Another Monday after another less than stellar weekend. Well, to be truthful, it was half good and half nothing special. Still much better than being at work, of course.
Friday after work I went to CrossFit. I wasn't excited about going, just resigned I suppose. My original plan to do the Filthy Fifty wasn't sounding like much fun any more. My friend Dan, who had agreed to do the dreaded workout with me, was having second thoughts and that's all it took for me to bow out as well. So I chose a different workout, one that involved running, box jumps and wall balls. This was a mistake, as it turned out. I am pretty horrible at running and both box jumps and wall balls will have me out of breath in no time. I essentially set myself up for failure.
So I set off with another member (a new one at that) on the first 400 meter run. We stayed together until we turned around at the 200 meter mark. Then she started pulling ahead (or I started falling behind). I had to walk a little, but managed to be at a trot when arriving back at the gym. Then it was box jumps, 30 reps. I could only manage about five before having to stop and gulp for air, so it took a while. I finished ahead of the new girl, then it was on to wall balls, also 30 reps. Wall balls are equally breath taking and my breathing breaks enabled the new girl to get ahead on her second run. With four rounds still to go, I walked out of the gym and plodded down the driveway. I had almost gotten to the road when Allie stepped out of the gym and called after me to be sure and enjoy the sunset while I was out there. A teasing jab, that to my fragile ego, felt much sharper. I picked up the pace to a pathetic trot, calling out Good Job! to the new girl as we passed in opposite directions.
As I plodded along, trying to breathe, I started thinking about just how much I suck. How I will never be better than I am. How I will never be good enough. I'll never be fast and I'll never be good and I will always, always have to stop and catch my breath. Over and over. Because I have exercise induced asthma that doesn't respond to medication and this is how it will be. I'll always be the slowest, the last one finished, the one with the longest time written next to my name.
And I started to cry. Because it really sucks to suck. And it really hurts to be made fun of when I'm just doing my best and that best isn't good enough. I didn't mean or want to cry. That just made breathing even more impossible. I walked the rest of the way, just trying to suck in enough air. As I continued to mentally beat myself, I knew I couldn't continue the workout. Just couldn't. The last thing in the world I wanted to do was re-enter the gym and keep reminding myself how pitiful I was and how I'll never measure up to the other members.
So I quietly walked in, picked up my water, towel, phone and keys and I left.
* * *
I did a lot of thinking while driving home on Friday night. Questioning CrossFit and whether or not I should discontinue my membership. Part of the mental pain I was feeling is because I really thought I belonged. I felt comfortable at the gym. So what now, if I don't have the gym any more?
* * *
The rest of the evening went as usual - quick shower, pizza with Tom while watching Chuck, then bedtime.
It was mighty cold when I got up on Saturday morning and not much warmer at 42 degrees when I left the house to go play tennis. I expected less people than usual, and was not wrong. But our group of tried and true regulars were on the courts and I was soon joining three others for some ladies doubles. My right arm was giving me a spot of bother until it had warmed up after a bit of hitting. My partner and I won the set easily (6-0) then went on to play our next opponents, two men. We had a slow start but finally started to pick it up, though we eventually lost (6-4). In fact, I ended the game by double faulting into the net. Which is really out of character for me. But it happened because my arm was really starting to hurt. Sadly, I threw in the towel and left the courts way earlier than usual.
After a shower, lunch and a (too) long nap, Tom and I headed to Melbourne for a little shopping. Baseball season is just around the corner and Tom needed some new cleats and pants. We went to Dick's Sporting Goods and I very patiently followed him around the baseball section, checking out Every. Single. Baseball. Item. In the end, he didn't find any cleats that he liked, but did select a pair of grey pants. I selected an elbow brace in hopes that it would get me through tennis on Tuesday night. We also visited Sports Authority, but they didn't have any cleats that he liked either, though he did find a new batting glove.
Once home, we were both sad about our purchases. His baseball pants were too short and my elbow brace was too small. In my defense, the brace was in a molded plastic box that I didn't think could be opened (though actually it could) and we measured my arm while in the store and a medium should have fit. In Tom's case though, he should have tried on the pants.
