Fit test part deux (for real this time)

So.. as promised, here is the sad sordid story. (Well it's not really sad or sordid but i like the alliteration. It's part of this whole writing adventure I'm on. But I digress.)

In a nutshell, I cried twice, almost broke my face, bashed my still-recovering-from-surgery foot, and rowed one-legged pretty damn well. G's test wasn't quite as dramatic, but it was kickass all the same.

So the test was going to look like this: bench press (do the max weight you can for 3-5 reps), rest, pullups (max u can do), rest, 500m for time on the paddling erg, rest, and then a 12 minute run for distance. Those who can't run get to row on a regular rowing machine for 12 minutes.

It comes to my turn on the bench press. The comedy begins in earnest when I give my answer to "how much weight do you want?" I know what I want the weight to be, but I can't for the life of me figure out how to make it all compute. This is worse than when G and I are at the gym training. I look at what's already on the bar - two 25lb plates - and try to figure out how much I need to add.

So, if there's 50 on the bar, and the bar is 45, that makes... oh shit. Umm... 95 right? Ya, right. Ok. Phew. That wasn't too hard. So how much do I need to add? [My fingers come out and I start going thru the numbers...] 135 minus 95 leaves... err... ? I try to get thru the math.. but I am stumped. I start to panic. I start walking circles around the stupid bench, trying to make it look like I'm just psyching myself up when in reality I'm becoming more and more traumatized by the whole addition and subtraction thing. 

G sees my consternation and comes over. "Help!" I message her telepathically. TelePATHETICally. Ugh. Really? It's not like it's fractions or decimal points for crying out loud.


Well, HA, G can't figure it out either. We're BOTH idiots.

"L, how much weight do you want?" asks our trusty spotter for the day.
"Err... 135?"
"OK, so take everything off and put on two plates."
 DUH!  

Bench gets readied, all is well. I get down to business. One... two... two and a half... two and three quarters... bloody shoulder freezes up and no matter how much I push (or try that telepathy thing again) I can't get it all the way up for the third one. I rack it and stomp off, tears of pissed-off-ness welling. BLARGH. Walk it off, try again. No big deal. You got this.

One of my teammates, bless her, offers encouragement and helps me set up for the next try. I decide to go down 5 pounds.... I get down, unrack the thing, and BANG, drop it right in my own face. Well SHIT and OW. BIG OW. Somehow we get it off my head and I catch my breath. OK, focus, let's try this sucker one more time. Unrack, down, up, down, urghh... forget it. I'm a mess. Nothing is cooperating.. least of all my brain.

I stomp off a second time. Pissed a second time.

I go to the locker room to calm down and notice my mouth is all bloody. Oh great. Please don't tell me I knocked anything loose in there! (I haven't, it's just a flesh wound!)

OK forget the dumb bench press. Focus on pullups.

I take the plastic walking boot off one foot and my sneaker off the other. I hang on the bar and feel balanced for the first time in a while. I hang rod straight just like coach wants and when he says go, I go. One.
"Beautiful!"
Two.
"Yes!"
Three. "Yeah! Keep it up!"
Three-and-a-half...
"Come on, you can do it!"
Three-and-three-quarters...
"Do it!"

Ha, I do it alright. In trying to get myself up, my form disintegrates completely, I kick out with my right foot, and smack it hard against the cold hard steel of the machine. #$%! I drop and sob. Damn, that hurt even more than the face plow!

OK. Collect yourself. Breathe.


Time for the paddle machine. I adjust the seat & the foot rest, callibrate, sit, plop my re-boot-clad foot up on the plate and begin. I'm out of the gate at a 2:14 split rate... feeling strong and solid. Coach is happy. "I like it. This is beautiful. Keep it right there the whole way." The WHOLE way? Uh, ok. I'll do my best. I keep going, and suddenly my dumb boot slides, my butt slides.. everything is just sliding. It's hard to adjust when you're one legged and going for bust. Somehow I keep it together, but lose about 19 seconds in the process. DANG. Still, it's over, it's done and it's totally respectable.

Coach gives me the choice of ending my test right there, since I ran last time, and will run again next time.  But obviously I can't this time. So it's either stop now, or get on the rowing machine and have at it.
"Since you're here, go ahead and row. I won't have anything to measure it against, but go ahead, get your heart rate up." Dude, can't you see it's ALREADY up? :)


So I strap one foot in, rest the other one with the boot on top, and go. Whoosh whoosh. Yeah, this is it. 12 minutes.. piece of cake. I row hard. My split time is good. I've got a teamie next to me about to start. She sets off strong. We push and encourage each other. I watch the minutes count down. I get to the last 100 meters and crank it. My neighbor grunts encouragement at me. It's puke or shut up time. 10, 5, DONE. I roll off the machine and just lie on the floor, motionless save for my chest which is heaving like crazy.

