Cry, Baby, Cry

I got to today's appointment before Carter had finished. He was doing some Power Cleans with 185 pounds. He'd already done an hour's worth of work, and there he was, basically deadlift, shrug, and clean -- up all the way. As I keep saying, the man's an animal. He tells me he did some bag punching, but wait, Carter has some serious martial arts training and I suspect that that bag did some bobbing and weaving after he laid into it. Those few power-cleans I witnessed were impressive; Carter's my guy; my husband. He is an inspiration to me. And I love him for being a better Him!

My workout with Stein today was the last Circuit training I get, as we're back to Crossfit next week. The hamstring is better enough to get back to the Crossfit task, which I'm actually missing. Here's my little dirty dilemma; I'm an inherent lazy-ass and Crossfit doesn't allow lazy. Circuits don't either, but it's much easier to take that extra bit of time-out, because Circuits are timed, and generally include only 3 exercises/3 sets, during which you get plenty of adequate rest to recuperate. Rest, I might add, that I don't need.... Crossfitter's have a lot of quick recovery time, and I took advantage (ashamed to say) with the 15% incline three minute treadmill walks (easy peasy shite, really) I've been granted the last few weeks. Welp, that's over and done with.

In circuits, the emphasis on strength is fun for me, I enjoy hoisting as much weight as possible, and because I'm a lot stronger than most women, and that's according to Stein who says I'm stronger than any of his other female clients, it gives me some internal props that my self-esteem needs. Today I did 60-pound bench presses, also did 210 lb. leg presses (on the machine). Both a bit of work, and thoroughly enjoyable. Fifteen sit-ups times 3 in the circuit (I have some trouble with sit-ups, though my core is hard as a board). Three sets of one minute four-point planks, a bit of a challenge, but I can do all that, 30/35 -pound bar curls, and some other stuff that Stein insisted I do like a Crossfit -- take minimal rest, which I did.. but... It was nice to get that bit of endurance/cardio going, a nice burn in the large muscles, and a bit of hard-breathing. But... it ain't no kinda crossfit.

Where the hell am I going with this?

Stein and I had a conversation about your mind -- where your mind stops you/how it keeps you going. He did a hard-core Crossfit the other day; a 10,9,8,7, etc. routine with three draining exercises (burpees, dead-lifts, kettlebell swings, box-jumps or something like that). It's a grueling work-out, and he said he got stuck about half way through and had to get his head wrapped around the knowing he actually could get through it and how good it feels, and honest, it does. And he did.

I've always felt like my head gets all in the way of my doing the best I can, and it's true. I often come into the training sessions knowing how hard it's going to be, and questioning whether I'll be able to do it. Far too often, I have serious anxiety before I even get there, because I'm just over-thinking the whole thing. I've never actually "failed", which is really only possible by quitting. And I've never quit.

But when I started to think about it, I've had a life history of not even starting, let alone quitting. When I was 7 and 8 years old, my stepmother took me to the 400 acre tract of land she co-owns. In the early years, the only way to get to the camp site was to hike, nearly 100% uphill. I spent the entire hike, each and every time, huffing, puffing, complaining, whining and crying about it. The adults would take my heavy sleeping bag, leaving me with my backpack, and as far as I know, the other kids on the hike would just do it and get through it. I made specatular spectacles of myself, which likely I am still remembered, even 40 years later. Funny thing is that at 47 years of age, I can hike a 15% incline (a very steep incline) steadily for quite a long time. Surely, those hikes weren't at 15%, and yet I acted like they were killing me.

I was also the kid that could not, for any reason or at any time, run the entire track for P.E. That's 1/4 mile, people, not a mile. I couldn't complete a real push up. Or a pull-up. I couldn't finish the Presidential Phys. Ed. challenge, and I have never, ever, in my entire life (until now) been able to do it. Now that I want to do it, I keep injuring myself. When I was a kid, I just gave up. I failed. I failed because I wouldn't push myself past my comfort level; nowadays, the comfort level is whatever I set my own abilities at. I can do alot more than when I was in the 5th, 6th, 7th grade. Today I can push-up, pull-up, run, jump and otherwise test the Average. I'm not Average. I'm beyond that. Back in the day, my mind left me with a Below Average ability. At theh age of 47 years old, I am better than I was at 7. Sad but true. At least I figured it out. I figure so many others' never do... guess that's pretty fucked for them, and I got little sympathy. But that's another blog.

As a teen, I roller-skated everywhere. I mean everywhere. Uphill, downhill ... in traffic, on the steepest of steep hills in Berkeley. I did a huge wipe-out down Marin Avenue -- a 25% grade at least -- and skidded two whole blocks on my right side. the end result was a black bruise on my right thigh with the imprint of a wrench on my thigh, complete with the Craftsman brand imprint. I plan on tattooing this on my leg sometime in the near future. and I never complained, not once, about the work to get up the hill, nor the spectacular skid down the hill. I was charged in those days and ready to tango. And tango I did. What the fuck happened between my earliest years -- and Now? Really. I wanna know.

Where am I going with this? Until the past year, I've never pushed myself to exhaustion. Never took that deep breath and let my mind believe I could do it. Carter asked me today how I can be such a contender, such a non-quitter, when by history I've done nothing but complain about being physical. The fact is, I don't really know. I'm lucky to have a body that is naturally very strong. Being strong allows me to do things that a lot of women can't just do without a lot of work, In some cases, many women would never be able to endure the weight that I can. It's how I'm built, not something I've spent a lot of time building. And I have done, and continue to do, a lot of whining and complaining, although my body is entirely, completely and unquestionably capable of doing what I ask of it.

So while I look to Crossfit next Tuesday, I'm already preparing my mind for it. I've got to come to grips with what the little internal voice is saying to the bigger external me. It's exciting to know I'm going to back to hit the challenge, and while I've enjoyed the last couple of weeks of theoretically easier work, I know I've been slacking. Perhaps for good reason, perhaps for cause -- but slacking nonetheless -- and I want to leave my history of complaining, whinging and whining behind. I want to get my mind wrapped around a holistic idea that my entire being can do what I need it to do. The little girl in me is scared; the big girl is getting ready for the Zombie Wars and needs all the hurt in the world to get ready. I need my body to be ready for anything, and that's entirely dependant upon what my body is ready for, and what my mind will allow it to do. I've got to release the anxiety and the doubt, and just go with what my body will do for me. Because it will do what I need it to do; I just need to believe in it and not cry about how hard it is.
And today, I try to keep the complaining minimal. In fact, I don't think I really made one true complaint; observations, yes: "Wow, my legs are burning," or, "Out. of. breath...", "That's some heavy weight", or "Damn, that was harder than I thought it would be." The truest complaint was for a 30 pound weight to be adjusted in my left hand so the chronic De'Quervain's inflammation was allieved (a matter of how I had a grip). Perhaps I could overlook that sharp, awful pain, if the shit hit the fan; and that's too much, even. I feel for Stein who has to listen to it, and does, and rolls his eyes and he pushes me. By this time, he knows me. He knows when I'm complaining for complaining's sake, knowing that my whinging is a way of trying to weasle out of doing. He knows what my limits are, and doesn't listen to my bullshit. He does listen to the real things, the pains in my hands, the muscles I have issues with. Other than that, he just yells (in his not-yelling kind of way), "don't be a pussy, just DO IT!" At which time, I almost always do completely what he's pushing me to do.

Mostly, though, what I do is entirely in my own head; my body will do what it's told. My mind is what gets in my way.

Cry, baby, cry.