A Fathelete Fears Booty Camp

So tomorrow, I'm headed out to West Palm Beach's Howard Park with my gorgeous friend Shamin and some other folks for something called Booty Camp, which is apparently some sort of hour-long boot camp that's supposed to shape the...ummm...booty region. I am not averse to pain, because exercise that feels good doesn't usually do a daggone thing for you.

However, I'm a little scared of this, because I'll be in pain and sweaty and gross around people I know. I go to boot camp at my gym, where I'm just Sweaty Lady #57, and I don't care. But this Booty Camp's gonna involve, I imagine, people I know from the cocktails and shmoozy scene that is my job. And I don't want them to know what I look like screaming in pain, sweating out the ying yang and contemplating strangling the trainer or dragging myself into McDonald's and snarfing hashbrowns till I choke.

Hashbrowns are pretty.

I'll let you know.

And no, there will not be any pictures.