So this past week was the start of the highly anticipated (and much feared) “Women’s Boot Camp” class in my town. Created by my uber-fit friend, “Sweaty Betty,” it’s a military boot camp-style fitness class where for a full hour each week, 70 suburban women get their you-know-what’s kicked at the local high school football field.

To ease our anxiety, my friend Dee and I emailed back and forth just hours before the start of the first class. The following is our correspondence (one of the reasons I love hanging out with Dee so much is that we frequently digress into language that’s part 13-year old surfer boy, part sailor. It’s quite liberating).

From: Dee
To: Jen
RE: tonight

I ate pizza for lunch. I may puke it up.

From: Jen
To: Dee
RE: tonight

Eating my yogurt and Odwalla bar now and hope that it stays down. I hear we run stairs!!!

From: Dee
To: Jen
Re: RE: tonight

WHAT?!?!?! WHAT STAIRS?!?!?! are you making (bleep) up to freak me out????

From: Jen
To: Dee
Re: RE: tonight

No dude. I heard it from Jess when I saw her in Aisle 7 at Stop & Shop this morning.

From: Dee
To: Jen
Re: RE: RE: tonight

What stairs do we run???

From: Jen
To: Dee
Re: RE: RE: tonight

The stadium stairs of the football field.

From: Dee
To: Jen
Re: RE: RE: RE: tonight

I’m sorry, did you say “stadium?” We’re going to the high school track right? or did it move to Fenway Park?!?!

From: Jen
To: Dee
Re: RE: RE: RE: tonight

Bleachers.

That’s the word I meant to use.

###

Well, we survived the first class – sprints, stairs, squats and all. And when I told the kids that Mommy was doing push-ups on the field while staring down at a big earthworm…

That was worth the price of admission, dude.