"You ok? You look very white."
"Yeah coach. I'm good."
And I am. A few hiccups. No worries. March 24th I'll fix it all. (I better because I won't have any excuses. No boot, no face plow, no kicking, no NOTHING.)

As for G... well, she's still writing up her tale from a beach in Florida at present. Lucky mutt. So you'll have to wait for that installment. Actually, she's not just goofing down in the lovely sunny heat.. she's about to run 13.1 in the Miami Marathon. And she's gonna KILL IT.

Fit test part deux

Well, truth be told, this is really post-part-deux, which will have to wait a teensy bit because we have freakalicious news to report.

Final Hong Kong roster came out today.

It's o-freaking-fficial now. We are both on it!!!

Right now we're celebrating so more later.... (i know a double "to-be-continued" but oh well....)

Fit test: bodily harm was done

This might be a two-parter, because right now i am not sure i have the capacity to accurately convey all that occurred on this momentous, tumultuous day.

We left home before first light.. roads were total crap: ice, snow, more ice - you name it. Thank god I had the presence of mind to put my winter tires on last week. The windshield wipers were another matter - but when you weigh SEEING the road with STAYING on the road I think we can all agree which one is preferable.

The closer we got to Montreal, the sweatier our palms got (try driving with slimy hands, I dare you), the more we felt like we were in the midst of menopause, the more our hearts raced. We'd both had interrupted sleep, nausea and cramps. UGH. Welcome to the world of the fit test. Cutting through the wide expanse of farmland, where the wind blows like you would not believe, we started sliding. Thankfully, we stayed on track, but others were not so lucky. I'm not sure how many cars were in the ditch on that one murderous stretch, but it was enough to muster several fire trucks and ambulances to the rescue.

As we approached the city we've totally come to adore, the mood in the car changed perceptibly. G seems to deal with stress with jokes and giggles, I just stop communicating.
"You've gone quiet."
Nod.
"You're getting stressed."
Nod.
"OMG I'm getting all slimy."
Nod.
"I might just explode!"
"Please not all over my leather seats. That would be gross."
And so on.

Once we got to the gym we made short work of stripping off our many outdoor layers and getting to the serious business of warming up. It was 8:20am... we were supposed to start testing at 8:30am. OK, ten minutes was good. G walked on the treadmill. Me, still strapped into my stylish black plastic boot, well I was limited to either one erg or the other (rowing or paddling). So I did both. Then we both did a bunch of reps on the bench with just the bar. We felt decent. OK. Let's start this sucker and get it over with.

First, the weigh in. Somehow I managed to get myself first in line. I hopped on the scale, and OH BOY. When you're used to doing things in pounds and then you need to do them in kilos [and your math skills are less than stellar] well, strap in baby it's gonna be a fun ride.

"Are you helping?" G teased from behind me.
"60, 70, that's 75..."
"Now that everyone knows how much you weigh..."
"No that's not right..."
"Oh forget it, we'll do it in pounds" said the weighing moderator/controller.
Phew. Yay I was 5lbs lighter than last time! (Not an easy feat when you're packing on muscle let me tell you, especially with one foot out of action on top of it!)

OK, off to the dreaded bench press.

8:30 - no coach.
8:35 - no coach.
Well shit.
"Oh, ladies, we need to do the weighing in again. We need it in kilos [for the paddling erg]."
Well double shit.
8:40 - no coach.
OK back to the rowing machine. Don't let your body cool down.
"We'll give him 5 minutes and if he's still not here then, we'll start."
"Screw that, if he's not here we go home, and we get amazing scores by default."
8:45 - no coach. We didn't leave, of course. We started.

..... TO BE CONTINUED (where the bodily harm part will be explained)....

I am a dragonboater, I have to train....

...even if it means in borrowed shoes that are a size too small...

G walks into the gym, face scrunched up in a combination of giggles and discomfort.

"What's wrong with YOU?" I ask, puzzled...
"I forgot my sneakers again." I looked down at her feet.. they were clearly IN sneakers. She started laughing. "These are from the lost and found. And they are too small!"
"How did you manage that?"
"I asked the girl at the desk. She asked me what they looked like. I told her to just give me any matching pair. Because I need to train."

Never mind that G's house is a stone's throw from the gym - ok maybe 7 minutes.. plus 30 seconds to run in and grab them, another 7 minutes back... that's almost 15 minutes she would have made me wait. What a good training partner!

