Bear with me, I’m partially delirious.

You see, this week has been the hardest week – physically, at least – of my life. I’ve done more push-ups, sit-ups, crunches, jumping jacks, punches, jogs, sprints, kicks and basically any other form of torture, ahem, I mean, fitness training, than I have ever before in my life. I’m four days into my Bikini Boot Camp, and damn, it’s HARD.

It’s also rewarding.

Despite my slow gait, my tendency to fall off of any shoes that aren’t flip-flops, my stomach soreness that makes it hurt even to laugh, my omnipresent punch-drunk demeanor (not to mention my messed-up manicure!), I know I’m doing a good thing. 6am workouts? Yeah, they suck. 150 push ups? Kick-boxing a bag for 40 minutes straight? Not exactly what I’d call fun. And to top it off – “indulging” in one piece of birthday cake and one glass of red wine cost me 50 additional squats and 20 additional pushups. Good thing they didn’t catch the martini in my food log.

My friends think I’m losing my mind; my coworker says that she could yell at me to get my ass in gear and run up the stairs for a lot less than I’m paying these people to whip my patootie in shape, and though likely true, it wouldn’t be the same. There’s a sense of accomplishment that comes at 6:45 am when you’ve finished your workout for the day, and though I’m tempted to crawl back into my bed and sleep the day away, I know better. I know that this week – though horrifically hard and both mentally and physically draining – isn’t going to be the worst, and that hell, I’ve survived so far. And above all, I know that I can do anything for 30 days, sprints, pushups, soreness and all. I may even do it again next month!

Still, I really, really, really would like another piece of birthday cake, but don’t think my arms are prepared for the push-up punishment.