The Final Two

TWO.

As in, "just me and SuperCuz".

Yes, you read that correctly.

Four weeks ago, the Boot Camp session began with 19 people. And last night, it ended with two.

Seriously, that's the same number of people that board a boat, jump into the ocean and swim to an island with a name I often can't pronounce OR spell, let alone locate on a map. (Ed. Note: My lack of geographical knowledge is Hubby's only job security. My daily struggle with N/S/E/W is also why he's overly-confident that I'll never abandon him at the gas station on a road trip no matter how much I threaten.) Then, these crazy people divide into teams, eat bugs and stuff, create alliances and compete for the Grand Prize: $1,000,000 and the title of "Sole Survivor".

If you have electricity and a big box with moving pictures located anywhere in your house, you've probably at least seen the commercials for this "reality" TV show (even if you won't admit to watching it).

I mentioned in an earlier post that SuperCuz and I planned to drive to San Diego as our "reward for Outwitting, Outplaying and Outlasting our fellow Boot Campers", but I didn't realize that everyone thought I meant that literally.

Really... Where did everybody go?

On the last night of our 8th week, it was just the two of us. We were face-to-face with the Boot Camp Guru.

No where to run.

No where to hide.

So, after a brutally tough workout, SuperCuz and I are now wholeheartedly ready to embrace our "reward"...

We are headed to San Diego (as soon as I cut loose from my chains of employment) for a few brief moments of rest and relaxation with WallStreet and a few other friends.

The car is loaded with beach chairs, bedding and Seasons One and Two of The Office.

We are already day-dreaming about beautiful weather (anything lacking heat and humidity will do), a wicked game of Jungle Uno and (more than) our share of frosty adult beverages.

And, since there were only two of us out there in the desert last night, SuperCuz and I were pretty much awarded the title of "Sole Survivors".

The only thing that could make this weekend any better is if we both had been handed a check for a million dollars to go with it.

And This One Time at BOOT Camp...

The BandGirl came to my rescue.

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*The following is an actual conversation between BandGirl and me (The Blogger) recorded on Tuesday, July 17, 2007:

Me: Hey. What have you guys got planned for Thursday night?

BandGirl: Uhm, nothing. We're pretty much available. What did you have in mind?

Me: Boot Camp.

BandGirl: Silence.

Me: No really, you should try it! It's so much FUN! Trust me, you're gonna love it... Have I ever steered you wrong? OK, don't answer that. This time will be different. I'm right, and you'll have a blast!

BandGirl: Well, can we wait and see how I feel on Thursday? (cough, cough, gasp, wheeze)

Me: OK, but I sense that you're just trying to manipulate this situation here.

BandGirl: Who me? I would never even think of such a thing...

Me: Well then you be sure to get plenty of rest and drink lots of fluids. And, hopefully you'll feel better by Thursday because Thursday is Partner Night, and with SuperCuz gone, I won't have a partner unless you're there. But I'm sure the Boot Camp Guru could pair me up with someone else if you're too sick so that I won't be stuck by myself on Partner night, without a partner. Maybe someone else will be my friend for one night. (big sigh...)

BandGirl: Now who's manipulating the situation here?
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On Thursday, I called BandGirl at 4 PM and, thanks to the wonders of technology, before I had one word out, she answered the phone with: "I'm already hydrating."

(Yippee!)

I called BandGirl again at 6:30 PM and (again, thanks to Caller ID) before I had spoken one word, she answered the phone with: "Are you checking up on me to see if I've turned this car around?"

(Guilty.)

After 16 years, we know each other entirely too well.

True to her word, BandGirl arrived 15 minutes before 7 PM - plenty of time to avoid the EVIL, late-arrival penalty of Mountain Climbers.

Unfortunately, it was also plenty of time for my fellow Boot Campers, Paris & Nicole, to intimidate her. And, yes, our Boot Camp is populated with two high-society body sculptors. (Well, actually they're two smoking hot look-alikes with scintillating personalities, which is even better than the real thing, if you ask my opinion.)

(And before I get hounded with questions, YES they BOTH have BOYFRIENDS.)

I believe their exact words were, "She's not a real friend. You should run. Run away. Or better yet, you take my place here and I'll go home."

The theme of the evening was Warrior Games and I have never been more relieved in my life.

You see, SuperCuz can be super competitive. But, BandGirl and I have spent literally half our lives perfecting the art of Joint Venture Partnerships in all things competitive.

It has driven our friends and husbands crazy for years, but every board game from Monopoly to Life (not to mention every card game, sporting event and teen-age-boy-crush in between) begins with two separate and individual teams and ends with a game-negotiated merger of our dynamic duo working as a finely-tuned pair with the brain power and resources to kick everyone else's butt.

Big time.

Together, we are a winners-take-all-and-hubbies-do-the-dishes powerhouse. And that's exactly how we like it.

