Something very exciting is happening this week.
I've been counting down the days and circling this date in red on my calendar.
The waiting and watching and wishing is almost finally over!
My six month Boot Camp gym membership expires this Friday!!!!
(Fireworks! Trumpets! A chorus of Hallelujahs!)
If that isn't enough to bust out some Martina McBride and sing Let Freedom Ring at the top of your lungs, I don't know what is.
The relief is palpable.
I want to be clear, a lot of people really like this gym. I liked this gym...at first. I wouldn't want anyone to not check out this gym because of my personal feelings. It's just... I realized after a few months of it, it's simply not for me.
It's not the exercise, don't get me wrong. I have been very committed to exercise in various forms for over two decades. I actually like to be active and feel healthy and fit. I have not stopped exercising since my attendance at this class progressively dwindled down to zero. I have just gone back to methods of working out that I know work better for me. Because you see, this class taught me something very important.
At forty-five-almost-forty-six there are some things I am not willing accept anymore in the name of fitness.
They are, in no particular order:
2. Sprinting up hills.
4. Push-ups on street corners.
6. Running outside.
8. Running, period (for any distance beyond the width of a tennis court).
10. Being scolded for talking too much to my friend because we are affecting the "focus" of others when the music is at approximately a gazillion decibels and no one can hear anything beyond a two foot radius. (Eye roll).
I think by now you have picked up on my main hot button issue. Because the truth is, I would have probably stuck with it even with #'s 2, 6, 8 and 10 But #'s 1, 3, 4, 5, 7, 9, and 11 are non-negotiables.
There is really no greater indignity than the physical act of burpees. I will do planks, mountain climbers, push ups (just not on street corners), or squats until the cows come home (which could take a long time since I don't have any cows).
Tell me to do 10 burpees in a row and you are risking eliciting something really scary from me. Like an icy stare. Or a dramatic sigh. Or visibly slumped shoulders and tears in my eyes. (I don't have much of a "scary" repertoire. Passive-aggressive is about all I can muster).
Still, it isn't pretty. Nor is me doing burpees.
So, that's it. My burpee days are done. And as God as my witness, I will never perform another burpee as long as I live. Even if I were to join some other class or gym or suddenly enlist in the military... I swear on Buddy the Elf himself that I will simply say, "No", should someone ever again try to tell me to hit the floor and crank out some burpees.
And if I have to, I'll top that off with a, "You can't make me."
'Cause you can't.