No Pain, No Gain

I am in pain. My entire body is screaming and it is screaming at me. “How could you do this to me?” it is wailing, “What have I done to deserve this?” And of course it is my fault, although I will lay some of the blame at The Husband’s feet as it was he who persuaded me to go to one of the thrice-weekly self-torture sessions also known as Bootcamp. Before I went I had pretty much convinced myself that it wouldn’t be my thing. I generally prefer gentler, more enjoyable forms of exercise such as tennis, swimming and hiking. I have been a member of one gym or another for years but have always treated it as a necessary evil – something to be endured to keep fit and healthy and attempt, in what increasingly appears to be in vain, to increase the strength in my spindly arms. At least at the gym I can go at my own pace and am not being judged by anyone but myself. The word ‘bootcamp’, with all its military, disciplinarian connotations, sent shivers of trepidation down my spine. I don’t like being shouted at and I don’t like being forced to do anything I don’t want to. Some may call me precious but I think I am just being sensible – what sane person would willingly put themselves through a barrage of abuse whilst enduring unimaginable pain? However, having decided to steer clear of the sterile environment of yet another gym I will only end up resenting paying for the privilege of boring myself to death in, I agreed to give Bootcamp a chance. It was touch and go though – I was still debating whether I should go or not as The Husband and I were standing outside the house waiting to be picked up. It was only the arrival of the car that prevented me from hot-footing it back inside the house. I flopped onto the seat with a rock in my stomach, convinced I was going to hate every moment of the hour-long class.

I knew it was a woman leading the sessions and had visions of a steely faced army commander type with her hair pulled back tightly into an immaculate bun, shouting orders at people with tortured expressions on their faces. I couldn’t have been more wrong (well, other than the part about the tortured expressions - by the end of the session we all had those). The lady that turned up was bubbly, full of smiles and encouraging rather than fearsome, pushing the group but in a kindly, supportive way. There were about thirty of us, ranging in age, body shape and fitness levels, which was a relief. Enough people to hide amongst and the hope that there would surely be a few at the same level of fitness as me. We started off with a couple of laps around the (worryingly large) oval, helped by a rather magnificent sunset, as all sunsets here seem to be, which lit up the sky with a flame of colours. That in itself is an exceedingly good reason never to step foot in a gym whilst in Karratha. We’re living in an area blessed with year-round warmth and stunning scenery – to go to a gym here would be a crime.

The first circuit wasn’t too difficult and I even managed to maintain a conversation with another willing torture victim with only a few gasps towards the end. By the middle of the second lap I was feeling significantly out of breath. It would be at this point that I would have stopped and walked or even made my way back home if I were on my own but we were barely five minutes into the class and I didn’t want to look like a complete wimp, so I ignored the pain and my brain pleading me to stop and pushed on. I then surprised myself by going on to complete a further twenty five minutes of walking/jogging/sprinting, a lunge walk that took me to a whole new level of pain, two more laps of jogging, and then twenty minutes of gruelling floor work. And therein lies the beauty of Bootcamp – there is no way I would have been able to complete even a quarter of what I did on my own but, with the support and encouragement of thirty others and, more importantly, the desire not to completely embarrass myself in front of the group and be considered the dunce of the class by the instructor, I pushed myself further than I ever thought possible. It showed me that I could do more than I ever gave myself credit for if I only stopped being, yes, alright, precious.

No matter that I could barely walk or talk by the end of it, or the fact that I ache all over today, and probably will do for many days to come, I achieved something at Bootcamp that I didn’t think was possible. I know I can push myself and I know I can do better. To say I enjoyed it would be going fifty steps too far but I will enjoy the increased levels of fitness and hopefully a slimmer, more toned physique and so, against everything I thought previously, I will be going to Bootcamp again.