As I stood over the bar and the countdown proceeded, there were still questions to be answered. I was unsure how I'd handle the thrusters. How would my body respond after the thrashing of the past seven days? It's a beautiful thing, with one simple command, reservation, hesitation, and doubt disintegrate. The world becomes another horrid maze of lactic acid and cotton laced saliva. Just keep moving long enough to deny the neo-cortex opportunity for rational thought. Find your way to the finish and the all questions will be answered.
Surprisingly, the wod went well. I powered through the first set of thrusters unbroken with relative ease. Your last minute advice did not go on deaf ears. Efficiency with this movement lies in the hip drive coming out of the front squat. However, by the last round, the low fuel warning light was on. I could feel shoulder engagement, more of the movement was becoming a press, nothing left at the bottom. I had to break up the sets at 15 and 9. My predetermined calculations broke-down the MUs as follows: 4/3, 3/2, 1/2. I believe failed attempts are far more discouraging and time consuming than well disciplined rest. I did my best to support that theory, but I still feel like a three day weekend got mixed in there somewhere. In closing, I concur, this is a benchmark and should be revisited. Sub-5?
6:22 I shared the same amibivalent approach but at the last minute, assured myself that I've blasted through 20 135# thrusters with no problem in the past; ergo, if I take a technical approach to this wod I should be fine. The bottom line is that you can either do 135# thrusters or you can't. If you can and you're on that day then you're an unstopable force of nature BUT if you're off then the haunted halls of shame that exist in the darkest corner of your mind will forever be haunted with questions of why, questions that can only be answered with redemption. My start was smooth, sailing on automatic pilot until rep # 20, yep, I ventured so far into the nebula that in an utter stupor I dropped the bar at 20, picked it, back up and did one more. This lack of attention to detail makes the difference between success and failure. I broke the muscle ups about the same way, 4/3, 3/2, 3. The thrusters gored me on the second set. I had an unplanned broken set and from then on lost command of my forces. A mutiny in my legs kept me on my knees with my heart wrapped around the bar and my pride drifting away in the tumble weeds of doubt. Sometimes we should be careful for what we seek as the mixing of this and that is eventually sure to blow up in our face. It was my endeavor to find a new "fran" just like Captain Ahab in search for his whale. Nothing is wrong with the old fran but nothing was wrong with the horse-drawn carriage either, that is, not until Henry Ford had some better ideas. Needless to say, I found that for which I was looking. I found the manfran and it put me exactly where I was when I first tried what I now consider junior fran, that is, in an inexplicable cloud of bereavement, wondering where my fitness has gone and to what do I owe such a thwarted effort. I thought I was ready for anything, anything but myself I guess. Moral of the story: We are the only competition we'll ever have. No one can do worse than what we can do to ourselves. Good or bad. It's time to put some oil into the machine and get back on the pain train for another turbulant ride.
turbo. 158bw. rx. 5:41
ReplyDeleteAs I stood over the bar and the countdown proceeded, there were still questions to be answered. I was unsure how I'd handle the thrusters. How would my body respond after the thrashing of the past seven days? It's a beautiful thing, with one simple command, reservation, hesitation, and doubt disintegrate. The world becomes another horrid maze of lactic acid and cotton laced saliva. Just keep moving long enough to deny the neo-cortex opportunity for rational thought. Find your way to the finish and the all questions will be answered.
Surprisingly, the wod went well. I powered through the first set of thrusters unbroken with relative ease. Your last minute advice did not go on deaf ears. Efficiency with this movement lies in the hip drive coming out of the front squat. However, by the last round, the low fuel warning light was on. I could feel shoulder engagement, more of the movement was becoming a press, nothing left at the bottom. I had to break up the sets at 15 and 9. My predetermined calculations broke-down the MUs as follows: 4/3, 3/2, 1/2. I believe failed attempts are far more discouraging and time consuming than well disciplined rest. I did my best to support that theory, but I still feel like a three day weekend got mixed in there somewhere. In closing, I concur, this is a benchmark and should be revisited. Sub-5?
6:22
ReplyDeleteI shared the same amibivalent approach but at the last minute, assured myself that I've blasted through 20 135# thrusters with no problem in the past; ergo, if I take a technical approach to this wod I should be fine. The bottom line is that you can either do 135# thrusters or you can't. If you can and you're on that day then you're an unstopable force of nature BUT if you're off then the haunted halls of shame that exist in the darkest corner of your mind will forever be haunted with questions of why, questions that can only be answered with redemption. My start was smooth, sailing on automatic pilot until rep # 20, yep, I ventured so far into the nebula that in an utter stupor I dropped the bar at 20, picked it, back up and did one more. This lack of attention to detail makes the difference between success and failure. I broke the muscle ups about the same way, 4/3, 3/2, 3. The thrusters gored me on the second set. I had an unplanned broken set and from then on lost command of my forces. A mutiny in my legs kept me on my knees with my heart wrapped around the bar and my pride drifting away in the tumble weeds of doubt. Sometimes we should be careful for what we seek as the mixing of this and that is eventually sure to blow up in our face. It was my endeavor to find a new "fran" just like Captain Ahab in search for his whale. Nothing is wrong with the old fran but nothing was wrong with the horse-drawn carriage either, that is, not until Henry Ford had some better ideas. Needless to say, I found that for which I was looking. I found the manfran and it put me exactly where I was when I first tried what I now consider junior fran, that is, in an inexplicable cloud of bereavement, wondering where my fitness has gone and to what do I owe such a thwarted effort. I thought I was ready for anything, anything but myself I guess. Moral of the story: We are the only competition we'll ever have. No one can do worse than what we can do to ourselves. Good or bad. It's time to put some oil into the machine and get back on the pain train for another turbulant ride.