"What will the Pudgy Parson have to say about this workout?" I'm pretty sure he was sneering in an I-told-you-so way, but I was too busy trying to keep my lunch inside my body. And also trying to resist the urge to kick him...hard. But seeing as I was in no position to run away, namely because I ceased to have control over my legs, I just made my aforementioned Passing-a-cactus face and did my best to ignore him. Also the lunch thing was keeping me busy.
I knew it was going to be bad. Any time he-who-trains wants to make a point, he makes a point. My ability to use my limbs in the next three days is not a concern. He will neither push me, nor let me push myself to the point of injury--he's watching closely. But he sure isn't going to let me hang out in my comfort zone either. This is why I pay him the big bucks.
He's tolerated my running. He has said relatively little when he learned how many of his running rules I was breaking, and how often. I (stupidly) kept telling him how well my knees were doing, that I wasn't having to ice or Advil, that I kept signing up for 5ks (and wasn't planning on stopping.) I also (again, stupidly) let him read my blog on intensity. And I asked him for this, to give me more, because what I was doing wasn't enough. (Really, really, stupid...)
But apparently, if my knees were fine to run, they were also strong enough to squat. And we're not talking the half-squats that most gym-goers do (yup, got that lecture.) We're talkin bad dance moves low. And we're not talking just squats, because a leg party just wouldn't be complete without also doing the leg press, and lots and lots of set-your-legs-on-fire calf work.
I survived the He-who-trains-death-by-squats leg day... for 22 minutes. I'm not positive I will be able to get off the couch tomorrow-- which is unfortunate since, being a preacher, people notice if I don't show up on Sundays. On the downside, I thought I might actually die. On the upside, I "got" to practice intensity. And my knees were fine. Apparently, this is what I've been working toward for the last year--because this is what leg days are supposed to look like. Funny, I thought I was working toward being a 135lb She-Ra, but you know, having quads as big as a linebacker's is good too.
There's a scene in the move, The Matrix, where the female protagonist, Trinity, is being chased by agents. She falls down and looks at the door, and says, "Get up, Trinity. Just Get Up!" Some times you have to say that to yourself. Sometimes outloud. Today, that scene played in my mind over and over. It will play again tomorrow as I try to walk. It will play next time I do that workout. It will play until I don't need it anymore. But, then again, when will I ever not need that scene? Isn't life just an exercise in getting up, of looking inside and drawing out just a little more than you thought you had?
I wish I had more than 22 minutes in me. I'm disappointed. But it's been a long time since I've worked that hard in the gym-- and having done so felt good. I left it all in the gym (except my lunch, which I kept with me.) I needed the reminder. I won't need it again soon.
Get up, Trinity. Just Get UP!
P.S. Assuming I can still walk, one day I'm gonna be able to wear this shirt... sadly, I might actually wear it. In public. With Spandex.