My friend was in town, and he invited me to join him in a special workout with some other internet dorks. My friend lives in Austin, and I haven’t seen in him in a while, so although the idea of going out in public (yikes) and working out in a group setting (nope) are things I try to avoid, I figured I’d be a good sport.
Upon arriving at the gym, I walked into a room with 25 other people and an instructor who looked like he had been picked from a “good looking super jacked trainer” casting call.
What transpired was a 25-minute boot camp-style workout where we all did various things like burpees, box jumps, squats, dips, etc. There was no break, and we moved from one exercise to the next as thumping hip hop played, the training yelling louder and louder to encourage us to push ourselves.
I HATED EVERY SECOND OF IT.
I think I would rather get a root canal than go through that style of workout again. Or watch an episode of the Real Housewives of Rivendell.
Let’s be clear: I’m not saying this just wasn’t my cup of tea…This wasn’t mild displeasure, but pure misery.
As I finished my gazillionth burpee, wheezing and out of breath, I looked at my friend and we both kind of chuckled: “This is not my thing,” he said to me. Okay, actually what he said was more profanity-laced, but I like to keep things relatively clean around here.
When the workout was over, I glanced at some of the other people around the room, also drenched in sweat, but with smiles on their faces:“That was great!” and “I loved it, thanks man!” phrases were shouted.