I firmly believe that if the moon is still out I shouldn’t be obligated to get out of bed…still there are those who awaken at the crack of dawn to exercise. Yes, 6:30am does exist, a fact I’m not too happy about.
I will NOT be a participant to anything in which I have to remove my jewelry, usually of the diamond variety. So don’t ask.
And yet, my standards will be tested with the Beach Bootcamp workout.
Yeah. The word “boot” plus “camp” equals the same phrasing they use in the United States military by people who eventually get to use guns and missiles. Clue #1 this is hardcore.
I’m supporting a friend who is destined, by the end of this, to be humiliated because I downright forgot that I don’t like rolling around on the ground…or sweating…or working out in general…really…don’t like.
Sand and I have had a feud that dates back several years. I can’t even remember exactly when it started except for some foggy recollection of a ruined pedicure…things have just never been really friendly between sand and I.
I decide that since I’m there I’m going to give it a shot.
Then I decide to just drink my Starbucks and watch the eye-candy.
Then I decide that the personal trainer of my dreams probably wants to make babies with me.
Then I quickly change my mind as my would be baby-daddy starts calling people by their shirt colors, “Don’t stop now, green shirt. You got yourself here; keep going! Go! Go! Go!”
At one point when he asks me why I’m not participating I envision myself sticking my tongue in his mouth to shut him up, but instead of making out with him, I answer as honestly as I know how, “because I’m already skinny.”
We probably won’t be making any babies.
Dear, Los Angeles, I just love your trendy ways; but I’m going to stick to running my mouth to burn calories.
It’s a hot day at the beach.
I want Yogurtland…and sleep.