"If you want something, you'll find a way to get it. If you don't, you'll find an excuse." "Does food poisoning count?"

    In order to attend the Mid-Atlantic Super this past Saturday, I volunteered virtually every day this summer at a camp in Piedmont Park and did my best to spend as little money as possible(having said that, the opportunity to race was almost taken from me due to an odd and inexplicable case of food poisoning that came on earlier last week). During the summer, I spent most of my free time training.
    I had this beautiful picture in my head of crossing the finish line within minutes of any of the elite athletes that I've been admiring online--not in a creepy way--for the past few months. Unfortunately, that did not happen. It did not come close to happening. I had a false sense of hope when the race was still in it's beginning stages because I could still see some of the elites. Those who could be seen were at least 10 minutes in front of me; my heart sank every time they turned a corner, and I got excited when I turned the same corner a few minutes later and could see them once again. This lasted until the first aid-station. Two miles in and I'd kept up with my OCR idols, not too shabby. And that's when my stomach decided to be a jerk. The 8 miles the proceeded that water station were by far my slowest miles to date. I ended up walking the majority of the race due to the fact that every time I managed to pick up some speed, I also managed to pick up the taste of whatever I'd eaten for breakfast two days earlier. It was a good time. Go try running 8 miles next time you're sick.
   That's enough of that.
   I finished the race--an hour after I wanted to--and was still standing, which is important because I walked my ass over to the MC's tent and took what was rightfully mine: a trifecta medal. In a span of less than 6 months, I'd not only started obstacle racing but had completed a SR Sprint, Super, and Beast. This is extra cool because I am the youngest woman in SR history to earn a trifecta. And I get more cool points because Spartan Races are held in multiple countries, which means that by getting a trifecta I broke an international record. No big. I'm just awesome.

Dear Ruck, I Miss You

    It's been just over a week since I participated in one the greatest workouts ever. I wrote two posts describing it's awesomeness, so I won't be doing that again--in other words, read the posts below to learn more about my rucking. The last 7 days have been hard. Hard in the sense that every waking minute I want to be back on that mountain with those people. Perhaps it's the people I am longing for more than the ruck itself, but the two go together in my mind, so who knows?
    Since I've been home (I got back Thursday night), none of the workouts I've done can truly measure-up to the greatness that was rucking at 6 a.m. with a bunch of fellow spartans. I went running on Friday and did some bjj training on Saturday, but it wasn't the same. I've come up with a new theory:  I'm addicted to dirt. That would explain why I'm more inclined to crawl through a mud pit or run on loose trails than I am to spend a couple hours inside a gym. Unfortunately there aren't many places in Downtown Atlanta to anything that even resembles what I did in Griffith Park. Having said that, I'm hoping to head up to Stone Mountain sometime during the next week to try and recreate the ruck. Or at least do something similar. It'd be pretty hard to recreate it since 1) I'll be alone, and 2) Griffith Park is a huge park that contains actual mountains...Stone Mountain is a giant rock surrounded by concrete and grass. It's worth a shot. And hopefully, by training solo on a rock rather than solo in a gym, I'll be able to tell if it's nature's dirtyness that makes me want to ruck again and again.

It's only been two days, and I don't have a clever title

    

    Confession: I wrote the previous post on Saturday morning, and it is now Monday morning. My grammatical tenses will not change because, honestly, I don't care that much about grammar; that's okay since this blog centers around my athletic life and not my schooling (I also tend to misuse commas. Get over it). 

    Yesterday (Sunday), I woke up and immediately remembered everything I did on the ruck. There was no way my quads were forgetting the steep uphill climbs we did. The bruises on my collarbone were happy/painful reminders that I carried 25 pounds on my back the whole 5 hours. And my abs. Whew. Those bad-boys were not happy with me at all, and I have no idea why. Yeah, sure, we did some crunches and planks in the midst of all the rucking madness, but that shouldn't make it hard to put a shirt on. The soreness is my body's way of reminiscing on all of the challenges that is was able to overcome on that hike. And while it hurts to pour milk on my cereal, I am actually enjoying the pain. Not in some weird sadistic way, but in a joyful, possibly stupid, I-would-do-it-all-over-again-with-those-crazy-fuckers sort of way. 

