I have yet to learn and I wonder if I'll ever be good enough. So, my reaction was to laugh and stick my tongue out at her. I immediately realized that that was really not an appropriate response to what was honestly meant as completely unsolicited encouragement, so I backed up and told her thanks, and that I just don't seem to take compliments well.

This morning I was back at boot camp. The humidity was still so thick in the air I felt as though I hadn't been clean in a week - and after an hour of sweating through interval training, running, calisthenics, and ab exercises, while wearing a glistening patina of Deep Woods Off and then rolling around on an asphalt tennis court covered in fine sand, pollen and other debris, I don't think I could have possibly felt more disgusting. That, however, is besides the point (but something I felt you should hear, just so you could picture it).

The routine at boot camp is pretty straightforward, although the actual exercises vary from day to day. Always, we begin with a warm-up that includes some stretching and getting the heart rate up, and then we are told to run a short distance - probably no more than a quarter mile - before starting on the actual exercises of the day. Last week I wasn't able to make it the whole run without stopping at some point, so when Sargeant Alexis announced this morning that we were going to run even further than usual, my eyes mentally rolled into the back of my skull knowing it would be very difficult for me to do it. Somehow, though, I found the energy or the will or *something*, and I powered through the entire run - extra 50 meters or so and all - and made it all the way back without stopping. I was so proud of myself!

Later through boot camp we were doing interval training, where we had to run different distances, pick up cones, bring them back, take them out, run back, etc. And I was totally busting my ass. We were split into two teams doing this and it turned out that I was going to be the last person in my rotation to go through the course, against the other team, who had been ahead of us the whole way. Their last runner thought, I guess, that they had a long enough lead so she slowed down and started walking towards the finish. And for some weird reason, I looked over and saw her relax, and kicked myself into a sprint and beat her. Un-frickin-believable.

As I was getting ready to leave after we were done for the morning, Sargeant Erica came over and looked at me with kind of a weird expression on her face (shock and awe?) and said "You were really kicking butt out there today!" And again, it felt very weird to have someone notice that AND say something about it. But like the windedness, I fought it off enough to just say thanks and take the comment graciously. I see this is a learned skill.

Robertson Davies, who some would call the grandfather of Canadian literature, once remarked, when asked about the expression of the 'Canadian soul' in comparison to the 'souls' expressed by other countries, that 'telling Canada it has a soul is like telling a rather stupid and unsophisticated girl that she is beautiful - she just laughs at you and kicks you in the shins.' I used to snicker knowingly at that comment, because if you're Canadian you know it really is dead on. Now, though, it feels rather strange realizing that there's a lot of that girl in me.

Friday, June 10, 2005

Gargoyle, 2005

The Timed Mile

First, a gold star to MOI. I made it to boot camp at 5:30 am every day this week. That alone is a victory, as far as I'm concerned - especially the mornings after I have night class and I don't even get to hit the rack until past 11.

Now for the self-effacing, baring one's innermost foibles news. This morning's exercise involved running a timed mile. The idea is not to be too concerned about what your time is. We get to do this all again at the end of the camp. The idea is to work towards improving your time.

The run was around Elm Park, which is one of these rather pretty urban parks with waterscaping and what-not, where everyone goes to let their dogs crap and pretend they didn't notice. The perimeter of the park is 8/10 of a mile, so the run adds a little extra at the end to make up the difference. One long length of the perimeter borders on one of Worcester's busiest streets, which even at that time of the morning has a surprising amount of traffic.

I admit, I was anxious about the run. I already knew there was no way I could make it without stopping to walk part-way. I even figured I'd be doing more walking than running. I was anxious enough that I was actually concerned about what I chose to wear this morning, not wanting to look utterly horrific panting along Park Avenue - I didn't want to be responsible for any accidents. A merely jiggling sweatball was the best I could hope for.

Craig will laugh at this moment, knowing that I was also wearing my green bandana around my head. He says it looks like Charlie Sheen in 'Hot Shots'.

