Rise and whine

A morning of Bulldog Bootcamp, where showing up’s the hardest part

By Samantha Levine

If you have ever seen the movie “Remember the Titans” and can recall the scene where the football coach, a big and bad Denzel Washington, makes the players, many of them puking, sprint back and forth across the field without a break because, according to the coach, “WATER MAKES YOU WEAK!” — well, that is exactly how I expected my Bulldog Bootcamp experience to be. And I could not have been more wrong.

That is not to say I got off to a great start. My friend Lindsey and I swore to go to bed early that Thursday night before our scheduled bootcamp Friday morning at 6 a.m. Of course, neither of us got to sleep until about 2:00, just enough time for a nap before waking up at 4:15 for the trek from Evanston downtown to the harborside Bulldog Bootcamp location in Lincoln Park.

Stumbling out of bed and around my room — because it’s still pitch dark outside — all I can think about is what kind of great excuse I’m going to come up with for why I had to bail on the bootcamp adventure that was my idea in the first place. But alas, I suck it up, pile on layers of clothing (the class is outdoors) and head into the bathroom, only to run into girls still in jeans and heels, just getting back from the night before. Confused about my hard-core workout attire, they ask me where I’m going.

“Bootcamp,” I mumble and walk away in a haze. “Huh?” someone says. I can only imagine their puzzled expressions following me out the door.

Typically, Lindsey and I get to the train station platform just in time to watch the first train of the morning leave without us. Already cold and cranky, we opt to do what college kids like us do when the going gets rough — take a cab. Our kind yet confused driver feels very uneasy leaving two young girls in a deserted parking lot at 5:30 in the morning, but we assure him it’s totally normal. Soon enough, our classmates start trickling in, and it’s a real motley crew: a middle-aged woman drenched in jewelry and already wearing eyeliner, several 30-something couples teasing each other and an assortment of 20-somethings still pretty sloppy from the night before.

“Girl, I had like 20 of those,” a blonde shrieks in an unidentifiable twang, talking about some kind of shot, “and I am still feelin’ it!”

It’s certainly a friendly bunch. Our drill sergeant, if you will, is not the scary-screaming-spitting-hard-ass type I envisioned. Yes, he’s bald, but he greets us novices with a smile as he takes roll call, gently inquiring if so-and-so was there the previous morning.

We start off with a slow, scenic jog through the woods along Lakeshore Drive, echoing military chants: “Me and Superman got in a fight … I shot him down with kryptonite,” or something like that.

We end up in a grassy clearing, where we get in formation and do series of push-ups, crunches, stretches, you name it, counting off as we go. Either the work is bearable, or I’m too preoccupied with the knowledge I’m laying in goose poop, but the exercises go quickly. Soon we’re running, skipping, grape-vining, bunny-hopping and sprinting around an imaginary square made of cones.

My classmates cheer each other on, joking and laughing through the work, clapping for the slowest girl in the class as she struggles around her final cone. A guy wearing a helmet and resembling an overgrown high school football player provides most of the entertainment, spewing one-liners throughout the hour: “Y’all look like you’re in a candy shop!” or “Some of y’all are out to lunch!”

The drill sergeant tells him politely that the remarks are his job, and everyone smirks.

The class finishes up with an even slower jog back to the parking lot where we started. It’s 40 degrees out, but most of the class has stripped down to t-shirts, sweating and panting in line for the water fountain.

“It’s strawberry kiwi in there,” says the guy in the helmet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’re gonna love it!”

Despite the fact that I’m up and out earlier than I’ve ever been since high school, running on two hours of sleep, I feel ready to start the day as we stretch by the lake while the sun comes up. We finish off standing in a circle, saying our name and what we’re having for breakfast. Everyone oohs and ahhs over the descriptions of pancake, sausage, egg and bacon breakfasts, and it’s all I can do not to drool all over myself.

Back in Evanston, Lindsey and I top off our crazy morning with well-earned syrupy pancakes and omelettes oozing with cheese. After all that, we’re back in bed bright and early at 8:30 in the morning. I’d probably have to become nocturnal to really get into Bulldog Bootcamp. But if you’re a morning person and like working out with a group, being outside and making new friends, I would definitely recommend it.

I promise you this: Breakfast afterwards, in and of itself, makes it all worth it.

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