Everything hurts. My legs, my back, my arms. I am moving, but gingerly. When I want to put socks on, I have to think about how I’m going to get my feet up to my hands or my hands down to my feet. As I’m getting in and out of the car, I have to think about supporting myself, so I don’t collapse mid-sit. I’m not broken. I’m just in pain, and it’s all Bo’s fault.
On Friday, I made the decision to attend a strength session at the Academy. My triathlon club offers swim, spin, run and strength classes. I love the swim, spin and run, especially the sessions on the track, but the strength classes intimidate me. They always have. It’s been months, at least half a year, since I did one. And for some reason, I thought Friday would be a good day to return, so I cut out of work at 4:15 and hit a 5:00 p.m. class.
It was testing day. The group had been working on deadlifts for eight or ten weeks, so the others were trying to reach their personal bests. Me? I hadn’t done a deadlift since probably more than six years ago. I specifically remember doing a program with RevFit and learning how to deadlift as part of a Saturday group workout. At the time, I did just the bar. It didn’t occur to me that people put weights on the bar. For me, the bar was enough. And I was so proud that I posted a picture to Facebook, only to have my friends – mostly my guy friends – point out the complete absence of weights. Whatever.
So I told Bo, who was coaching the strength class, about that bit of Facebook trauma. He didn’t seem phased a bit and proceeded to show me again how to deadlift, beginning with just the bar, which he said weighs 45 pounds. But we didn’t end with the bar. Bo added weights to it. I think he added twenty pounds at first and had me do maybe three deadlifts. Then he kept adding weights and eventually was just having me do one deadlift at each weight.
He kept adding and adding.
He even had me remove my shoes at one point because he said the slant of my shoe wasn’t helping. I just kept doing whatever he said. By the end, I was lifting 140 pounds. Just once, but shoot. That’s a 95 pound personal best! No way would I have believed I could deadlift 140 pounds, but Bo didn’t ask me what I thought I could do. He just got me started and kept adding the weights and kept encouraging me to try.
I paid for that personal best all weekend. Despite the pain, I managed to do 90 minutes of grueling spin on Saturday with MJ and Fred in preparation for our March 4 Sufferfest. And today, I ran 7 miles. I ran that distance over four minutes faster than the last time I ran 7 miles, just a few weeks ago. My body hurt, but I did it all because I figured every bit of loosening up my muscles would help the soreness. And I did it because I felt like a bit of a badass training through the pain.
For the can-do, lay-it-on-me, I-can-take-it mentality that I felt all weekend, I also blame Bo. Totally.