Torture

Regular readers will know that for some time now I’ve been torturing myself at boxing bootcamp. I ummed and ahhed about signing up for ages, mainly because it’s twice a week (on school nights) and starts at 7.30 pm – ridiculous as this might sound I frequently leave work much later than that so getting there can be a chore. Two nights a week does rather eat into your social life too – given that I’ll work late on at least one night of the week, it really only leaves one free night in the week for friends/dates etc. Not easy!
And sure enough it’s been hard to get there recently. Obviously in December I abandoned it (very hard to fit it in around mince pie eating and carol singing!) and then January was a bit of a nightmare due to working late and work trips. Anyway this week I’ve been back on board, and very quickly learnt a harsh lesson; don’t ever stop exercising. Because when you start again, you will want to die.

Bootcamp in itself is brilliant; it’s outside, with the city’s twinkling skyline as a backdrop. Beats the tedium of the gym any day. But after an intermittent exercise routine it is harsh, to say the least. We always start with a run, then a 15 minute warm-up, which last night consisted of interval training – two minutes of shuttle runs, sit-up with a medicine ball, push-ups, squats, the list goes on. And we had to do the whole thing twice. Then it was the boxing, two minute sets of hideous pain. I’m not a cryer and I’ve never been sick when exercising, but I came close to both last night. When finally were allowed to sit down the pleasure turned to pain when we realized we were doing a minute each of crunches, push-ups and planks. Eurgh.

We limped out of the park broken women, vowing to hit the gym at the weekend. That said, it is brilliant. Quote of the evening from James (the delightful 24 year old trainer, and reason enough to attend, really): “Kelly, I know you don’t hate me, it’s just the exercise talking.” Bless.