After forcing us through a couple of shorter warm-up runs (which, in my opinion, sucked enough energy out of me to add two minutes to my mile time), we were off around the park. At least it's flat. I decided the best way to get through this without running completely out of steam was to devise a kind of strategy to occupy my brain and distract me from my lack of breath. I would go as far as I could at a good solid pace initially, until I really couldn't take another step, and then I would walk for a hundred steps. I'd then jog another hundred paces, then walk a hundred paces, and so forth until the end.

I think it was a good system for me this morning. By the time I got to the end of each hundred steps of running, I was nearly done. Counting all the steps in my head made me keep going until I got to 100. A hundred paces walking was the breather I needed to get my wind back to run some more. I ended the mile at a solid run, at about the same pace I started. Very tired.

11:49, Sargeant Erica says.

Not great...but better than I imagined. And although I felt totally drained, I realized afterwards that I could run it again tomorrow if I chose and already know how to shave some time off that. I could probably do it with 50 steps of walking for every 100 steps of running.

So what's the goal from here? I've got three weeks to improve my time. Three more weeks of boot camp, making me stronger and improving my conditioning. Can I get it under 11 minutes? I think that's more than doable, that's a must. Could I get it under 10? That's what I'd really like to shoot for. I don't know if I can, but I'm going to give it a shot.

Thursday, June 09, 2005

Your Life, 2005

Wednesday, June 08, 2005

Mom Said Never To Stick Anything Smaller Than Your Elbow In Your Ear, 2005

Tantamount to Taunting

I can't believe I'm writing yet again about the goddamn vending machine (hereafter known as the offending machine) on the floor of my building, but it is vexing me so ferociously right now that I am becoming convinced that some sort of low-tech conspiracy is at work.

When I came into work last Monday, I decided I wanted a package of peanuts from the machine. I put my money in, pressed the magic numbers, and watched the coil around them begin to spiral. Then - you guessed it - as if conjouring up the ghost of a Seinfeld episode, the peanuts sat there, magically connected to its comrades, stuck and unwilling to fall forward.

Grrr.

The natural instinct at this moment is to pound with your fists on the machine, kick it, grab it and shake it, anything, you think, since it will only take a little jarring to get your snack out. This, of course, does not work. Vending machines are made so that any force directed from the front has no impact on the products inside, and instead, reply with karmic vengeance on your person. Stand clear. This is how people end up squashed like bugs.

Vending machines can, however, be forced to comply if hit from either side. This won't help you if the machine is one in a long row of salty-snack or sugary-treat repositories. However, the offending machine in question is a stand-alone. It sits there like a defiant behemoth; you almost expect to see it sprout long mechanical pads for feet like in cartoons, and hop around the hallway. But it has no feet, and no buddies alongside it. It's entirely vulnerable, and I wasn't planning to give up until the peanuts were mine.

I throw a pretty mean hip-check. My ass is well-padded enough that I can keep it up long enough to force the offending machine into submission. I begin shaking it from one side with mighty blows from my butt.

Nothing.

I move to the other side. Pound, pound, pound...we're deep into battle now. Still, the machine won't give up the peanuts.

I move back to the first side and pound it some more, like a Japanese taiko drummer. Suddenly, a small can of Pringles chips flies out of its coil and into the tray. I laugh, but I'm pissed. The only thing I really want is the bag of peanuts. I keep hitting the machine. A pack of wafer cookies hits the tray. Still no peanuts.

Now I'm getting really annoyed. I double up and hit the machine again, hard. The peanuts wilt meekly from the coil and hit the dirt - and the crowd roared!

I returned to the office with my booty (all puns intended). Like a good girl, I took the peanuts to my desk and put all the other goodies in the staff kitchen with a note saying 'The vending machine gods have favoured us. Please help yourself.'

I stood victorious, for that brief shining moment.

Today, in a moment of weakness, I went back to the machine. I was intent on getting the least harmful thing (as far as I could determine) as a late-afternoon snack. I put in four quarters and pressed F9.

Nothing.

The offending machine has begun exacting its revenge. It has decided now that it will only take my money, and won't give anything at all, until my bill is paid. As far as it's concerned, it saw me coming and determined I owed it $1.85 for the chips and cookies it gave up the other day in the hip-fight.