We begin the workout. Our gym rat buddies know to expect us to drag the equipment around by now... in all sorts of funny configurations. Today we had the bosu ball by the Smith machine.. mostly so I would have something to hold onto and stabilize myself with should I need it. (Do you have any idea how hard it is to get on one of those and STAY on it when your right leg is strapped into a knee-high, rigid plastic shell?) I do my bit on the bosu, G does hers on the incline bench, we switch, repeat (sounds like a shampoo ad doesn't it) and stop to get our requisite rest. As we turn our backs to grab a drink, "weird bag-lady" sidles up to the bosu, grabs it and makes like she's going to carry it off. We are stunned at this horrendous breach of gym etiquette!

"Umm... excuse me!" G says, "We are using that."
"I only need it for a few minutes," says WB-L, and carries it off to the other side of the room, where she proceeds to place it by the double-arm cable machine thing and begins doing some odd-looking contortions.

[A little background. "WB-L' is a plumpish, medium-height woman in her late twenties or early thirties, who carries a very large duffle bag around with her in the weight room. I have often tried to imagine what she has in there that has to be carried around. My mind goes all James-Bond-handcuffed-to-the-briefcase sort of thing. She doesn't let it out of her sight, but carries it around, is dressed in many layers (long thick pants, long sleeves and a sweatshirt) and goes from bench to bench with odd combinations of weights, barbells and medicine balls. And the bag of course. The more we learn about exercises and technique, the more we shake our head in wonder at what this woman is trying to accomplish. But since she never responds to a smile or hello, so we just let her be. Well, all that changed today...]

As soon as we recover our senses, we both started talking at once.
"What the hell is that? What is she thinking? What the $*%(! Is that rude? Yeah that's rude! What should we do... " We stop and ponder. We're both fighting our impulses to march right after her and take her down. Figuratively of course.

"I'm gonna go say something." G is REALLY struggling to keep her fire down. I can see the crazy-latina look in her eyes just itching, burning. "Can I go say something?"
"Yeah, go." My permission granted [hahahaha] G stomps over and, with incredible self-control waits for WB-L to finish her "set"of whatever-the-hell-it-is. As soon as she spots an opening she starts talking at the woman. I can't hear what's being said but judging from the looks on both their faces it's not all that friendly. G bends over, picks up the bosu, and makes her way back over to me, a subtle but definitively triumphant bend to her smile.
"I did not do my Puerto-Rican thing. I was very mature," she says proudly.

WB-L on the other hand is not feeling so happy. She stomps off to the next piece of equipment in her circuit muttering the whole time. A whole minute later she was still muttering and glaring balefully at us.

"Excuse me, are you still using that bench," asks a quiet, respectful voice behind us. We turn around, to see one of the other regulars, a petite woman a little younger than us. She'd obviously seen the whole debacle.
"We have 2 more sets,"says G, "but we can alternate with you."
"Oh no, no, I can wait."
"It's ok, we can share. We go, you go, we go, you go."
"I can just find something else to do while you finish."
"No no, we really don't mind. That woman was just so rude."
We all smile and quietly agree. And go on with the business of training.

Where are the bubbles??

Second fit test is the day after tomorrow. We're both starting to freak out. G because she wants to snag a spot on the boat; me because I want to keep mine. Even though I made the first pick, it's not a free ticket. In some respects the pressure is even greater now than at the first test back in November. I have to justify my spot and coaches' choice.

Trainings this week have been tough. Still a lot of humor though. And lots of positive energy. We started doing our routine yesterday, super-setting our exercises so we could get out of the gym at a reasonable time. At one point we looked at one another, raised our eyebrows and wondered if we'd somehow goofed up on the weights we'd chosen.

"Do your weights seem light to you?"
"Yeah. Yours?"
"16, 17, 18, 19, 20. Yeah!"
"Could we be THAT much stronger? Than last week?"
"Err... did u write down your numbers right?"
"You did them."
"Oh. Then they're right."
"Wow. This is crazy."
"I guess we're just beasts."

I don't know what was going on, but it made us feel great. We finished and went to hit the hot tub.

A very, shall-we-say, portly, sixty-something lady in a bright, flowered bathing suit was sitting in the tub. And taking up a lot of it. As I approached, I noticed the water was awfully calm.
"Hello. No bubbles?" I said as I got up to the edge. Please don't let it be broken.
"No bubbles."
"No bubbles?" I repeated, dazed. This was completely unexpected. And unacceptable. What does she MEAN no bubbles?
"No bubbles," she stated a little more forcefully now, with a meaningful look. As if to say "what don't you get?" But I got it now. It's not that there WEREN'T bubbles, she just didn't WANT any. Drat!
"Oh." She must have thought me thick as two short planks by this point. "No bubbles. Ok."
I got in carefully - my first time trying this out after surgery... didn't want to slip and fall and mess everything up, everything's been healing so well. G at my rear, we maneuvered around the lady's knees and sandaled feet (really? who does that?) and plopped down at the opposite end of the tub. It was too much like being in a bath and not the exciting, massaging experience we'd been anticipating. Grrr.

