So, today marks my fourth session of “booty camp,” a month-long outdoor fitness boot camp that is very much NOT the sort of thing I would normally do. Booty camp represents a brand of rah-rah self improvement that doesn’t really mesh with my slightly cynical (and more than slightly self-conscious) persona. Sure, I work out– if I didn’t, I would look very different.  However, an outdoor boot camp–especially one called booty camp, in which the instructor dishes out commands while bedecked in pink camo–is so not my scene. Or, so I once thought.

My fitness soulmate? Hmm...

It was a friend’s advice which led me to the camp of the booty, and since the weather is finally getting nice, I figured a ladies-only outdoor exercise class might be a worthwhile change. And–what do you know–I’m already beginning to firm up a bit. True, I put on muscle remarkably quickly for a woman (thanks to a build not terribly dissimilar from that of a brick shithouse) so I’m not sure if that’s a testament to the program or to my genes, but I sure ain’t complaining. Another thing I have noticed, unfortunately, is that the high-intensity exercise regime has given me license to up my sweets intake. Not that I really need an excuse, but the amounts of sugar I’ve allowed myself to consume in the two weeks since beginning my boot camp are cause for concern. I’m talking serious excess here, not just an occasional cookie or whatever (besides, in my world, cookies come in threes. Like nursery rhyme animals). If my pancreas decided to up and leave me like a wounded lover, I wouldn’t blame it one little bit.

Is this normal? Do all women who start intensely working out suddenly become overly indulgent of their vices?

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