FEATURES

By Bonnie Flagellate

 

 

1. the killing of one human being by another.

 

2. a person who kills another; murderer.

 

3. Coach jonnyj

 

It's not that my Coach wants to outright kill me (although there may be those days as well), it's just that he wants to see how close he can get without actually being charged for homicide. He made me do running hill repeats on Buck Hill last summer; not so many that the average ultra maniac would smile greedily, but enough to make the average couch potatoe molt. You may have noticed me as you drove by on I-35; your attention demanded when the ground started rumbling beneath your speeding tires. Terrified and sure an earthquake was about to... swallow up Lakeville and all who dwell within her boarders, you spotted me, "running" up Buckhill, gasping for breath like a desperate fish long left on the moist shoreline after some small, dirty child left it for dead, having just caught it with a long piece of frazzled string tied to a sinuous stick; saw my knees shuddering so hard that they shook the very behemoth mountain upon which my carcass would never be found. In retrospect, you realized I was the cause of the great earthquake of 2013. You weren't the only one who experienced this ordeal. Some caring individual took the time to erect a small cross and lay flowers near the base of the slope at Mt. Climbtodeath. Thank you, kind stranger, whoever you are.

 

In the fall, my Coach ordered me to embrace CrossFit; the quinessential of gymnastics and wild swinging of kettle bells, barbells and blood. He said it would be good for me to build some muscle to hold up my fat, as well as help me with my racing season. I showed up again last week, like a sick moth drawn to the fire, wearing unmatching cloths and dark circles around my eyes. This is the kind of brutality he calls fun. Not long after we were running around with ropes, tires and barbells, he took me aside to have a word. "More burpees and overhead presses most likely," I moaned to myself.

 

"You need to stop holding back." he said, not at all what I expected to hear.

 

"I don't think anyone would appreciate the toxicity in the air, if I let loose." I replied, sincere concern washing over my face.

 

"I know you've been through a lot with your illness and all the surgeries you had but I think you need to stop being afraid of trying harder."

 

I gave him my best intimidating dirty look, clearly offeded, but he wasn't impressed. I was dealing with a pro.

 

"I'm trying as hard as I can," I said. "You're killing me and expecting me to be able to do more. I haven't trained hard in years."

 

He nodded that he understood but went on to explain that there are two kinds of injuries that take place when major trauma hits the body- the physical and the emotional. Usually, we eventually heal up from the physically trauma, but emotionally we remain injured for quite some time, and that takes effort to overcome. The emotional injury tells us we can't do something because we are still healing up inside, it will hurt, or we just aren't the same as we used to be, nor will we ever be. I told him I would think about that during my set of inchworms, my least favorite warm-up exercise.

 

I mulled it over as I continued on in inchworm fashion towards one end of the gym, and sprinted back for the next set. I am definitely not the same as I used to be. I had most of my expendable internal organs removed, I have scars that can be measured in feet (verses inches) and my intestines will never be the same in durability or length. And I am afraid. The doctors never figured out how the bacteria that ate my insides got there, they did not believe I would ever be able to race or train hard again becuase of the extensive damage to my body. I left the hospital with the solemn words that they weren't sure if they were able to get all the bacteria out. "Go and do all the things you've ever wanted to do." the infectious disease doctor has said. Those are hard words to live by, especially if one of your greatest passions is training hard and racing.

 

Moving on, I started my squat thrust sets of death and paused internally to observe and listen to my body as I went through the motions. My body seemed to squeek and moan like a giant ship being turned in the wind, but it was turning. I lifted the squat bar up over my head and the ship turned harder, bracing against the waves of effort and counterforce that hit it's stern. Yet I had success.

 

I hate when my coach is right.

 

We jumped on the trainers folllowing CrossFit and jonnyj dished out a spin workout so hard that it's probably illegal to mention the mere name audibly in certain countries. Pure brutality. As he was pulling us through the sets he offered the following encouragement:

 

"Here and now is where you get the chance to lay it all out. Out on the race course, you don't get that chance. You have to keep going and get on your bike, or go out for the run portion. If you experience failure, it's a long crawl back to your car and a bad race day. But here, you only have to crawl a couple hundred feet. What if you give it your all and see what happens? Maybe you find your breaking point and you use that as a measuring tool or maybe you discover just how much more you have inside you. I can't make you do anything. Only you can descide how much you want to give. It's your choice. You alone will reap the rewards of your efforts or look back and wish you had given your all in training."

 

What a jerk.

 

I gave it my all that day. No holding back. During several sets of intervals I layed it all on the line. I almost hyperventated from breathing so hard and my eyes actually welled up with tears. It was the most horrific sufferfest I have ever experienced in training.

 

After we were all done, I collapsed in a pool of sweat in the yoga area and began using the foam roller. (Another torture device I seem to have embraced.) I was completely spent. In just a few minutes I started to feel alive again and made my way to my car, avoiding eye contact with my coach and went home to die. Sitting on my coach, I drank a fruit smoothie and felt my soul return to my body. Glacing down at my phone, I sent jonnyj a text thanking him for the best workout I have ever had.