Pain Equals Healing, Right?

I just got my butt kicked by my new coach, and he wasn’t even at the gym with me. I suspect that if he had been supervising me in person rather than my subconscious, I would have had to crawl out of there on all fours rather than limping slightly as I did.

My warm-up started with the rowing machine and I was panting within 2 minutes. 20 minutes felt like an eternity. I stared intently at the digital display, mentally willing the time to move as fast as the meter counter. No such luck, but by the time it was over I at least had my breathing under control and wasn’t as concerned about passing out. I thought briefly about calling it quits right then, but the fun was only beginning.

Flutterkicks. I despise flutterkicks. Leave it to an Army Ranger to slip those into the mix, and first item of business no less. The first set of 20 were bearable, but by the third set my legs felt like concrete blocks and I’m certain my feet weren’t anywhere close to 6 inches off the ground, which is one of the first phrases bored into your memory at basic training. My push-ups were pathetic, though the one redeeming item of note was that I was able to progressively increase my ratio of “real” versus “girly” push-ups. I used to rock the push-ups in my PT tests back in the day, but it’s finally sinking in that those days were a really long time ago.

The core exercises weren’t much better, punishing me for all those Girl Scout cookies I inhaled in the name of supporting my troop. The sounds of Lifehouse and the Chili Peppers took me back to the last time my core got so much attention, more than a year ago when unemployment gave me the freedom to go to the gym every day with a friend; we would push each other to do a little more or try something new. The piece of paper on the ground next to me that contained my routine wasn’t nearly as convincing. Going forward, seeing results will be the motivation I need to keep at it, this time’s just for the right to say I finished.

The last item on my list was my choice of pull-ups or chin-ups, as if one is somehow more appealing than the other; Coach was even generous by only requiring 5 of them per set. I am not tall, and I carry the bulk of my body weight in my lower half, so I was doubtful but in the spirit of the moment wanted to at least give it a shot. I eyed the bar above my head, and even though I could reach it with my fingers, it seemed like it was at least a foot over my head. After a couple lousy attempts, the best of which pulled me a measly couple of inches off the ground, I called it quits. Those feats of strength will take some time to master.

This was my first assignment: it was supposed to be a mostly "core and light leg workout" to see where I’m at and what I’ve got. It turned out to be a sharp slap of reality with the clear message that I’ve got some serious catch-up work to do. Especially humbling is that the workout was pegged to be at an intensity level of 4, on a 9 point scale. I don't want to admit what I would have really rated it for at this point in time. And this is the first workout; it’s only going to be more intense when he’s actually in the gym with me or gives me a serious routine!

I can’t believe I have so far to go already; it feels like just yesterday I was sailing over the finish mat in Tempe. Now I’m already battered and honestly just plain out of shape. Just about everything is sore now, to some degree or other. But as I reflect on the soreness, I realize that even though it hurts at first, it’s not a crippling pain. And it will continue to subside as my muscles rebuild and I grow stronger. I’m still taking it easy on the feet and not running, but I can continue to focus on my other muscles in the meantime so that when the time is right I’ll be ready to take on the road again.  I just have to get out of this chair first...