One of the aspects of my training is a tri-weekly event called conditioning camp, or as it is suitably nicknamed: booty camp.
As in: for the butt. To boost it. From the back of my knees to where it belongs.
Don’t let the cute little nickname, “Booty Camp”, fool you into thinking this is a nice, beeboppy aerobic class, in which the ladies are all matchy-matchy, and smile at their reflection in the mirror, as they “step 2-3-4…to the left…to the right!”
The first time I attended conditioning camp in September, I had no idea what to expect. I certainly thought I was fit and strong, and could keep up to the pack.
Enter the pack.
Because apparently, regular pushups aren’t hard enough.
My trainers are a husband/wife team.
Darren, a funny, enthusiastic man leads the class through each step of the one hour of circuits.
Christina, his wife, an intimidatingly beautiful woman fools us into thinking she’s shy and laid back, until she lets out her three telltale claps, and shoots up the stairs at the speed of light, leaving us mere mortals to wipe her dust from our chins well, from my chin…I can’t speak for the others.
Here’s the thing with my trainers; just when you think you can’t take another step forward or do another fucking tuck jump, Christina yells out, while in midair, an encouraging, “Go girl!”
And Darren will shout out something so motivational, it deserves to be tweeted and/or made into a teeshirt. Tweeting is cheaper.
My personal favourites:
1. This is not a marathon, it is a sprint.
2. Don’t pace yourself. Push yourself.
And although I feel like I’m about to push my bladder right out through my vagina from all the squatting and jumping, I do find myself digging deeper (and clenching vaginal muscles a little tighter so my uterus doesn’t hit the matt).
Last week’s famous one-liner:
3. The uglier you are in here, the prettier you are out there.
I must be so fucking pretty out there, because it don’t get uglier than me in that class: my face squashed up in concentration and pain; trying desperately to get in one more pushup, one more long jump; hoping to hell nobody can smell the noxious fumes propelled from my butt during that last sprint.
Today however, marked the best quote of all time, when he had us doing burpees:
“Chest to the ground! Chest to the ground!” he kept repeating.
Then, very eloquently, he added:
4. If you’re busting your teeth on the floor, it’s because your chest didn’t hit the ground first.
See, it’s this kind of careful attention to detail which makes him a cut above all the rest. What other coach would give dental advice at the same time as fitness advice? None, I tell you!
The guy is a fountain of sayings:
5. If you can’t lift that weight up over your shoulders, how are you going to lift your trophee!
Tonight when I was helping Wayne clean up from supper, I was bending over to get a bowl from a lower cupboard.
I said, “If you were asking me to do this tomorrow, I would probably be too sore to bend.”
Wayne replied, “Well, Darren would probably say, “If you’re able to bend right now, it’s because you didn’t work hard enough.”
I was in no way sponsored to write this post by my coaches. I’m basically kissing their asses so that next conditioning camp they’ll…oh, who am I kidding.
I’ve just made myself a moving target…