thedrifter
05-15-06, 09:44 AM
Get up! Get out! Get moving!
They're not in the military, but at dawn they're willingly taking orders to get into shape
By Johnny Diaz, Globe Staff | May 15, 2006
''Everywhere we go! . . . People want to know! . . . Who we are! . . . So we tell them!"
They are sore recruits, cheering back to their drill instructor, former Marine Charla McMillian, who skips backward beside them as they run down the Esplanade off Sherborn Street. She makes sure the squad is in formation and that none of these urban jarheads peters out.
''Forward march!" she shouts. The group grunts back, ''Hut, hut!"
It's 7 a.m. Time for boot camp class, Boston style.
All around the city at the crack of dawn, people willingly line up before work for a chance to be barked at and told what to do, so much so that it hurts their muscles, and perhaps their egos.
They are taking part in small, local boot camp-style classes that focus on exercises found in military training, such as push-ups, sit-ups, and side-saddle hops (jumping jacks).
It's a grueling physical education, with class names like Team Delta and Ultimate Bootcamp, that has been growing in popularity as Bostonians look for new ways to stay motivated to burn off those daily Dunkaccinos.
Members say they want the structured format. They say the classes, which typically have 10 to 12 people, are cheaper than personal training (about $15 an hour, compared to $40 and more with a trainer). And the constant doses of discipline from a loud instructor force them to jump higher, crunch harder, and run faster, even though they'd rather be in bed.
''She scares me in a good way," Femi Allen says of her instructor, McMillian, who teaches a FitBoot class at 7 a.m. along the Esplanade. ''The last thing I want to do is hear her mouth, so it makes me work a little harder."
Allen signed up for the course because she had trouble squeezing in some workout time as a Harvard business student. ''I needed something more organized and authoritative that would motivate me," she says, beads of sweat sparkling on her forehead.
When she tells friends that her class is at 7 a.m., ''they think I'm nuts. All you really have to do is drag yourself out of bed. Once you make that decision, you are assured of having a great day."
Local gyms have also offered their own takes on boot camp classes, but what makes all of these different is that they're outdoors, and you might hear a ''Hoo-ya," or possibly a Hoo-yawn.
Such boot camp drills have been featured on reality-TV shows such as NBC's ''The Biggest Loser" and VH1's ''Celebrity Fit Club" and on Oprah Winfrey's daytime talk show. She jumped on the trend by introducing her own brand of boot camp on her program and website last year.
At the Esplanade, McMillian is the commander in chief, wearing camouflage pants, a red sweatshirt, and military cap and boots. Her orders echo along the Charles River down from Boston University. She's known as ''Charla the Crusher" and by the cringing looks on the faces before her, the squad believes it.
When she hears the recruits sound like ''little church mice" during their sound-off or if she sees sluggish bodies, she threatens them with lots of push-ups.
''I have no problem with making you do push-ups for the next 45 minutes," she says after hearing a lack of enthusiasm. (It is 7 a.m., after all.) Suddenly the volume pumps back up.
McMillian's new participants spend six weeks in FitBoot's 7 a.m. ''Recruit" class. Those who pass her graduation test -- the same exam used in the Marines, it includes a 3-mile run, timed sit-ups, and pull-ups -- can move on to the ''Troop" class, which begins at 6 a.m. Her spring classes are already booked.
People in her class are students and professionals, mostly in their 20s and 30s, looking for that extra nudge they can't seem to give themselves at indoor gyms.
''By doing it outside, it takes away all the excuses of 'I didn't have the right equipment.' . . . It's a structured program that progresses from point A to point B," McMillian says.
But not all these boot camp classes are as intense (or as loud) as McMillian's.
On the other side of town on another day at Pope John Paul II Park, several yawns mix with the chatter of crickets in the 5:55 a.m. darkness.
A dozen recruits amble out of their cars and sluggishly mosey around as though they're about to line up for a high school phys ed class.
''Your body's gonna feel like a furnace all day long. Let's stoke it up," instructor Peter Lavelle greets them in a friendly tone.
Within minutes, the sleepy dozen seem like they're feeling that burn. They run laps, perform jumping jacks, and do squats on the park's hilly terrain. The sun barely pokes out behind the State Street buildings in Quincy.
Despite its intimidating name of Ultimate Bootcamp, ''we're not military style. It's much more of a motivational, positive style," says Jill Tomich, who launched the program three years ago with Lavelle in Watertown. They created the class after hearing people looking for a quick yet intense regime that worked around their 9-to-5 schedules.
These classes meet four times a week at 6 a.m. or 6 p.m. at the Boston Common, Arsenal Park in Watertown, or Pope John Paul II Park, the newest addition to the program.
''I jumped at the chance to do this. I want to get in shape for the summer," says a sore Dianne Cushing, a receptionist in Braintree. She signed up for the Dorchester class because she doesn't have time to exercise after work.
She also said she was motivationally challenged and needed that extra push that only an instructor could give.
''They [the instructors] don't let you stop. They don't scream at you, which is nice," says Cushing, who was gasping and moaning moments later while doing squats.
Halfway through the workout, Cushing jogs in place along with her 11 other classmates. She looks exhilarated. ''I love this stuff," she says.
Lori Whitney doesn't look as if she's sharing the same can-do spirit. She looks as if she just woke up. She admits she got up around 5 a.m., gulped some water, and ate a PowerBar before making the 20-minute drive from Norwood.
But she's here and determined to give it a try. She says she'll stick with the program to build some physical and mental endurance.
''It's a challenge," says Whitney, 31, her words marked by puffs of cold air. ''They make you push yourself. I'm not going to make myself do lots of push-ups. Once you get into the mind-set, it's OK. You feel great afterwards."
At least until 5 the next morning.
