By TAYLOR VAN ARSDALE Special to the Daily Press
After my break-up with my ex, a philandering pig, I stop going to the gym and gain a few thousand pounds. The Pig had a BMW motorcycle, and used to reassure me that in the event a terrorist nuke were to hit LAX, we’d swiftly ride to safety. The dreaded nuke crests my top 10 irrational fears list. Now, with the BMW gone,I’ve got it fixed in my head,I’ll have to outrun the blast, so when my zaftig friend “Gerdy” (not her real name) approaches me about joining Santa Monica’s Extreme Boot Camp, I think,“Sure. Why not?”
Lea Conserva, a striking blonde with chiseled features, introduced the “EBC” Santa Monica franchise in April 2007. Conserva attended a Simi Valley EBC but longed for a local, outdoor, group fitness program. She met with Linda Taix, the EBC creator, partnered with her cousin, John Bartlett and realized she’d found her calling. Conserva’s warm personality spurs me into signing up. In six weeks, if I follow the program I should lose weight. No one however believes I’ll be able to outrun residual nuclear fallout. I however remain optimistic.
I “weigh in”and meet my trainers. There’s J. Scott Shonka, a West Point grad and former Airborne Ranger. “Yum” is all I can say. If this man wants to knock me around, I’m all for it. Edgar Turner is a former US Marine, who’s blessed with a set of pectorals that have me drooling. And August Johnson, a nutritionist and cookbook author, is a sweetheart who could be my look-alike, except that she’s a stunning, blonde and has a perfect figure.
EBC has time-slots ranging from 5:30 a.m. to 9:45 a.m., (and a 6:30 p.m. class), but due to job constraints, Gerdy must attend the 5:30 a.m. shift. And like a good friend I go with her. Barely awake, I’m surrounded by my fellow Boot Campers: Krystyna — a taut, flaxen-haired ex-pat, with an acerbic British wit. Think a non-drunk “Patsy Stone” of “Ab Fab.” I incorrectly guess she’s 35. She’s almost 50, married to a hunk in his 20’s. My new hero; I want to be her, if only for a one night rumble with her spouse; and Betty, a dark-haired “Sheryl Crow” type, is a dynamo, has run marathons and participated in something called the “Iron Man”which I mistakenly think may be sponsored by Ozzy Osbourne or former members of “Black Sabbath.” It’s actually a “voluntary” three-part race that involves swimming, biking and running. Ripped and lean, Betty runs circles around us, but she hasn’t had a date in two years either. I’m glad to learn my “J-Lo caboose” is not the cause of my dateless doldrums.
The morning begins with some easy stretching (don’t lull yourself into a false sense of security) this transitions rather quickly to military style jumping jacks, which basically means “two jacks equal one.” After 50, I lose count. Then it’s abdominals, which I love, not because I’m finally on my back (though that plays a role), but because at 5:45 a.m., the sky’s clear and dark, Santa Monica is blissfully serene, and while everyone’s counting reps, I lose myself viewing Pleiades and chance to see a shooting star.
The “break” is over too soon. J. Scott’s stern “On your feet, People!” has me practically saluting. Over rhyming cadences we perform a hideous triceps exercise that makes me want to cry. Whatever happened to losing weight the old-fashioned way with nicotine, cocaine and a high colonic chaser?
Later, during my lame attempt at push-ups Edgar bends down and asks, “Is that as far down as you can go, Taylor?” His biceps flex slightly and his sinewy frame entices me to push on.
I admit, I signed up to meet a hot guy. Fact no. 1: Only the trainers are hot. Fact no.2: There are only girls in my class — perfect for Gerdy who happens to be a lesbian, but not so much for me. Fact no. 3: Some hot guys are in the 6 a.m. class. The nice thing about EBC is that you can switch it up. If you miss your class time, you can jump into another session.
Calisthenics are followed by 20 of 30 minutes of running. I’m not the fattest, but I’m definitively the slowest, and it’s abundantly clear to me now that should there ever be a nuclear explosion at LAX, only Betty will survive.
The trainers and the program are inspirational. By the third week, thanks to August, I begin to make strides in my running. Edgar is encouraging and talks me through the pain, and J. Scott is a genuine motivational force. All are confident about my progress. I stick out the six weeks. I’ve lost 2 inches, made some great friends and have never felt better. I’m even dating again. For information on the EBC call (310) 367-8500.
TAYLOR VAN ARSDALE is a writer/producer and movie reviewer for the Daily Press. She
Originally published in the Santa Monica Daily Press print edition on March 26, 2008. Read the original PDF.