Partner WOD

Posted on February 17, 2012 by Rachel

In the summer- or more accurately, spring, summer, fall, my exercise routine is paramount, and my “downtime” is fairly focused on journaling.  Either for myself or ACF.  I am also an artist, and in the winter I tend to have far more presents to make- either for those I love- or custom work. So my downtime is split between journaling, homework and artwork.  And the latter two tend to take priority.

Nevertheless, if there is one thing you can count on with me it’s that if you call me on my shit, I will own up.  You  miss the blogs?  Harass me, I’ll get back on my game.

This morning was brutal.  Those of you who talked to me this week know that it was not one of my finest weeks.  Lots of hard personal stuff going on.  Illness, deaths, heartache etc.  When I’m stressed I don’t eat enough and I don’t sleep well.  At 4:00 a.m. I lay in bed, knowing I didn’t need to be up for another hour.  Knowing I’d only been in bed for 3 hours.

I debated.

I have a pretty hard and fast rule- poor nutrition?  No working out.  Poor sleep?  No working out.  Respect your body before you go asking it to do work for you.

If I was to follow my own rules, I wouldn’t get to WOD on Friday morning.  On the other hand, if I didn’t WOD on Friday morning, I might pay for it emotionally for the remainder of the day.  Sooooo….. up and at ‘em.

I walk in.  I know I look like hell.  Most of our coaches are men and they can’t often tell the difference between eyes that are tired and eyes that have been crying.  Although I suppose both were true for me.  “Good morning sleepy!”  I nodded.  Sometimes I’m afraid that if I open my mouth to try to say anything I will just start crying.

Russian gymnastics warm up.  I feel like I am moving through jello.  Or….hmmm…. something more viscous.  It’s slow motion.  Every step takes more energy than it should.  But I start moving.  And so does the crowd around me.

Handstands, pistols, squats, pull ups, tri-pods, the room becomes a stage and we dance around- each with our own choreography, but all part of the same dance.  I am tired.  I am sad.  My breath catches in my throat every so often as I fight off the sadness, but every time I kick my legs up and hold my body upside down, I feel the sadness dropping off the top of my head like raindrops off of fingertips.  I hold what might be the longest handstand I’ve ever gotten.

I could write a whole blog just on the warm up, but it is a blog and not a novel.

We review the workout.  Brett partners us up.  I’m glad because I’m feeling so weak I don’t even want to ask anyone to be my partner for fear of disappointing them.  No worries here- Laura is stuck with me.  And it’s not my fault.

We review the WOD.  I hate the forward leaning rest.  I think it’s one of the hardest things we do.  And so by all means, I can’t wait to do it.

3….2….1….

Laura takes off on the rower.  I am keeping my neck in line and my gaze down, so I cannot see her, but I feel the whir of the erg every time she launches back.  I have no idea how long it will take, or how long it has been.  I tighten my shoulders, drop my hips.  Brett is cheering me on.  I need this today.  Some days I can do the work, but I need the encouragement today, and it is there.  “240” Laura shouts, and I know it’s my cue to get ready to row.

The first 250 isn’t so bad.  There is the worry about your partner holding the plank, but the row itself is a short sprint.  DRIVE reeleaassse.  DRIVE reelleasssee.  I finish the 250 and am back in the plank while Laura begins the squats. She squats fast and the plank doesn’t seem so bad… yet.

We trade off.  And again.  And yet again.  And then I am back on the erg. This time my legs feeling a little weaker, but I push through.  The first 50m go so quickly, and you only have to do that 5 times!

On to the push press.  Sets of 20.  I start.  10 are easy. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15.  Fuck.  It is a struggle to get through the last 5.  20.  Hit 20 and drop.  My body resists the FLR.  My muscles are tired and I hear Brett once again cheering me on.  And I can hold on for 15 more seconds.  We switch.  And switch again.  And back to the erg.  While Laura rows I watch my sweat accumulate in a small puddle on the floor.  There is something about this that strikes me more as beautiful than as disgusting.  And I love it.

Pull ups.  I work hard not to kip.  All the way up, all the way down.  Full extension, no hips.  17…18…19…20.  We switch.  By now it’s habit.  She’s up, I’m down.  And back again.  And then we row.  I notice my breathing as I push and glide, and push and glide.  Around me the room is pulling up, dropping to the floor in burpees, or holding their body in strong planked form.  It is beautiful.

We head for the burpees.  Laura gets through 8 before I fail on my FLR.  We switch.  I get through 11.  We switch again.  We eek our way through.  Burpees have never felt so good.  Every muscle and fiber in my body is in love with this motion.  I drop to the floor- collapsing- throwing out my emotion and driving it into the ground beneath me.  I pull back up and rise, springing off of the earth with greater energy than I would have expected.

We finish and are back to the erg.  Row. Row. Row.  I am sore.  I am dripping.  I am exhausted.  But every part of me wants to keep going.  They could tell me that it was actually 5 rounds of this WOD and I think I would have died of sheer happiness.  I feel alive.  I feel whole.  I feel human.

And when it is over I sink to the floor.  Blood pulsing through my veins, the knot in my throat comes back.  I close my eyes so as not to cry.  I cheer on my allstars.  Last rounds of burpees and rowing and planking.  And still, the emotion is there.  I try not to cry.  And then I decide I don’t much care if I do.  Because whether I am feeling sadness, exhilaration, or complete exhaustion, the point is, I am feeling.  And I am so fucking glad to be alive.