Fear of Full Metal Jacket Moment!

I am pleased to say I survived week one of Fitness Boot Camp. And when I say survived, I mean barely: This first week included getting a prescription for a rescue inhaler and pulling both groin muscles. Let's just say I have a new appreciation for the military recruits.

The instructors keep saying it's not a competition, but I've seen the Vincent D'Onofrio scene from Full Metal Jacket, and I'm a little nervous. We're supposed to do a baseline test on Monday.

It's been two days of rest. I am still sore in a few places, and I have no idea what that will mean for tomorrow.

Oye.

Still taking it a day at a time, but it is intimidating that there are 50-year-olds passing me during the running portion of the camp!!!

Oil...Can...

As I've written in a previous post, I decided to sign up for a Fitness Boot Camp.

Monday, I thought I had made a terrible mistake. I woke up at 4:30am, managed to get dressed, put on underarm deodorant, brushed my teeth, put on my trusty Philadelphia Eagles hat, and drove to the park. I was told on-time (5:30am) is late, so I got there at 5:15 and managed to get a parking space. There were a total of 100 "recruits" (newbies) and "veterans" who attended the first session.

I didn't realize how poorly out of shape I was until the calisthenics drill began. I managed to do a lot of them, but not all of them. I was wheezing so badly that I had to stop a few times. After 45 minutes worth of planks, side-straddle hops (the new-fangled way of saying jumpin' jacks), push ups, hello dollies, cherry pickers, and others I can't even remember the names of, we lined up in rows of three to run. At about a tenth of a mile, my allergies took over my lungs and I had to stop. I walked the rest of the way. I was the last one to join the platoon during Dr. Drill's first talk.

Needless to say I went home, feeling a little defeated. Pathetic. I stood under the hot water of my shower for about 40 minutes. My tired, aching muscles really appreciated the heat.

I got changed, and went to work. Later that night, I went to Manfriend's house, and as I promised, worked out on the elliptical. I managed to get in 19.08 minutes. Then he got on, and I zoned out.

I left his house, and crawled into bed, realizing I had to get up early AGAIN because I had to travel to Jersey for work in the morning. The alarm rang at 5:30am. I whimpered, and my legs were absolultely screaming at me. I managed to get ready and out the door to beat rush-hour traffic. I did a lot of walking on-site, and my legs were really starting to get ticked off, to the point where people were laughing at me as I struggled to get seated in various meetings.

I thought, "How the heck am I going to do this for eight weeks?"

My friend C wrote me during the day, providing words of encouragement. She said even though she's been through it twice, her legs were hurting, too.

As she advised, Tylenol would become my best friend on Tuesday night.

This morning, I heard thunder and lightning. I was kind of excited, thinking, "Ooooo. Maybe we'll work out indoors." No such luck. The skies cleared up in time for 5:30am, and we ran out to the field and worked out. I was covered in grass and mud by the time I left today. And I smushed two worms on the way down to do plank exercises. (Ew.)

My legs hurt just as much as they did yesterday, but I feel better about today. I ran a little, started to wheeze, walked the rest of the way, was the last person to sit down, again. It doesn't matter: I felt better about what I accomplished for the day. I'm just going to take it a day at a time.

If I had to set a long-term goal, it would be to get through all the exercises prior to the running. My guess is by week eight, I'll still be the last one to sit down, but perhaps I'll have a slow jog going, rather than a walk.

In the meantime, I am SORE. It's a good sore, but it's SORE nonetheless.

What's in a Name?

Manfriend has a very cool first name. It rhymes with "neato."

We went to a home improvement store on Sunday, in search of a patio set for his house. To his delight, the store was running a sale. He found a cart, grabbed a green table, six matching chairs and three side tables, and we walked up to the cashier.

He paid by credit card. She looked at his name on it, and said, "I really like your name."

"Well, thank you," Manfriend said with a smile.

"Yes," she continued, "because you can be called by that. I can't stand it when people are given a name, and other people shorten it. Makes no sense to me. Like, when someone names their kid Joseph, and they call him Joe..." (She said Joe with a sneer.)

Oooookay, then.

I had to look away, as Manfriend was dumbfounded by the exchange. He recovered nicely. He smiled, politely took his card, wished the cashier a happy Memorial Day weekend, and we walked out with his stash.

As we strolled to the exit, Manfriend whispered out of the side of his mouth, "Yep...it's definitely you!" We both started to laugh.

Tonight, he asked me if this was the same home improvement store I went to where I was accosted with Grandpop spittle. (It was.)

"Why do you keep going there?"

Angry

Today was a tough day. I behaved in a way un-befitting a professional, and I am pissed off at myself. Worse yet, I was angry, and I did the one thing one should not do in an office setting: I cried.

Granted, they were angry tears, but they were tears nonetheless. In my field, there's no crying. There's no crying in I.T., and yet there I was. Pissed off. Angry. Tears flowing. Eyes beet red and swollen. Pissed off, and no longer able to control the anger, the tears flowed down my face.

For a brief few minutes, I didn't give a shit. You know what, I'm pissed. Here's what Pissed looks like. It's not pretty, and sometimes it comes with tears and snot. Piss off.

