I can’t blog when I wake up at 4:30am.

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Apparently.

I kinda dropped off the blogosphere on accident this week. Because, and I can’t believe I’m about to say this, I’ve been waking up at 4:30am for Boot Camp.

Yeah.

Boot Camp.

So to make a long story short, the ladies at Style Blueprint had a Boot Camp deal. I crazily encouraged my friends to sign up with me. Because torture is better when you can watch your friends be tortured too. And SEVEN OF THEM SIGNED UP.

[Let’s stop right here. It’s good to be influential and all, but seriously. Why would you ever agree to join me from 5:15-6:15am four days a week… exercising… outside?]

So every night this week, I’ve been in bed by 9pm- because 4:30am comes early, my bloggites. Really early on these ole bones.

I don’t love exercise and that is actually a really nice way to say how I feel about such things as Boot Camps, where people yell at you to “PICK UP YOUR KNEES!” and say, “SLEEPING THROUGH YOUR ALARM IS NOT AN OPTION!”

[To which I always want to say, “Uh, I’m paying to be here. I can sleep in every single day and it doesn’t matter. In fact, I could go to my car and sleep on the roof right now. You are not the boss of me except you kinda are.” ]

[Can you tell I have a REALLY great attitude right now about the whole thing? Cause I don’t do.]

We start out with a mile run. Which for half-marathoners like me, is no trouble at all. Except it is. I’m the slowest. Of course. What’s new.

Then we do things like lunges, push-ups until I think I’m gonna puke [seriously], butterflies, chest presses, and all sorts of misery.

And on Tuesday, it was 39*F at 5:15am after it poured rain all day Monday.

I am a total whiner.

Not a winner. A whiner.

And if you think this post has been bad, try riding in the car with me at 4:50am.

. . . . . . . . .

I had one final boogie over at (in)courage last week and blast it all, I forgot to tell you. So here’s the link to Happy Trails To You…. [that cowgirl thing just won’t quit.]

My pal Nester is hosting a MAJ giveaway day, so go win you sum-thin.

. . . . . . . . . .

Also, I promise I’m not totally miserable to be around at Boot Camp. I mean, sometimes I even make jokes. Sure, the instructor rolls her eyes and says, “Now do 20 more!”, but I make myself laugh.

And if I hate it this much, then WHY AM I DOING IT?

Because when my mind is screaming angry slurs at my body and my soul is longing for a break from the lies, sometimes the only thing louder than self-hate is the sound of my shoes hitting the pavement and sweat dripping down my forehead as the sun rises in the sky.

That’s why.

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