Boot Camp Is Hard.

Yesterday I went to the YMCA, where I work out. I use the term "work out" loosely. Basically, when I'm not too lazy to get out of bed in time to get to a class before work, I go. But since most of the classes are at 6:30 and I usually end up getting there at 7, I'm forced to create my own "workout" -- which often is centred around what TV show is on the elliptical trainer. Note: There are very few good shows on at 7 am -- on BT, Today and GMA, the good guests come on in the 8-9 hour. And MuchMusic airs French Kiss at 7 am. I like crepes...

I also like frites...

And I am obsessed with escargot...

Ooh-la-la!

But I do not French videos. Non-non.

So anyway, yesterday morning, I decided to drag myself out of bed and go to Boot Camp. Because as painful as it is, I keep telling myself that if I actually went regularly, I'd probably be pretty fit.

When the class started, one of the instructors said to grab the heaviest weights we could handle. Determined to give the class my full effort, I chose the heaviest weights I could handle. I figured that if they were too heavy, I could just switch to lighter ones (like um, I usually do).

Then the instructor told us we were going outside! Hurrah! I thought happily. It was so nice out yesterday morning. I was super-glad I came to the class.

Then we got outside. Then the instructor told us we were going for a run.

With the weights.

In our hands.

I thought I was going to die.

And then, we had to do some crazy boxing move. With the weights. And then tricep lifts. With the weights. And then straight-arm lifts. With the weights.

While running.

And just when I was thinking that I might be able to keep going, if I just stop doing all the crazy arm moves and instead hold the weights at my sides -- or rest them on my love handles -- the instructor yelled out: "Get your arms up! Do you want saggy arms flapping in the wind?"

Not when he put it that way. No, I didn't. But I did sort of want to chuck one of my weights at him.