My manager sat there in shock. He was used to a happier, have-it-all-together, sane person. This was not the person who was in front of him. He did not know quite what to do with me. So, he took me out to lunch. You know, the way a father would take a four year old out for ice cream when she lost a baseball game. Or, get the crazy lady out of the office. Either way, not good. I was so embarrassed by my behavior. I kept apologizing. He told me to stop beating myself up, that it wasn't personal.

I don't know why people don't understand this: It is personal. If we're lucky in today's economic environment, we go to a place of employ, and we spend over a third of our time during the week there. We work hard to enjoy the life we have outside of work. If that hard work is questioned or countered, it equates to a potential altering of our personal lives. So, please - don't tell me it's not personal.

(Yeah. Still pissed off. Can you tell?)

Some days I wish I had the - what's the word? courage? balls? - forethought to collect myself and defend my position, rather than cry or clam up. This applies professionally and personally. Then I think to myself I'd be throwing someone under the proverbial bus if I did so. I wouldn't like myself much if that happened, either. So, the alternative: tears.

One day, I'm going to find my Inner Voice in these situations. Lord help the universe when I do.

Until then, I'm going to be grouchy. And have a cookie. So there.

Private Benjamin with Kettle Bells

It's been a while since I've posted. I've been distracted.

I have a birthday coming up soon, and I think it's time for reinvention. My friend, C, has been talking about her time in a Fitness Boot Camp. It's run by a chiropractor who was also a Marine. (He signs his e-mails with Semper fidelis.) She said it's done wonders for her, and has said to everyone "you should do this!"

Now, I will say this: She is a feisty warrior without the boot camp training. She's up for any challenge.

I've been trying - trying! - to get back to a normal exercise regimen. Manfriend purchased an elliptical, and we were working out three times a week. We were going at a good clip, but we stopped this week (lots of work just knocked both of us out). We plan on returning to our normal schedule this week, but I want to ramp up my exercise routine. The elliptical is awesome for my legs, but I still am experiencing the "chicken wing" arms. I went to a wedding recently for a family friend, G, and she has these killer arms. I am admittedly very envious!

So, I took the plunge, and signed up for an eight-week stint with the local Fitness Boot Camp. I will go through a physical tomorrow to determine if I can go through with the program (I don't see any problems.). The Fitness Boot Camp is three times a week, from 5:30am to 6:30am. Yes, I did say AM. It's also all outside.

When I tell you this will be a challenge, it will be a challenge. I hate the outdoors. Nature doesn't like me much, either. I've had "tree issues:" They've fallen on my house and my fence, and they are costing me a small fortune to remove them.

I really want to do this, so that I know I can do this. Will I be running marathons after this? Um, no. But, at least I will feel like I've attempted multiple avenues to maintain my health and weight.

OORAH! I've enlisted.

Things that shouldn't make me laugh and yet do...

Quick post:

My younger dog is blind; my older dog is deaf. Older dog was asleep on the floor; younger dog was asleep on the couch directly above older dog. Younger dog decided to jump to the floor. Older dog can't hear younger dog jump; younger dog can't see what's below him.

Result: Younger dog scares crap out of older dog; older dog growls at younger dog; younger dog still doesn't know what he did.

LMAO.

Like I said... I know it shouldn't have made me laugh. Yet... *giggle*

I want to go baaaack!

Hello. Long time no blog.

A quick update: I went on a mini-vacation. The kind that didn't involve a hospital bed, and tests, and machines that made loud noises. The kind that included Manfriend, and roses, and wonderful food, and just the two of us away from work and stress. It was heaven.

Oh, yeah - and it was the first time away with Manfriend. It was fantastic. I didn't plan a damn thing. He took care of it all. The place was just perfect for a short-stay getaway. I have to say, I felt very spoiled. The place was delightful. There was a fireplace in the room. Very cozy. I had a massage one day. The breakfasts were phenomenal.

And people, please: they had Ghirardelli hot chocolate and home-made marshmallows. I was ready to move in!

Oh, and there were sheep. They were interesting. I thought sheep made peaceful 'baaaa' sounds. No. They make "MWOOOOAARR" sounds. Scared the crap out of me. Oh, yeah - and they run. FAST.

The last day of our mini getaway, I was determined to take pictures of the sheep. Mostly, they stayed inside their sheep house. We were surprised there was more than one sheep, actually. I walked over to the fence, and started to snap pictures of the four of them in their sheep house. Awww, pretty!

Then, Manfriend says, "Um...do sheep charge?" And I reply, "That's ridicu..."

MWOOOOARRR!

I turn around, and one of the sheep is galloping toward the fence. Galloping!

He stopped at the fence, and then just stared at me. I think it was the shutter click of my camera that had him curious. I said hello. He stared. (I was so tempted to pet him, but really - he was pretty dirty and covered in hay.) Then a second one came out to see what I was, and decidedly uninterested, he went over and had himself a drink of water. The third one, a short, fat, snow white sheep, walked about half way out and stared at me. He looked like a mix between a bull and a sheep. I called him Bullsheep. Yes, I know. It's not original. But to me it was funny.

The fourth one could have cared less and remained in his sheep house.

I'm telling you, I could have holed up at this place (not the sheep house...you know what I mean) for quite some time. I didn't want to leave.

We have to go back, Manfriend. Do you hear me? We have to go baaaaaaack!