I don’t know what possessed me to sign up for a bootcamp class. Maybe I had watched one too many fitness transformation videos or maybe it was that Instagram influencer I follow who makes burpees look like a casual warm-up. Whatever it was, I convinced myself that bootcamp was going to be fun. I was in for a rude awakening.
The first day, the trainer greeted us with this unnaturally cheerful grin, the kind of smile you see on someone who clearly thrives on other people’s pain. “Let’s start with some burpees!” he chirped. As I bent down for the first one, I was optimistic. By the fifth one, I was winded. By the tenth, I was seriously questioning my life choices. I didn’t know whether I was sweating or crying, but I was certain I had hit rock bottom by the time we got to the push-ups.
Now, let’s talk about the push-ups. I gave it my best shot, I really did. But as soon as I lowered myself to the ground, my arms decided they were done. I collapsed onto the mat, face-first, fully committing to the flop. For a split second, I considered staying there forever. The trainer came over, eyebrows raised, and I managed to mumble, “I’m just… taking a nap.” He chuckled, though it was more of a “you might actually be dying” kind of laugh.
But here’s the thing: even though I haven’t been back since, that experience taught me something important. Yeah, I didn’t crush bootcamp, and yeah, my body gave up on me halfway through, but I survived. And the best part? It made me realize that showing up, even when you’re out of your element, is half the battle.
So maybe next time I’ll start with something a little less intense—like yoga, or a brisk walk around the block. But hey, at least now I know my limits, and I’m learning to push past them. Baby steps, right?