The Thousands

No matter how much the Church of Scientology intrigues me, I will never set foot inside their ominous Castlereagh Street headquarters to take one of their highly dubious personality tests for shits and giggles. Why? Because while my secular self may laugh at their zany antics, being highly susceptible to suggestion means my brain would buckle at the first opportunity and I’d soon be taking Xenu by the hand and willingly hopping aboard his pleasure craft.

This slightly worrying personality trait may have something to do with how hard I’ve been hit by my recent obsession – Original Bootcamp. At first, the mere thought of dragging my demure cankles down to the Domain just past sunrise to put myself through a revolving series of military conditioning exercises caused my rosebud to violently contract. But, equal parts vain and insecure, I persevered and it soon became a welcome relief to turn up and have somebody else tell me what to do. Even in exercise, I’m just that lazy.

Contrary to popular belief, the trainers at bootcamp don’t scream at you to push it to the max and/or feel the burn. But rather, they encourage you to move past what you think are your limits so that you’ll be holding your own alongside Giuliano Stroe in no time.

Bootcamp – drink the Kool-Aid.