Johnny Diaz can be reached at jodiaz@globe.com.
Ellie
They're not in the military, but at dawn they're willingly taking orders to get into shape
By Johnny Diaz, Globe Staff | May 15, 2006
''Everywhere we go! . . . People want to know! . . . Who we are! . . . So we tell them!"
They are sore recruits, cheering back to their drill instructor, former Marine Charla McMillian, who skips backward beside them as they run down the Esplanade off Sherborn Street. She makes sure the squad is in formation and that none of these urban jarheads peters out.
''Forward march!" she shouts. The group grunts back, ''Hut, hut!"
It's 7 a.m. Time for boot camp class, Boston style.
All around the city at the crack of dawn, people willingly line up before work for a chance to be barked at and told what to do, so much so that it hurts their muscles, and perhaps their egos.
They are taking part in small, local boot camp-style classes that focus on exercises found in military training, such as push-ups, sit-ups, and side-saddle hops (jumping jacks).
It's a grueling physical education, with class names like Team Delta and Ultimate Bootcamp, that has been growing in popularity as Bostonians look for new ways to stay motivated to burn off those daily Dunkaccinos.
Members say they want the structured format. They say the classes, which typically have 10 to 12 people, are cheaper than personal training (about $15 an hour, compared to $40 and more with a trainer). And the constant doses of discipline from a loud instructor force them to jump higher, crunch harder, and run faster, even though they'd rather be in bed.
''She scares me in a good way," Femi Allen says of her instructor, McMillian, who teaches a FitBoot class at 7 a.m. along the Esplanade. ''The last thing I want to do is hear her mouth, so it makes me work a little harder."
Allen signed up for the course because she had trouble squeezing in some workout time as a Harvard business student. ''I needed something more organized and authoritative that would motivate me," she says, beads of sweat sparkling on her forehead.
When she tells friends that her class is at 7 a.m., ''they think I'm nuts. All you really have to do is drag yourself out of bed. Once you make that decision, you are assured of having a great day."
Local gyms have also offered their own takes on boot camp classes, but what makes all of these different is that they're outdoors, and you might hear a ''Hoo-ya," or possibly a Hoo-yawn.
Such boot camp drills have been featured on reality-TV shows such as NBC's ''The Biggest Loser" and VH1's ''Celebrity Fit Club" and on Oprah Winfrey's daytime talk show. She jumped on the trend by introducing her own brand of boot camp on her program and website last year.
At the Esplanade, McMillian is the commander in chief, wearing camouflage pants, a red sweatshirt, and military cap and boots. Her orders echo along the Charles River down from Boston University. She's known as ''Charla the Crusher" and by the cringing looks on the faces before her, the squad believes it.
When she hears the recruits sound like ''little church mice" during their sound-off or if she sees sluggish bodies, she threatens them with lots of push-ups.
''I have no problem with making you do push-ups for the next 45 minutes," she says after hearing a lack of enthusiasm. (It is 7 a.m., after all.) Suddenly the volume pumps back up.
McMillian's new participants spend six weeks in FitBoot's 7 a.m. ''Recruit" class. Those who pass her graduation test -- the same exam used in the Marines, it includes a 3-mile run, timed sit-ups, and pull-ups -- can move on to the ''Troop" class, which begins at 6 a.m. Her spring classes are already booked.
People in her class are students and professionals, mostly in their 20s and 30s, looking for that extra nudge they can't seem to give themselves at indoor gyms.
''By doing it outside, it takes away all the excuses of 'I didn't have the right equipment.' . . . It's a structured program that progresses from point A to point B," McMillian says.
But not all these boot camp classes are as intense (or as loud) as McMillian's.
On the other side of town on another day at Pope John Paul II Park, several yawns mix with the chatter of crickets in the 5:55 a.m. darkness.
A dozen recruits amble out of their cars and sluggishly mosey around as though they're about to line up for a high school phys ed class.
''Your body's gonna feel like a furnace all day long. Let's stoke it up," instructor Peter Lavelle greets them in a friendly tone.
Within minutes, the sleepy dozen seem like they're feeling that burn. They run laps, perform jumping jacks, and do squats on the park's hilly terrain. The sun barely pokes out behind the State Street buildings in Quincy.
Despite its intimidating name of Ultimate Bootcamp, ''we're not military style. It's much more of a motivational, positive style," says Jill Tomich, who launched the program three years ago with Lavelle in Watertown. They created the class after hearing people looking for a quick yet intense regime that worked around their 9-to-5 schedules.
These classes meet four times a week at 6 a.m. or 6 p.m. at the Boston Common, Arsenal Park in Watertown, or Pope John Paul II Park, the newest addition to the program.
''I jumped at the chance to do this. I want to get in shape for the summer," says a sore Dianne Cushing, a receptionist in Braintree. She signed up for the Dorchester class because she doesn't have time to exercise after work.
She also said she was motivationally challenged and needed that extra push that only an instructor could give.
''They [the instructors] don't let you stop. They don't scream at you, which is nice," says Cushing, who was gasping and moaning moments later while doing squats.
Halfway through the workout, Cushing jogs in place along with her 11 other classmates. She looks exhilarated. ''I love this stuff," she says.
Lori Whitney doesn't look as if she's sharing the same can-do spirit. She looks as if she just woke up. She admits she got up around 5 a.m., gulped some water, and ate a PowerBar before making the 20-minute drive from Norwood.
But she's here and determined to give it a try. She says she'll stick with the program to build some physical and mental endurance.
''It's a challenge," says Whitney, 31, her words marked by puffs of cold air. ''They make you push yourself. I'm not going to make myself do lots of push-ups. Once you get into the mind-set, it's OK. You feel great afterwards."
At least until 5 the next morning.
Johnny Diaz can be reached at jodiaz@globe.com.
Ellie