I walked away. For now.

Tuesday, June 07, 2005

Life Through Jesus Goggles

Sometimes when I'm on my lunch break at work, I'll dive headfirst into the otherworld known as Chat. I find it's a good way to distract myself from my own projects and concerns for a short while. I admit it straight out: most of the chat rooms I've been in are pure shite. Typically they're filled with illiterate welfare cheating trailer park housewives, or simply cheating housewives (and husbands). That's amusing for about five minutes, tops, and then I'm out of there to find a room that doesn't have someone blaring "Sweet Home Alabama" through the mic like it's the best thing that ever happened to music, or isn't all about people showing off their willies and ta-tas on cam.

Sidenote: I find cam pervs boring and pathetic. Truly. What on earth makes someone think I would enjoy seeing their pasty, pimply, flabby genitalia on a 1" x 1" square of my screen? Zzzzzzz. Crazier, people PAY for live cam of this.

Despite the categories laid out in Chat - "Social Issues", "Love and Romance", "Hobbies and Interests" (and the less vague "Adult Playground"), people who create rooms place them wherever the hell they feel like it. For that reason, it's just as common to find rooms with names like "Muhammedans We Fear You not! Bring It!" (what the hell does that mean?) in a category like "Meet New Friends". There are, of course, many different rooms that are supposed to be discussions about world politics, foreign policy, and religion, but generally I leave those as soon as I enter. Loud Middle Eastern radio programs don't really work in my office.

One room I tend to hang out in more frequently is called Soap Box Politics. It tends to be quite amusing for me, a shameless bleeding heart liberal, because so many of its inhabitants are much further to the right of the spectrum. There are a few people who are actually intelligent, and despite their conservative natures, I find them interesting to discuss issues with. The vast majority, however, so undermine the conservative cause that I can virtually feel the more well-read and evolved right wingers cringing over their keyboards. It's a squirmy feeling that I've come to realize is brought on by the rantings of those wearing Jesus Goggles.

Yeah, that's right, I'm not a Christian, but even though I don't see why anyone subscribes to formal religion (any religion), I don't have issues with those for whom religion is an important part of their life, provided they don't try to push their agenda on the rest of us. And that's where Jesus Goggles become really tedious. No topic, no matter how banal, can be discussed without these folks clamouring to convince us that whatever Jesus had to say on the subject (or better yet, their interpretation of whatever Jesus had to say on the subject) is the only acceptable point of view. They can't look at anything - whether it's the wife-beating asshole next door (turn the other cheek, woman. Obey your husband. I shall love my neighbour, even if he does wrong) or a Superbowl, ahem, 'wardrobe malfunction' (Oh my God. Did you see that? I'm writing the network. Look, look! A human nipple! God will destroy them for this. Change the channel, that's better, we'll watch something with machine guns ripping apart innocent civilians instead, those boys are on God's mission bringing freedom to the world)...

OK, maybe I'm getting a little carried away here. Nah.

Yesterday this little cretin in Chat (handle of 'HeyRichie'), wearing Jesus Goggles, challenges me to come up with a topic, any topic, that demonstrates how religion, when mixed with politics, undermines the rights of individuals. His assertion is that it's just fine to mix religion with politics, because that does the most good for everyone.

You gotta be kidding, I said. What about gay marriage?

HeyRichie: gays don't have the right to marry, that's not a legal definition of marriage

Maquinna: Whose definition? From where?

HeyRichie is quiet for a moment, plainly googling. He comes back with: "Marriage: the legal union of a man and woman as husband and wife."

Maquinna: Where did that come from?

HeyRichie: dictionary.com

Maquinna (while looking up the entry): I don't think anyone uses dictionary.com to support legal definitions. Besides (having now found the entry), you've only used the first of 5 definitions on that page. What about number 4, that specifically talks about same-sex marriage?

HeyRichie: marriage is a religious event.

Maquinna: Marriage doesn't belong to religion. What about civil marriages? If my boyfriend and I (and I'm a woman) go down to City Hall tomorrow and get married, would you agree that we are married?

