30-25-20 rest 2 min between intervals; subtract 4 min from total time pull ups k-bell swings (36kg A or 97# R) ring dips rythm ropes sledge hammers sit ups 24" box jumps push ups
On my way to the gym, I found myself standing in line at the Post Office on Mayport Road. To distance my mind from the complete incompetence of the obviously "well motivated" employees manning the counter, I contemplated our conversation and my position on performing this workout. Considering a lighter load for this was an excuse. A conscious effort to avoid a distinct possibility: Failure. In order to find success, you must be willing to face the alternative. Call it a momentary lapse, an unexplained reentry into mortal existence. An excuse? Lighten the load? The thought alone was demoralizing, I had my answer. Laced the 550 cord a little tighter and punched in.
Another critical observation: The bi-product of performing these movements (specifically the O-lifts) at manageable weights is laziness. I failed on my first jerk. Two-twenty five is not 135# or 155#; it mandates your attention. Explosion, violence, and commitment are necessities, regardless of the rep scheme. Fornicate with this load and pay.
Funny as I've made that stop many times but always so jacked on anticipation, mentally preparing for the ingestion of my own medicine, one that engenders more sickness than cure. Life would certainly be easier at sloth speed or with an encephalectomy. I think you are alluding to the enticing temptation of self-preservation. It would be one thing if that weight was simply too heavy to maintain any semblance of form but ability had nothing to do with your acquiescence. Another important point is load and how it changes everything mentally and physically. By only performing these movements with light loads, i.e. loads that don't punish poor form, we are reinforcing bad habits. We must find a weight that demands perfection and learn from it. Today's wod, 23:17 The first set is always the easiest. I found obstacles to be k-bell swings and ring dips primarily. I'm wondering about the utility of that 97# pig. Anyway, this wod had the classic barbara effect. Storming through movements that jam blood into hard to reach areas only to move to another movement that tears into the opposite pole leaving me nauseous and with a headache. It was good to incorporate the austere movements, that invariably deplete O2, with basic body weight movements. Getting on the pain train is a one way trip to neverland. There's no way off unless jumping to your death by quitting. It solves all of this exercise-induced dimentia. The second set had my mind staring blankly from behind my eyeballs, lost in a giant and rogue machine, from driver to driven, participant to observer, and from careful to careless. I found redemption in the third set, going straight through when I could and only resting after achieving absolute muscular failure. As is often the case when venturing into uncharted territory it was harder to stop, more painful to experience the aftermath than do the actual damage. My teeth were painfully numb. I wanted to pull them out in order to relieve the pressure. My lungs were redissolving in my mouth, moving back into my thorax with each swallow. I had a mouth full of pennies, rancid copper laced with blood. Senses were heightened just like the nausea of an alcohol induced hang over. It hurt to feel. The need for food and water stood in line behind catatonic nausea. My body was eating itself, find more fuel in muscle than carbs and fat. Ketoacidosis was having a holiday parade in my body but it wasn't very festiv to say the least. Thank Turbo J for this one. This was a good precursor to the holiday horror that is about to ensue on Christmas Eve.
Mike, it's interesting you referenced a Barbera like feeling following this one. I was trying to remember which wod made me feel the way this one did and you have refreshed my memory. The pounding headache was relentless for about an hour and driving home was a task in itself.
225# Ground to Overhead x 18
ReplyDeleteturbo. 158bw. rx. 13:47
On my way to the gym, I found myself standing in line at the Post Office on Mayport Road. To distance my mind from the complete incompetence of the obviously "well motivated" employees manning the counter, I contemplated our conversation and my position on performing this workout. Considering a lighter load for this was an excuse. A conscious effort to avoid a distinct possibility: Failure. In order to find success, you must be willing to face the alternative. Call it a momentary lapse, an unexplained reentry into mortal existence. An excuse? Lighten the load? The thought alone was demoralizing, I had my answer. Laced the 550 cord a little tighter and punched in.
Another critical observation: The bi-product of performing these movements (specifically the O-lifts) at manageable weights is laziness. I failed on my first jerk. Two-twenty five is not 135# or 155#; it mandates your attention. Explosion, violence, and commitment are necessities, regardless of the rep scheme. Fornicate with this load and pay.
Funny as I've made that stop many times but always so jacked on anticipation, mentally preparing for the ingestion of my own medicine, one that engenders more sickness than cure. Life would certainly be easier at sloth speed or with an encephalectomy.
ReplyDeleteI think you are alluding to the enticing temptation of self-preservation. It would be one thing if that weight was simply too heavy to maintain any semblance of form but ability had nothing to do with your acquiescence. Another important point is load and how it changes everything mentally and physically. By only performing these movements with light loads, i.e. loads that don't punish poor form, we are reinforcing bad habits. We must find a weight that demands perfection and learn from it.
Today's wod, 23:17
The first set is always the easiest. I found obstacles to be k-bell swings and ring dips primarily. I'm wondering about the utility of that 97# pig. Anyway, this wod had the classic barbara effect. Storming through movements that jam blood into hard to reach areas only to move to another movement that tears into the opposite pole leaving me nauseous and with a headache. It was good to incorporate the austere movements, that invariably deplete O2, with basic body weight movements. Getting on the pain train is a one way trip to neverland. There's no way off unless jumping to your death by quitting. It solves all of this exercise-induced dimentia. The second set had my mind staring blankly from behind my eyeballs, lost in a giant and rogue machine, from driver to driven, participant to observer, and from careful to careless. I found redemption in the third set, going straight through when I could and only resting after achieving absolute muscular failure. As is often the case when venturing into uncharted territory it was harder to stop, more painful to experience the aftermath than do the actual damage. My teeth were painfully numb. I wanted to pull them out in order to relieve the pressure. My lungs were redissolving in my mouth, moving back into my thorax with each swallow. I had a mouth full of pennies, rancid copper laced with blood. Senses were heightened just like the nausea of an alcohol induced hang over. It hurt to feel. The need for food and water stood in line behind catatonic nausea. My body was eating itself, find more fuel in muscle than carbs and fat. Ketoacidosis was having a holiday parade in my body but it wasn't very festiv to say the least. Thank Turbo J for this one. This was a good precursor to the holiday horror that is about to ensue on Christmas Eve.
Mike, it's interesting you referenced a Barbera like feeling following this one. I was trying to remember which wod made me feel the way this one did and you have refreshed my memory. The pounding headache was relentless for about an hour and driving home was a task in itself.
ReplyDeleteIt's by far, for me, one of the worst feelings. This first time I did it I couldn't finish, or start for that matter, the fifth round.
ReplyDeleteMike, I remember that day, I had to finish the workout with gloves on because my hands were a bloody mess.....good times
ReplyDeleteYea, I thought about you as I wrote the comment. Will never forget those days. It's where it all started.
ReplyDelete