Spotted!

Eurgh is all I'm saying..

Regular readers will know my on/off again love affair with bootcamp.  When it’s good (i.e you are going regularly) it’s really really good.  When it’s bad (i.e you haven’t been for months – hello!) it’s horrid.  It can also be a pain to get to – after a 10 or 12 hour day it can be hard to find the motivation to schlep your way across the city to their usual park or beach location.

So when we heard about a new Downtown bootcamp, our hearts leapt. We signed up faster than a rat up a palm tree.  And in the main, it’s good. Typical bootcamp fayre: running, circuits, boxing.  The one thing I hadn’t considered was how many of my friends live in Downtown.  Added to which my office is in Downtown.  Added to which Downtown is a very popular destination to visit even if you don’t live or work here.  This means HUGE potential for being spotted by someone that you know, whilst looking far from your best.

Last week the worst finally happened.  I had an email from an old friend that I haven’t seen in quite some time.  “I saw someone that looked quite a bit like you running through Downtown clutching what looked like a basketball.  Can you confirm or deny?!”

Sadly I had to admit that this was indeed me.  Thankfully the friend was either too far away or too kind to also describe the sweaty mess that was me in any more detail.  Is a disguise taking things too far in future?!

Blood, Sweat and Tears

No such vigour in my class!

There was a time when I looked forward to Boot Camp.  Well not looked forward exactly (I'm not an exercise freak), but it was definitely something pleasant in my life.  Fresh air, outdoors, in one my favourite parks, with the Burj Khalifa twinkling away in the background.  We went twice a week, every week, for months, making us lean mean killing machines (well, perhaps not quite, but it did result in one of my best ever compliments: "Man, your body is Coke bottle tight!" God Bless America.)  It also had the added benefit of meaning I could spend time with one of my best friends, catching up on work, boys, and usually ending in a happy chat about what we were having for tea.  The whole thing was permeated with peals of laughter. 

That was, until I discovered evil Boot Camp last night.  It's been a while since I've been (which was a major part of my problem) and in that time I've lost some fitness, and it's gotten hot.  I mean really hot.  I knew I was in trouble when I left the office at 7 and felt that familiar 'eyelids sticking to eyeballs' sensation.  Grim as that sounds, it's the best way I can find to describe the heat that engulfed me.

Undeterred, we headed to the park.  Our lovely trainer J knows us well, after many years of enduring our inane chat and moaning ("we hate running!") and it was lovely to see him again.  But this time he wasn't alone, he had two assistants, whose sole job was to torture us for a full 60 minutes.

The hour that followed was honestly one of the most hideous of my life.  I used to laugh at girls that dissolved into tears during our sessions: I was very nearly one of them.  The heat, the exercises (in small groups so there was nowhere to hide), the fact that I was split up from the best friend (I whimpered) and instead paired with a small Italian dynamo of a girl who took the whole thing very seriously ("Count will you Kelly, I am trying to breathe") conspired against me, and at more than one point, I thought I was going to pass out.

As if all this wasn't enough, the session I'd chosen to 'ease myself back in' was also attended by...a professional photographer.  Yes, as I sweated, groaned, and staggered my way through the session, there he was, like an omnipresent firefly, flashing away in my face.  The first 20 or so shots, I smiled grimly. By the end I was completely oblivious and couldn't care less.  It put me in mind of what mothers say about giving birth with a cast of thousands staring at your nether regions: by that time you could have a marching band walk past and you wouldn't care, such is the level of pain, torture and exhaustion you are suffering.

We somehow made it home, broken women. Will I go again? Maybe.  But I'll need to throw myself around the gym a few times first.  And sit in a heat chamber in my exercise kit to acclimatise. And have an oxygen mask on standby throughout.  You think I'm joking....?

Round One

I do not look like this. Yet.

The torture began again last night. Yes, boxing bootcamp is firmly back in my diary.  I’d been putting off the inevitable for a week or so of the new year – mainly due to diary horrors, weddings, and the Cairo cough which I came back from Egypt with.  Yes, it’s procrastinating, but two full nights a week, starting at 7.30 in the evening, are not always achievable when you’re a) working way too hard b) trying to have a social life.

Anyway I quit moaning and cleared some time to get back involved.  There are so many benefits to bootcamp that I can’t believe I stopped for so long (regular readers will know that way back when, A and I hit it hard for about 3 months.  I was even there the week after the car crash, bandaged but boxing!). 

It’s in one of Dubai’s beautiful parks, meaning lush grass, greenery, and lots of people enjoying the cooler evenings.  This does also mean that you are a subject of much interest from the public – 10 crazy people punching the living daylights out of one another is a sight to be seen, to be fair!  It also means I get to have a good catch up with A – gossiping whilst exercising definitely makes the hour fly by! 

Last night we covered topics as diverse as: sex, perfume, work (dull), relationships, clothing, and the compulsory: “what are we having for tea later”.  A treat!

Despite dreading the whole thing I really enjoyed it, and woke up this morning feeling sprightly.  I’d expected to feel like I’d been hit by a truck.  Bootcamp, I never thought I'd say it, but I missed you!