BARRE BOOTCAMP!
The phrase screamed at me as I entered my health club shortly after 5 a.m. last week. Written in blue marker on a whiteboard, “barre,” for those not familiar with ballet, is the horizontal bar dancers grip while performing certain exercises.
As I trudged into the locker room, wiping sleep from my eyes, I wondered: “Why ruin something so graceful by adding ‘bootcamp’ to it?” It’s a word one normally associates with military drill sergeants, sweltering practices for aspiring football players and, in my case, pain.
Ten years ago I participated in my first and only bootcamp. Four weekly sessions, the first being complimentary. I discovered the camp while scrolling Groupon, the online coupon marketplace.
Ominous warning sign number one…a DISCOUNTED bootcamp.
The class did not occur in a health club or any type of exercise facility. Instead, as Google Maps revealed, it took place in a strip mall.
Ominous warning number two.
Entering the unit, I encountered a wooden gym floor and six other bootcamp participants, all female. My male ego told me that, perhaps, I had signed up for the wrong class. That thought was short lived for, moments later, a male Hungarian bodybuilder with an unpronounceable first name appeared, greeting everyone with: “Are you ready to have your asses kicked?”
Before anyone could answer, he launched into a series of jumps, his knees nearly succeeding in colliding with his chin. The ladies followed suit. I did the same, trying to keep up.
This went on for nearly an hour. When we weren’t jumping we were squatting, thrusting and running out of the room into the hallway and back. I left class feeling lighter, stronger, and anxious to return.
The next day I couldn’t get out of bed.
Lesson learned; avoid the word “bootcamp” at all costs.
As I age, my vocabulary of words and phrases to stay away from has grown considerably. Take, for example, “bottomless.” It’s a word I often see written on chalkboards inside or, in warm weather, outside drinking establishments near my Chicago condo. An alcoholic beverage typically follows.
What’s Sunday brunch without BOTTOMLESS mimosas or bloody marys? Have a taste for Mexican food? Wash it down with bottomless margaritas. I’ve even seen the word applied to foods ranging from crab legs to chicken wings. Indulging in bottomless quantities of either would, at my age, only lead to a more ample bottom. The chicken wings might be cheap, but a trip to a menswear store to purchase larger pants would not be.
Finally, I no longer get excited when I see establishments advertising “Trivia Night!” What’s wrong with being surrounded by friends and exercising your competitive nature by answering questions from bygone times? Plenty, depending on your definition of “early.”
Granted we are a quarter through the 21st century, but don’t remind me by tossing out questions in categories with names ranging from “Game of Thrones” to “Famous early 2000s bands” If I’m playing music trivia, the answers should range from Rod Stewart to The Rolling Stones to Journey.
Want to depress me? Invite me to trivia night and make me suffer in silence, while a team of early 30-somethings high-five each other after one member correctly answers “Nine Inch Nails.” in the music category.
“Dude, how did you remember THAT band?” I’d hear another team member say as I crumble up my scorecard and head to the bar.
Bottomless margaritas suddenly seem more appealing.
