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.