"Hey, there's sort of a jet over here," G said, "slide over here." I scooched over. It was weak, but it felt good on my still-bruised leg. The gentle pressure loosened some of the stiffness and eased the tension. I closed my eyes and started to doze.. as much as you can in that sort of situation. I started to lose my seat a bit and righting myself, glanced up just in time to see a man, also of considerable girth, who'd been looking over at us since we'd walked in, raise his bulk up and out of the swimming pool to our right and approach the tub. I was partly annoyed at the thought of having additional companions in the tub (yes I was feeling  decidedly anti-social, so what!?), but mostly I was hopeful that he would just hit the button and swirl up the water. Fat chance. Instead, he lowered himself in with great difficulty, and claimed a spot directly opposite the lady.

They seemed to know one another, and though she started talking at him, he seemed more interested in G and me. Sorry, but we're really not interested in small talk. We just want some bubbles!! 

Each time the lady (who, it turned out, was the man's wife) altered her position, G and I sent her telepathic messages, trying to convince her that she really wanted to get out. It was excrutiating! But eventually, out she got. G and I looked hopefully at the man.

"Would you mind if we turned on the bubbles?"
"As soon as she leaves, you go right ahead."
Yay! The day was saved!
"I'm big," he said, "but SHE wears the pants."

Writing it ALL down

So we had this crazy idea.. write a book, or maybe a screenplay, or heck, just sell our story and have somebody who's written a blockbuster screenplay write it for us. Would it be a drama, a thriller, or.. no a comedy, definitely a comedy. A romantic comedy at that.

Today at the gym, I'm on the bench press. I've got 135lbs of iron in my hands and I'm scowling and grunting at G to stay the heck away from it, I need to do this myself. It comes down, squashes my chest for a moment, and then, miraculously, goes back up. And down. And up. And a couple more times... then I rack it, all happy .... but G gets all in my face.

"You want me not to touch it?"
"Yeah. Not unless it's gonna squash me."
"Well it was squashing your boobs."
"Eh, there's not much there anyway, so no problem."
"Well, when there's a line in your chest... I worry."
And after we stop laughing we go onto the rest of our program.

Anyway, I started this post with the idea of some sort of fuller documentation of our story. So I picked up my notebook (well, one of many notebooks, I am sooooo unorganized -i have journals and bits of paper all over the place) and opened it up. Funnily enough, I landed on a page where I described an experience we had in September of 2010. September 19 to be exact. This was still at a time when there were four of us driving up from Vermont. [The funny part is that G and I were JUST talking about this incident on our way back from practice last week.] We'd started out as six, then whittled down to four, and later it came down to just G and me.

Anyway, there is a Tim Horton's on the corner of Rene-Levesque and something in Montreal. It was 6:15 am and day two of the Quebec Cup - one of our favorite competitions. We'd left our hotel a little early in search of some respectable coffee and breakfast nourishment. Tim Horton's was all we could find open.... anyway, I was driving us around in my SUV. I parked and we all marched in. I managed to get to the head of the line (when i need coffee i need coffee) and headed back to the warm car to wait for the others.

Within a few seconds a rather shady looking guy comes up along the dimly, orange-lit, sidewalk and stops directly in front of my car. He's a foot away from the hood, 3 feet away from me. Though I'm protected by metal and glass his eyes bore into me and make me itchy. He just keeps staring right through the windshield at me. Annoyed as all heck, I meet his gaze and challenge him with a flick of my hands.

"What?!!" I yell through the glass.
Bad move. Shit. Like SUPER BIG shit.

"What?" he yells back. "I have to fucking pay to look at you??"
Ah crap.. please hurry back kids.. i just wanna get the hell outta here now.

"FUCKING AMERICAN!! Do you want to FUCK me?"
Excellent. Of course I want no such thing. But there's no sign of the others yet. Now what? I'm hoping he doesn't have some sort of stick hidden in his jacket that he wants to imprint on my car. Or a hook to yank me out of it with.

He keeps yelling, I'm ready to just flee, but thankfully the others are finally back with their breakfasts and slide into their seats with very confused and concerned looks on their faces. Before all the doors are even closed, I squeal out of the parking space quicker than I think was legal and gun it. Sick man, for sure, but why MY face that particular morning? Ugh!

