Barry’s Bootcamp: Don’t ask, Don’t tell.

So back on Thanksgiving day, my sister — who is a masters’ team swimmer, and a super leet athlete — dragged my blogging ass out of bed at the crack of 10AM and said, “We’re going to bootcamp.” Why, I asked? “Three words, Xeni: sweet potato pie.” She took me to this joint on La Cienega near Sunset called Barry’s Bootcamp — a small gym in the middle of a WeHo strip mall where that offers nothing but these really intense, tough classes designed to feel sort of like military workouts. Yeah, sure, it’s a LOT like the military — the military where everyone is either a really handsome gay man, or a blonde, silicone-enhanced, anorexic AMW (actress/model/whatever). Fair amount of star-spotting there, too, if you’re into that sort of thing (snort). Snark aside, it totally kicked my ass for an hour and $11, and I’ll be back. Best thing about this place: you know those little rubber foamy mat things you have to use in gym classes? The ones that everyone else in the gym also uses and sweats all over? OK, this place actually CLEANS them. Like, between EACH CLASS. That alone — freedom from cooties — is worth $11 a pop. I’m thinking real bootcamp is probably not like that.