Last night at the gym was a minor miracle.
But a miracle nonetheless.
I did cardio.
RIGHT?! I know! Me too!
So here’s the thing – a while back I had tried to take up running. I started one of those couch to 5K programs and thought, yeah, this looks doable.
Cut to me doing my first run where I had to run 1 minute. 1. One. ONE.
I thought I was going to die.
I couldn’t even run a minute without wanting to throw up. What the hell had I let myself become? No wonder I was tired all the time. I couldn’t even move my fucking body at a slow, lumbering clip for 60 seconds.
It was embarrassing. It was shocking. It was humbling.
So imagine my dread when I walk into the box last night to find that I’m going to do multiple sessions on the rower last night.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck. I can’t do cardio. I’ll throw up. I’ll cry. I’ll pass out.
But just like in baseball, there is apparently no crying in Crossfit (or if there is, no one is cutting you any slack for it). So I jumped (stumbled) onto the rower and started in on my first 45 calorie row.
It took me 4 and a half minutes.
I moved and breathed and pushed for 4 and a half minutes.
It’s legit the longest stretch of cardio I’ve done in years. Like… 20 years.
Then I did another 4 minutes. Then 3 and a half. Then 3. Then 2 and a half. Then 2…
… And then I got time capped, but I made it!
It was no Olympic quality performance. I mean, my stomach is so big my knees bend out when I row and I drenched that machine in sweat, but I made it. At least until time got called and I got to die.
I wobbled off the rower like a baby giraffe learning to walk and you should see me today, but hell, if that ain’t improvement I don’t know what is.