Warrior Games put us both to the test, but as usual, it took about 10 minutes for us to mentally calculate and non-verbally communicate that we would survive the remaining 50 minutes of physical torture better if we worked together.

Every 10 minutes, the Boot Camp Guru dutifully asked, "BandGirl, are you doing OK?" To which she always supplied the correct answer, "Yeah. I'm just awesome."

And every 10 minutes, I dutifully asked, "BandGirl, do you still love me?" To which she responded each time, "Yes, but maybe this much less," with her fingers pinched to demonstrate precisely how much love was lost with each passing 10 minute interval.

I thought I was completely forgiven last night when she text messaged me an hour after Boot Camp to tell me that she "felt fantastic".

But, tonight when she offered to make me dinner, my suspicions were raised. I had to re-evaluate the invitation.

Not only was I already out to dinner and a movie with SportsGeek, but based on my experience after six weeks of Boot Camp, I knew the chances were greater that the aches and pains might only be kicking in 24 hours later.

And, somewhere deep inside of me, a nagging little voice suggested that Hubby (who has the "Stomach of Steel" because he eats food out of the refrigerator that I don't deem fit to feed our dogs - and, who is currently in Pittsburgh with the HeadShrinker's hubby) should be with me if I was going to eat anything the BandGirl provides.

Why, you ask?

Because after two minutes of Partner Push-ups (her favorite exercise of them all, I'm certain), something tells me I might need a food-taster for a while at the BandHouse!

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On a Personal Note:

BandGirl: You were so brave! Thanks again for coming with me Thursday night.

SuperCuz: I've missed you this week more than you know!

MonkeyWhisperer and HeadShrinker: If you weren't (out of my reach and) on opposite coasts, I know you'd be out there with me, RIGHT?

Lumberjack Lady: If you're reading this, the invitation is always open to come with me on a Thursday night.

Lois Lane: I can't WAIT for you to try this with me...I'm totally looking forward to August!

Blogging...On Demand

OK, so there's been a few complaints that I haven't blogged in a while.

I'm not going to name names, but if you were within earshot of the park on Tuesday, you would have heard everyone asking for more (and I don't mean more dips, squats, push-ups or laps).

Let me explain: I haven't checked in because I haven't had TIME.

With Boot Camp on my social calendar three nights a week, I don't have a lot of extra days to do other stuff (like laundry, and believe me - my fellow Boot Campers would have MORE to complain about it I started each night smelling like the last night's Boot Camp).

Last week, I only had Wednesday night to get everything ready for our trip to CA. On Friday, four of us, (Hubby, SportsGeek and our photographer-friend SnapShot and I) drove to CA so that the 3 boys could hike 13 miles up one side of a mountain and down the other and I could drive back on Sunday (because the boys were heavily medicated with Motrin afterward).

And if you're wondering why I didn't hike that hill, let me tell you... Boot Camp is ENOUGH insanity for me. Thank you very much.

It's one thing to kill myself outdoors in the sweltering summer heat of Arizona, but it's a whole 'nother thing to kill myself on an incline!

I don't do inclines. Therefore, I don't do hikes.

And this week, I haven't felt like blogging because something (actually, someone) has been missing...

SuperCuz!

With some out-of-town family visiting this week, SuperCuz (abandoned me and) took the week off.

I don't know... Maybe her relatives didn't check the weather reports before booking their tickets to Phoenix in the middle of the summer, or maybe they just didn't mind triple-digit heat with a touch of monsoonal humidity when they dreamed up these exotic vacation travel plans to the Southwest. Either way, they're here and she's not...

And, it's just not Boot Camp if I don't get into trouble for talking during Cool Down... and since SuperCuz has been gone, I haven't been "shhh-ed" once during Cool Down, so it's just not the same.

So now I'm off to face Partner Night...without my (usual) partner in crime.

Wild, Wild West

I feel as though I've ridden a horse...

...to Hell and back again.

I can't describe for you the exact location of my current set of aches and pains. Nor can I tell you precisely which exercise has caused me to drain the Motrin bottle once again.

All I do know is that it hurts "somewhere" below my waist and above my knees, mostly along my backside and ALL up through my inner thighs.

Basically, I spent the entire day walking around the house looking as though I just hitched up my horse, Trigger, at a watering hole in Tombstone after a long day's ride.

If I'd thought about it earlier, I could have attached a water gun to my belt just to emphasize my "awkward" stride.

And if I had, maybe the Hubby would have taken my challenge to a duel a little more seriously after he ate the last milk chocolate candy in the fridge... Remember, Cowboy, I'll see you at Dawn.

I realize that I live in Arizona and all, but this is ridiculous.

I shouldn't have spent the day walking as if I've just stepped off of an episode of Bonanza.

Initially, I shrugged it all off as "the aches associated with Day 1 of Boot Camp" since the new Boot Camp session started Monday.

