Working Out With People

I love working out. I'm not just saying that so I sound like one of those super fit people (cause if you know me, you'll know that's a lie), but I love working out. I love going to the gym, I love lifting weights, I love running in circles around a track. Working out for me is just such a good way to clear my head.

During the school year, when I'm on my regular schedule, my workouts usually go something like this:

• I'm in the Comm Centre, I'm bored/ have a break in classes and haven't gone to the gym yet.
• I invite others to come along, but no one else really keeps their gym bag in their locker all the time. My poor locker partner.
• I head to the gym - go on the bike, walk/ run around the track, do some weights, stretch a lot so my bad back doesn't turn me into too much of an old lady, and return to the Comm Centre with a very red face.

Or, it may go something like this:

• Jess and I make plans to go to the gym. After putting it off a few times, we finally go.
• If we're not playing squash (or more accurately, whacking a rubber ball at the ceiling, floor, plexiglass and anything but the targeted area of wall) we go to the track.
• Jess goes on the treadmill, I run away in fear. Literally, as I go around the track or on the bike. I am always convinced if I go on a treadmill, I will trip and be swallowed up by that whirring path.
• We go to the weight room, try to figure out some machines we've never used before doing our favourites, and go home.

Or, I sign up for classes with friends, but working out at school usually involves one of two things: I am with people I already know really well, or I'm alone. Unless of course, I'm going through one of those phases where I only ever run into people I know while I'm gross and sweaty at the gym instead of when I actually look cute. But that's another story.

When the semester ended, and my membership to the school gym expired, I looked for other ways to work out. I didn't have to look very far because on my second day of work our circulation manager, Emilia came up to me and invited me to join the office boot camp.

For those of you who may not know what that means, no, Where did not join the army, boot camp is just a term used for a lot of fitness clubs that people take to get in shape. The girls in my office took one before I started, but they're pretty pricey so after taking one and learning all the moves, they decided to run their own. Each person takes one week, and we work out in the park two evenings a week.

Last week, my editor Laura was in charge. To understand why this is a blogworthy story, you need to understand a bit about Laura.

She's very small. She's really short and cute, not at all like my previous experience with editors at school. Laura's very sweet, she rarely gets mad, in fact, the only time I've seen her really upset was when she was describing bikers who don't ring their bell when they pass her when she's jogging. And that was just funny to see her mad. Laura is also a fitness guru. She's a total toothpick, and super, super in shape.

At work. Laura is all sugar and sweetness. Working out, she's that girl who's always running on the spot cheering people on and telling them to bring their knees up higher. Last Monday she had us running relays with weights, doing 10 downs (10 push ups, 10 sit ups, 9 push ups, 9 sit ups etc), all the time in that threateningly cheery way of hers.

Here is an interesting thing about working out with your boss: you are running around, and lifting weights with someone who evaluates your performance everyday of the week. Though you know how long you can stay in plank in no way reflects your job performance, you still feel the need to try much harder then you do with your friends so your boss doesn't think you give up too easily. So, on the week your boss runs boot camp, you come home not able to walk.

Then, you go to FHE.

For those who don't know, FHE is a weekly activity put on by my church for college aged kids in my ward. It's always on Mondays. This particular FHE was at Bowness Park. We had a fire going, and someone pulled out a frisbee.

Now, here's the thing. I love Ultimate Frisbee. So even though I was already aching all over from working out an hour before, I couldn't resist. I joined the game.

Here is an interesting thing about playing sports with boys: no matter how well you know them, every time you play a game you have to prove yourself. If you ever want them to pass you the frisbee, you have to prove you know what to do with it.

This means, that in this game of ultimate, I was running hard, and jumping, and proving I knew what I was doing so I could actually touch the frisbee. Already having your thighs burning because of all the lunges you've done is no excuse. I kept trying until it started raining and we ended the game. I think it sort of payed off, they actually passed to me. Then I went home and couldn't move.

Two days later, my muscles forgave me. After having my stomach ache when I laughed, having to actually lift up my leg when I wanted to cross them, plenty of back stretches and dreading all stairs, I was back to my normal self with nicer legs. Or at least they better be.

I love boot camp, and I love ultimate, but after worrying about my boss evaluating my workout ethic and trying to convince a bunch of guys I am a competent frisbee player, I'm ready for a nice, we're-not-trying-to-prove-ourselves workout. Who's with me?