Death by Bootcamp, brought to you by The Princess of Darkness. Kill me now.

Here it is. The day after my Torture Class, and I want donuts.

Christ on a maple glazed crutch!!!

Oh, wait, let me back up. I haven't told y'all about Death by Bootcamp Torture Class have I?! Well. Just hang on to your ill-fitting sports bras for this jazz.

So my bitch of a friend Tamra, bless her little heart, talked me into working out with a trainer once a week. And this was about 4 or so months ago. This is how I met The Princess of Darkness.....aka Morgan. She is The Evil One. Satan's Mistress. The Chief of Demontorture. The Enemy of Fat Righteousness. The Destroyer of Flabtasticness. Ohhhhh how I love that petite, little, shredded, uber-fit Princess.

And after about 3 months, little Miss Tormentor mentioned that she was starting a 3-day a week bootcamp.....for 12 weeks. Why? Why do you do this to me?!

Of course my little exercise pal Tamra was ALL about it. And of course, she pestered me and bullied me, and finally FORCED me to do it with her.

We're now in Week 2.
I have reached new levels of muscle soreness. Like I can't pee without using the hand-rails so sometimes I hold it so long I contemplate just letting it go in my office chair, but then realize that eventually I'll have to get up and everyone will see that I peed my pants, and I won't have pants to change into. But even if I did have extra pants I couldn't get into them anyway because I can't bent over or move my legs like that anymore because THAT pain is way worse than using the hand rails to squat over the porcelain throne. So, I get up and pee. And save myself once again from embarrassment.

What was I talking about before the peeing?
Oh ya, Week 2.

So, last night, I'm feeling all superpower like and jump my flabby ass on Conveyor Belt of Death (otherwise known as the Treadmill) and decide to warm up by doing a little mile.
I'm feeling good. I'm owning this shit. I'm rocking out.
Mile up!
Sweet! That wasn't so hard!
Let's do this bitches!!

So I stroll all badass-like over to the Personal Training Area and the Queen of Suffering says, 'Why are you all sweaty?'

To which I reply, with a big ol' shit eaten grin, 'I just warmed up! I ran a mile!'

Hippy Skippy and Dolphin Claps for me.

She glances at me, with almost this look of pity, and says, 'Oh, well, then you're not going to like what we're doing today.'

Mother of all things EVIL! She's making us run MORE!!!

I was not prepared for this. I thought my running was done. Whyyyyyyyyyy!?!?!

Oh, and get this! My little partner in crime, Miss Tamra wasn't even there!!! (not that it was her fault, her daughter was sick, but STILL!)  There was only 3 of our 7 ladies there last night. But we three ROCKED IT! We're the A Team! Forshizzle.

The workout started off all 'I can do this!' But that wimpy enthusiasm quickly took a hike. It was four stations, with four exercises each. You did each exercise for 40 seconds then rest for 20. Then you took a quick break and moseyed on down to the track to do a 1/4 of a mile (2 laps).

First rotation.....eh, not bad.
2nd....kinda felt like my lungs were a twinge warm and I had a funny tingling in my legs.
3rd.....pretty sure I was going to die.
4th.....couldn't breathe, seriously contemplated crawling the 20 feet back to our area, and absolutely positive I lost my legs on lap 1.shitmypants.

SEE!!!!!
Morgan's just sooooo mean!

But, I do really love her. Because she's going to destroy my batwings. I just know it.
Right?

RIGHT?!?!

Ok. I don't want donuts now.
I want a freaking ice cream truck.
And a Hostess Factory.

75 more minutes until almost lunch time.

I can do this.

I can do this.

I can do this.