This past Saturday, I endured my version of hell on earth.
It all started last week, when my editor, Melissa, tossed her boot camp ticket on my desk and said, “Ashley, I can't go to Tommy Europe's Shred Boot Camp this Saturday, you should go.”
I was hesitant, both because I am entirely out of shape and also because I would have to go myself – which was partly a small victory in itself, because this meant no one would watch me crumble to the ground and beg for mercy after one minute.
On Saturday morning, I walked in and sat myself at the back of the field house at the C2. I found another woman sitting by herself and thought, “Maybe we can be friends? Maybe we can encourage one another? Or maybe we can both just hide in the back and fail in silence.”
But after about a minute, she left and went to sit with her friends in the front. So did the women on the other side of me. Great.
Before the workout began, we were given the opportunity to ask questions.
However, I wanted nothing to do with making myself known to the class or to Tommy Europe, so I sat silently. Luckily, another brave participant asked just what was on my mind:
“Do you have a wheelchair to wheel us out when we're done?” she asked.
He laughed, stating that wouldn't be necessary. I didn't believe him, nor did she.
He said if needed, himself and the man helping him, both with arms the size of teenage girls, could carry us to where we needed to be. I perked up. Already, this workout class was looking up.
Then Tommy Europe stood on his stage and yelled, “Those of you in the back, you can't hide!”
I wanted nothing more than to run.
My wish was granted - because not three seconds later, all 50 of us were running on the spot like a bunch of hamsters on a wheel, going nowhere fast.
After about 35 seconds, I was ready to collapse. I had no idea how I was going to handle over an hour longer of this. About 20 seconds later, we changed to pushups. I failed at this even worse than running.
We changed our routine about every minute – from running, to pushups (my least favourite!) to variations of crunches and core workouts.
At the end, we were told we had completed over 65 different workout activities and worked every muscle in our bodies. And I believed him – I was definitely tired.
Though I felt I could fall asleep at once, I thought it wasn't too bad. Definitely doable, I told my friends. It wasn't until Sunday morning when I took it all back.
I woke up and was stuck like cement to my bed. I couldn't move! Was I paralyzed? Was there an earthquake and my entire apartment had landed on my body in my sleep?
No. None of that happened. Tommy Europe happened.
I couldn't roll over so I grabbed on to the side of the mattress and pulled myself out of bed. My poor cat, which climbed on top of my sore legs, didn't stand a chance. The poor thing hit the floor faster than Tommy Europe could say, “Drop and give me 20.”
I spent most of Sunday coating my body with Rub-A535 and limping around feeling sorry for myself. I smeared the gooey icy-hot cream from head to toe, which left my entire apartment smelling of peppermint.
And didn't sooth my aching body one bit.
