It’s happened again.
The ritual humiliation, pain and constant pummelling of self-esteem. The sweaty socks, sweaty pants and sweaty bum crack. The sickeningly toned beautiful people. The hot room, the weights and the constant never-ending bouncing-bloody-squats.
Yes, it’s Bootcamp time.
Again, I made a promising start. I survived the kettle bell drill. For those of you unfamiliar with this method of torture, it involves standing up, bending down, lifting, pushing and bouncing. All while holding a heavy weight and doing your best not to fart.
I also survived the running back and forth across the room while being shouted at. Without wetting my pants. Or farting.
All in all, I was feeling pretty smug. And sweaty.
But then I got to the car park. I wasn’t in the best of shapes. The smugness was giving way to a dazed and confused feeling. With a bad case of trapped wind.
The car park was dark. It was cold. I was scared.
I fumbled in my pocket and grabbed my key. The trapped wind was turning into a stabbing pain deep in my stomach. I pushed my key into the lock and…nothing happened. I was getting desperate. As the pain intensified, terrifying scenarios started to run through my head…I’m going to get mugged, I’m going to have to ring the police, I don’t have my phone, my car’s broken down, the baby’s going to wake up and I’m miles from home. I’m going to get mugged…
And then a sharp tap on my shoulder.
This is it. I’m being mugged. It’s actually happening. Please don’t hurt me.
I turn to find one of the Beautiful People staring angrily at me.
Turns out I’d only been trying to get into the wrong bloody car. The sheer relief that I wasn’t being mugged was all too much. I could hold it in no longer. Yep, that’s right. I did a massive trump.
Great. So now I’m a pants-wetting, hairy toed, flatulent car thief.