I have a track record of signing up for activities without really thinking them through. “Yeah, a learn-to-rockclimb weekend sounds great, despite my panic attacks in dangerous situations!” “Going on a solo 7 day horse back riding vacation in Costa Rica, without having ridden horses regularly in years, sounds like an adventure of a lifetime!” “Yes! I’ll go for a ride on your motorcycle, even though I don’t even like riding in cars!”
So naturally, when I saw that my company was offering free bootcamp classes, I signed up without hesitation. “What a great opportunity to work out more!,” said she who owns an “Exercise… It Blows” T-shirt!
The first sign of trouble was running into a coworker changing for the class in the bathroom. Something just gets all uncomfortable up in here when you see a person switch out of their button down and put on a “Bridgeport 5K Turkey Trot” T-shirt. And the shorts. Oh, the shorts.
There you are, standing in your company’s workout room, looking at the guy from legal and the lady you always see at the coffee machine anxiously, awkwardly faux stretching (you know, the arm in front of your body move), and wishing you were just answering fn emails at your desk.
You would think that the introduction of the hot Latino trainer would help smooth things over. Quite the opposite, because hot men just make me anxious. He was walking around the room, asking everyone if they had any injuries and what their goals were for the class. Goals. I’m about 80% sure he heard me dare my gay coworker to answer , “To bang the instructor.” I also made the mistake of mentioning a back problem, which means that the entire rest of class I got a special call out… “How’s that back doing?” Awesome, extra attention on me while doing burpees in front of people I have to follow up with about unpaid invoices.
I did manage to do a mental shift and plough through unselfconsciously. That is until I heard those horrible words that tie my stomach in knots in any situation: “Everybody find a buddy!”
I felt like Kramer in that scene when he’s trying to get a seat on the subway as I watch everyone I know partner up. I end up with a guy I don’t know, and am then asked to get on the floor and face him. And interlock our legs. I now feel like I’m at a horrible match making event at a bar in midtown. For 3 sets of 30, using this sales dude I don’t know’s legs as leverage, there I was, doing sit ups, high fiving as we both reached the top of the motion, glaring directly in his grimacing face as his abdominal muscles fatigued, his shorts creeping up with each rep.
I might be stupid enough to sign up for these sorts of things, but thank you sweet lord that I was smart enough to wear LONG PANTS.