The only problem is that Monday marked DAY 13 for me and SuperCuz. (So maybe I can classify this as "sympathy pain" for the new Boot Campers?)

As promised, the Boot Camp Guru has mixed up our workouts again, and on Days 13 and 14 she was especially evil.

Monday we participated in the lower body workout she titled "No Butts About It" and believe me there were no "buts" that night. If I had to guess, I'd say that the inner thigh ache probably began with 'a few' (like 20!) leg hikes on The Wall, compounded by 'some' (like 40!) pendulum leg swings under the Ramada.

Tuesday's "Are You 'UP' To The Challenge" workout focused on our upper body, while still managing to tax the lower half as well - bonus! We started with 4 sets of Dips and 4 sets of Arizona Angels...for 1 minute each EACH set. Add to it 30 Jump Squats and the Inner/Outer Thigh Kicks until each leg felt "awesome" and that's probably what did me in.

Thankfully, today is the 4th of July. I've had the day off and spent the entire day stretching and popping Motrin like Skittles.

So, as for tomorrow, all I have to say is: "Saddle up, Ladies. Let's ride."

MISSING / REWARD

Description: Woman's "Ample" Bosom.

Also known as: "The Girls" and/or "Thelma & Louise".
Last seen: 3-year time period prior to Ladies' Fitness Boot Camp.

Chest holds tremendous sentimental value to Owner.
Hubby offering cash reward if found and returned.

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I must accept that bodily changes do not occur instantly or even overnight, for that matter.

But this fact would certainly be a whole lot easier to fathom IF my bust and hips were "deflating" at the SAME rate.

Proportion, people!

That's ALL I'm asking for in this oh-so-S-L-O-W weight loss process.

Well, OK...maybe that, and the ability to select the specific area and precise amount of weight loss, too. But that would be greedy.

Regardless of the length of time it takes for my body to alter its present form, I do have one reason to offer genuine thanks and praise... At least with Boot Camp, I haven't relived the same horror I experienced during my first month of lap swimming.

I'm grateful that the "top", while it may be shrinking faster than the "bottom", is at least shrinking symmetrically. (A word of advice for the novice female swimmer: Learn to breathe on both the right and left side to even your "floaties".)

Admittedly, the dramatic change in cup size has been my cause for concern for the last 3 years. It's been (just a little bit) distressing to see "letters", which on a Report Card might otherwise indicate substantial improvement in study habits, mark the disappearance of friends I once flaunted.

Although the BandGirl has assured me that I'm not (yet) in danger of requiring my old training bra (which is good because I actually skipped that stage in life), the possibility of "artificial enhancement" has crossed my mind occasionally... (But that thought is typically only set in motion when given a shove by someone or something else.)

Two weeks ago, on our drive to California, I spotted a billboard along the I-10 Freeway. The sign was for the Desert Plastic Surgery Center in Palm Desert where Dr. Marcinkus advertised that he can help you "Look Your Best" with Breast Augmentation for "$3500 OR just $50 a month".

Now, I'm a "numbers" girl, so it took about 1.5 seconds for me to whip out the mental calculator (and the cell phone for precision) to calculate that at $50 a month (only 70 monthly payments) the good doctor was offering the "Chest of Your Dreams" in just 6 short years.

If I'm not mistaken, there are car loans shorter than that.

The advertisement immediately became the lighthearted topic of conversation between the Hubby and I. (Because when we're together, even the most serious topics - like surgical procedures - are subjected to our immature, twisted sense of humor.)

We were in the process of determining the ludicrous "potential" terms of the payment plan offered, and then we arrived at the absurd possibility that with each $50 payment the doctor might inflate JUST ONE SIDE of your chest.

With impeccable timing, my friend the PornStar randomly called my cell phone and managed to briefly join our "deep" discussion about boob jobs. Equally sharing my concern for "proportion", he made a fantastic suggestion. (One that I'm sure he'll help me remember...always. And if he doesn't, WallStreet most certainly will.)

Based on my experience at the beginning stages of lap swimming (which I shared with all my friends, men and women alike), I'd have to a say that the PornStar is right. It would be worth coughing up a little extra cash to make two payments (paying $100 a month) so that both sides are equally inflated each time. As the PornStar said, this reduces the risk of a "noticeable imbalance" and alleviates the possibility that one side might accidentally get an extra "pump" somewhere along the way.

But, since surgery honestly isn't in my plan any time soon, if ever at all, I'll just stick with the padded bra (my first - EVER) for now.

I can already imagine the echoes of roaring laughter I'll hear when my "nearest and dearest" girl friends (specifically: the BandGirl, the MonkeyWhisperer, the HeadShrinker, the Roomie and Gadget Girl) get an email from me at the end of my weight loss journey titled:

"ARE YOU ALL HAPPY NOW?!?".

Sadly, that day is coming...

(After all, I'm wearing the padded bra again today.)