Everyone knows Friday nights are for drinking wine. Everyone that is, except the sickeningly toned and beautiful people who run Boot Camp.
This is the Boot Camp that I signed myself up to, in an I’m so fat moment. The Boot Camp that I instantly regretted joining. The Boot Camp that I’ve paid more than £60 for. The Boot Camp that the (self proclaimed) Northern Love Machine has money on me packing in next week.
Well I’ve proved him wrong so far. I’ve now completed my second session of humiliation and pain. And because I’m a woman of my word, I will share the whole sorry episode with you.
It all went rather well at first. I ran (or sort of rolled) a whole mile without stopping. I did bouncing squats without wetting myself. I even managed a full press up (sort of). On the whole, I was pretty pleased with myself.
And then came the Pilates.
They never told me we would have to take our shoes and socks off. The thing is, when you have a baby you don’t have time to think about your feet. And it shows. Boy it shows.
I am now the least popular person at Boot Camp. No one wants to do The Triangle next to someone with feet like mine. I won’t go into too much detail, but in the past I have been known as Mrs Hobbit Foot.
So what have we learnt after Lesson Two? Wax your toes. It pays to be prepared.