I was pretty disappointed in my last Survival Workout. It was the first time I’d failed to hit 100 push-ups since first cracking the century mark four workouts earlier and I was determined this time would be different. As I approached my 90th, I was struggling mightily. I dipped a pushed to 99…and nearly blew out my temple on 100…but I made it. I headed down the trail feeling much better about myself and knowing it was going to be a good effort.
I was forced to pass on high skips and sprinting/bounding moves because I’d had another meniscus flare up…the throbbing pain had kept me awake the night before. It was all the more reason to really push myself through the lifts…and I did. I put biceps rock curls back in…risking some pain in my right forearm and hit 70 dips…my highest single set to date.
My second set of push-ups was 87 and I was now just 4 off my 3-set pr of 276. I’d need a final set of 90 to break it…and I’d never hit 90 on my third set. I made it back to the car with arms of lead. I’d been pushing hard on every set throughout the workout and I was dreading my final set of push-ups because I knew I was going for my pr…I had to…and it was going to really, really hurt. I dropped to the ground and started before I could think about it too much more and psyche myself out.
What makes us do these things? I mean…no one was there and no one would know one way or the other. I could have skipped the set altogether or just done 70 and not killed myself yet gotten a great workout. Seriously…what’s up?
I ripped through 60 before beginning to hit the wall. I was slowing at 70…normally a sign that I had about 15 left in me. But I need 20. At 85, I was done in the arms…but my brain wasn’t buying it…and so I kept pushing. I struggled with…but completed my 90th…and fell to the ground. I’d done 277 for three sets. A 1-rep pr…but a pr none the less. More importantly, I pushed past fatigue and moved into the area where our bodies garner the most improvement…the pain zone. I had that going for me.
Later that night, I slipped on the other product Marla had given me to test. They were called ‘Knuckle Lights, which were designed for night running and to be worn one on each hand…or across the knuckles…so that they would light the path in front of you as you ran.
I like to say Mamma Rolf drowned her stupid kids…and since I was still here, I must be a smart one. Without running a step, I was sure these things were made by stupid kids whose mothers didn’t believe in drowning. Show me a runner whose hands don’t swing back and forth while they’re running…and I’ll show you a runner who isn’t running. I mean…c’mon. But I told Marla I’d try them, so I strapped them on and headed out the door into the pitch black of the night…lights on knuckles.
I was surprised just how much my hands moved when I ran because I was shining my lighted knuckles left, right, in the trees, on the ground…and even on the trail in front of me…sometimes. Then I took one of the knuckle lights and held it on my forehead as I ran…like the ones every other manufacturer who was making lights for hiking and running was doing…and ran some more. It shown a beam directly where I was looking…on the trail in front of my feet…and nowhere else. Hmm. I came back in just as Jack was entering the house from work. I held up my light-knuckled hands and told him what they were supposed to do.
“Do you think they worked?” I asked.
“Um…yeah…maybe,” he said, committed to his decision.
“If you were going to make something to light a path as you ran, to what part of the body would you attach it?” I asked.
“Um…my head, I suppose,” he said.
And this was the kid who’d bounced down the stairs using his head to cushion the blow when he was two. He knew. More like ‘Knucklehead Lights’ I’d say.
Survival Workout: 60 minutes. Bike duration: 60 minutes.
Training Heart Rate: 100-150 for SW and 120 for the bike.
Calories burned: 600 for SW, 850 for the bike.
No comments:
Post a Comment