From the back seat, A, at 19 the youngest in our group and the sole male, pipes up:
"I totally had your back L... I was just waiting for a reason to go. Just so you know."
LOL. Thanks babe. I love when my back is got.

What's next in this journal of mine I wonder...

idiot drivers everywhere

No, this isn't us, but i needed a photo to illustrate this post. We hit the road fairly late in the day yesterday, thankful that the whiteout conditions of the morning gave way to sun and clear roads by midday.

I got to our meeting spot a few minutes before 4, our appointed meeting time, and parked. No G, so i texted her.

"Where r u?"
"Almost."
"Hurry!! I have gossip!"
"Coming!"
"Go faster!"
"I can't!"
"Hurry hurry!"
"Hurry already, where r u???"
"Hurry!"
"At red light" (and she sends me a photo as proof)
20 seconds later...
"Why aren't you here yet?"
10 seconds go by, still no G.
"Hurry!! Where are you?"
"SHUT UP!"
4:02 (about 10 seconds later), still no sign of her.
"U r late"
she rolls in just as my clock hits 4:03... ready to strangle me. I of course am thoroughly enjoying myself and laughing my butt off. This is gonna be a fun ride. And it was - and i think we only punched each other in the arm once! (Mine is still tender. Tho that could be the crazy bicep workout we did too... hmmm...)

Not 15 miles from home we got stuck in a jam, crawling along past an accident. Car off the road in the median, nose down, sides all smooshed. Border crossing was quick, and so was the Champlain bridge, surprisingly enough. Practice was awesome.. G did the circuit, I paddled my heart out on the erg as I am still strapped in my stupid walking boot for 3 more weeks. We both sweated off at least 10 pounds and hit the road home.

After wolfing down our sandwiches we started reminiscing about the year behind us, our first year with the team... all the driving, the laughing, the crying, the frustrations, the anxieties.. but most of all the laughing.

"Yeah, we've had some amazing times together."
"Not to mention a near death experience..."
"And... HOLY SHIT WHAT THE $#*( MOTHER(&$)&)%!!!"
"ARRRRRGH ASSSSSSSSHOOOOOLEEE!!"

Yup right at that moment (ironic non?) some idiot coming out of a parking lot on a dark little road almost T-boned us. Luckily G had her wits about her, despite all the sentimental lovey talk, swerved nimbly and jammed down on the accelerator. Tragedy averted. PHEW!

So now that we've gotten THIS year's near death experience out of the way... let's get on with the rest :)

[8 days to the fit test...]

Step away from the cookie jar.

The holidays are over. Get back to it.

So says our head coach. No BS, no sugar coating, just plain and simple - leave the leftover cookies alone (or better yet, give them away) and get back to serious. Have you seen the new planet fitness commercial by the way - it's a hoot and a half. Basically there's this humongous meathead checking out the gym and all he says is "I lift things up and put them down"... hilarious (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3FGZvFZdVbk). Would be even funnier were it not for the fact that thru my head all that's going around is "I'm a dragon boater. I have to train." Hee.

Second fit test is in 10 days. It's a big deal.

Foot is healing well...I figured out I can row one-legged.. and now I can do it two-legged... sort of ... it's not pretty, and it's not efficient, but it works. Well I say not efficient.. but I am getting better times than I was last year, so this year's training is obviously working. (Yes A, it's WORKING!) And this week I also discovered that I can do the elliptical with the boot on.. go figure! Hooray for a little variety because I am mighty sick of the erg.

G is struggling a bit with some sort of bony growth under her finger on her palm, getting that checked out very soon. (What is going on? We're twins so we both have to have bony growth issues?? Sheesh!) But it's not preventing her from making big gains either.. we are definitely keeping each other motivated and on track. Well most of the time. Apparently I can't say "focus" with a French accent while she is doing the  bench press. That is not helpful I'm told.

This weightlifting thing works.. G can now lift ME!! 

We spent New Year's together (weird huh?) ... what possessed us to attend a party at a local hotel i have no idea, but it was lame with a capital L. Dinner was served at 7:30 sharp, under bright lights, without any music. Crazy right? The bands came on at 8:30.. they were ok, but definitely not what we were looking for. We were seriously among the youngest there. So we left the mix of sparkly tops and carpenter jeans, ball caps and construction boots (and even teva sandals, yes, without socks!) and hightailed it downtown. There we found a great table in a great restaurant noshed and drank to our hearts' content, kissed our sweeties at the stroke of midnight and welcomed 2012 (the year of Hong Kong!) into our lives.

HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!! Make every day count!