HeyRichie: yeah but that's a man and a woman. Jesus didn't say it could be two men or two women.

Maquinna: But it wouldn't be a religious marriage. God wouldn't be involved. So if you recognize a civil marriage between a man and a woman, why should religious principles dictate what marriage is or isn't?

HeyRichie: the church shouldn't have to marry gay people.

Maquinna: I'm not saying they should. I think all religions have a right to decide what beliefs and principles they should support within their own churches and with their own people. But that shouldn't interfere with the ability of gay people to be married in civil ceremonies or in religious places that support gay marriage. That would be allowing religion to dictate to the rest of society.

HeyRichie: the church won't see them as married

Maquinna: How will a church see me, if I get married in a civil ceremony, or if I get married in a some other church outside of their own? They still consider me married, just not in their church. It's not up to religion to decide who is married and who isn't. It's up to society. That's why religion and politics must remain separate.

HeyRichie doesn't respond.

As far as I'm concerned, the discussion is over. I've made my point, albeit against someone completely unable to support a simple argument.

A little while later, I get a PM (private message) from another person in the room, who I won't name. He says:

"I hope you know that just because I'm a republican, it doesn't mean I'm a jesus freak."

All I can think is that be glad the jesus freaks are on your side, buddy. They seem to be helping you elect governments these days. Apparently over 80% of Americans have a strong belief in God, and more than 60% believe religion should play a role in politics. Two-thirds of Canadians and Koreans, and only one third of Australians, consider God an important part of their lives, but in all three countries virtually no one thinks religion should be mixed with politics. I'm sure those statistics make citizens of all four countries feel somewhat vindicated.

Monday, June 06, 2005

The Wedding Dress

Banished to Boot Camp

I keep telling myself that it's not the wedding dress, it's not the wedding pictures, it's none of that...it's just that my routine is stale and needs a good shake-up, and I need to get out of something of an exercise rut. I keep telling myself that, and I nearly believe it.

A few weeks ago I learned about Bay State Boot Camp, an intensive one-hour workout, five days a week, for four weeks, that promised to completely invigorate me (and yes, take a little gut off in the process). Monday to Friday...starting at 5:30 a.m. Before I could talk myself out of it, I signed up.

I went to bed before 10 last night so that I had half a hope of getting up when the alarm went off at 4:45. Unfortunately, I'd left the blinds up all day yesterday so the bedroom was about 80 degrees all night long, even with the fan blowing full blast. It made for a night of tossing and turning, and sweating enough to make me wonder if I would save any sweat for boot camp in the morning.

I'd put out my clothes the night before so I wouldn't have to search around. My mat and hand weights were already in the car. Water bottle near the sink to fill up before I left the house. I got up. I got dressed. I got in the car.

Boot camp is outside in a park. We go to a nearby church gym if it rains. About a dozen other women were there. They all seemed normal, except they were here at 5:30 am ready to start working out. Sargeant Erica and Sargeant Alexis took the roll, then the music started blasting out of the ghetto box and we were on our way. Jumping jacks. Squats. Running. Skipping rope. I realized very quickly that my workouts to date were not nearly this hard. I was never the last one in, or the worst at any activity - but I wasn't even close to the top of the pack at anything! Granted, many of these women have done this before; there were perhaps three other newbies besides me. I was very quickly winded.

I did better with the strength training and weights based exercises. I guess that shouldn't surprise me since a lot of my working out has been strength training, and I'm pretty strong that way.

I was surprised how quickly the hour went by. I got through it, and I credit myself for just showing up at that ungodly time (check earlier post, 'The Egg', if you're unclear about my liveliness in the wee hours of the morning). I know that boot camp is going to get harder and harder as the days go by - that's the point. My muscles are a little sore already, but I've set two goals for myself during this month:

1. I will get through the whole thing, by the end of it, without getting so winded I have to stop.
2. The wedding dress will get zipped up that final inch at the top.

Ha. And you thought I was serious when I said it wasn't about the dress...

Maquinna's Poop du Jour