For the past four weeks I’ve been cursing the existence of a man named Dave Castro. If you’re into CrossFit, you know who this prick is. Right now we’re about to finish the Open, having just done 17.4. That’s year 2017 (17), workout 4. Well, this d-bag made me cry. Granted he also made the fittest woman in the world cry, so I don’t feel so bad.
So this workout included deadlifts, which are one of the few lifts that I could do pre-surgery, but they were still pretty weak. My personal record (PR) was 155 pounds back on New Year’s Eve. But it was the consensus that was probably a tentative PR based on the amount of weight I can rep out (meaning I can do a set of 10 unbroken deadlifts at 135 pounds, which would put that around the 60% to maximum weight, do math on that) and I wasn’t even using over/under hands (meaning was grip was plain overhand, on heavier weight I do an alternating grip for a bit more strength).
If you’re still with me, the prescribed weight for women was 155 pounds. My PR. I knew I could do it. And I did it. And it was fucking awful. I didn’t even get 1/4 of the way through the workout because I was only trying to get through deadlifts, but I did them. 26 of them (workout required 55, I would have just wound up on the ground in the fetal position crying). And I cried at the end. Like full on tears. Not because I’m like OMG I’M SO HAPPY YAY but my body’s like WTF DID YOU JUST DO TO ME IM GON MAKE YOU REAL UGLY AND STUPID-LOOKING RIGHT NOW.
Also called a significant emotional event. I’ve gotten workout angry before this. Like wanting to hurl a piece of equipment across the gym, getting angry at the workout angry. But this was my first uncontrollable workout emoting. And here’s a video of me suffering through this awfulness. You can see the clock behind me. There was a 13 minute time cap on the workout so I’m toward the end, on rep 22 or something of my 26. It felt infinitely worse than what you see here.
Also I absolutely love those shorts. I have two pairs. They fit like a dream and disappear when they go on. They don’t roll, they don’t move. I want all the pairs of shorts.
My body definitely started tightening up by the end of the day yesterday, but between the pool and a nice hot bath I’m actually doing okay today. A little all around sore. And I’m sore in places that I probably shouldn’t be sore because my form started failing toward the end of it. You can see me round my back a little bit there and lift with my shoulders, which you shouldn’t do in a deadlift. But I’m not hurt or in incredible pain or anything today. Hooray!
In short, I deadlifted my PR 26 times yesterday. Now to find what my actual PR is.
Some authors run. I throw around weights. And no, there is no thinking during this kind of workout. Running lets you zone and your brain can wander. No. Not here. There is only survival. And trying not to vomit on yourself (nearly did that on Wednesday, tip of the day: don’t chug water in the middle of a workout).
In other news I finally took some video of my office. I just listened to it because I narrate what’s going on and man do I sound like the female version of Bob Ross. Ugh. This is why I don’t do vlogging or videos or anything. I don’t like the way I look or sound on camera and I get super self-conscious about it. Blech.
Anyway, here’s a look at my new office/library. My own little happy place outside of my head.
As for writing, meh. Trying to get back into the swing and it’s sort of happening, but not really. I just need my weekends back. Thankfully the Open is done this Saturday, so one more workout. And then I get my hair done on Sunday. And it’s back to nothing. Hooray!