Ruck It Out

    I woke up at 6 a.m. this morning to go meet some friends in Griffith Park. The plan was to go on a little ruck (a hike with weight) and get a solid workout in for the day. After almost 5 hours on the mountain, and 8.4 miles later, it didn't feel so little. A friend of mine took it upon himself to lead the group through the park. And by lead, I mean he turned into the drill sergeant that none of us wanted to deal with. Every mile he told us to stop. We stopped, and he allowed just enough of a pause before his next order that everyone began to hope that he might give us a break. He didn't. Instead, he had us doing every and any random form of exercise that popped into his head. There were a lot of burpees and wind sprints and wheelbarrows and inchworms and a whole bunch of other exercises that I'd either never done before or had never considered doing after 2 hours of rucking. It was terrible, but it was great. The kind of hurt that feels good--though it seems a few hours later that the hurt is just that, hurt, and it don't feel so good. Having said that, I'd be back on the mountain in a second. Hell, who wouldn't want to spend their Saturday morning on a vacation being yelled at to do a crab walk on the type of cement that will rip your hands open? Psh, crazy people, that's who.

The Inchworm: A wonderful human-centipede-like exercise where you line up as shown, and then do push-ups in unison. It's fun. Get a group of 20 people and try it. Chances are you won't thank me. 

Una, Dos, Tres...Fuck.

Today's rolling was rough. My skills in bjj are very limited, much like my spanish counting skills. I'm fine up to a certain point, and then BAM, everything is gone. I know there's a diez in there somewhere, just like I know that when you're in someone's open-guard, you should have control of their legs. Details--the things you always remember until you actually need them. Having said that, I'm getting a bit better at squirming my way out of tough situations (i.e. being put into a triangle, or an arm-bar, or getting mounted) versus my old way of fighting back, which mostly consisted of me lying still and silently freaking out. Additionally, I've been able to implement some of the more basic defenses and passes when rolling. I had a couple small accomplishments today, but they felt giant. All I wanted was to look up and see my coach standing there with a big grin or a thumbs-up or a "good job, kid." None of those things happened. Instead, after doing a successful sweep or a moderately tight gi-choke, I had my "fuck" moment. I could feel my grips getting weaker in the choke and blanked. I had gotten my opponent off her base, was in mount, and I blanked. I had counted to 3 and was forgetting how to say the next number. I guess counting to 3 is better than no counting at all, but I'm impatient and competitive and would like to be at 300 already. Oh well. All in good time, I suppose.

Update 1: Eat Weights
    I tried a pre-workout powder called SuperPump Max. After drinking the equivalent of two tablespoons, I felt nauseous and tired; I didn't drink anymore and threw out the rest. No more pre-workout stuff. I don't really need the extra boost, and my stomach is happier without it.

Update 2: The 1500
    The 1500 was indeed attempted, though my version was more like a 750. I did half the reps of each exercise excluding the pullups and the box jumps (I don't have access to a bar or a box at home). Even without those two exercises, the workout was decent to say the least. It's been two days and my quads have not forgotten about the lunges or the squat jumps.

Lastly, I'm going to LA tomorrow. I've been looking forward to this trip for quite some time. Why don't I sound excited? Because I have an unhealthy relationship with my gym. The more I go there, the happier I tend to be. What does this have to do with LA? Let me tell you. While I'm sure there are plenty of great gyms out there, my gym is located here in the Dirty South. And I will be without it for a week. This means no boxing, no kickboxing, no bjj, no hanging out with super awesome gym people. I imagine I'll have a bit of gym withdrawal, but a week shouldn't be too bad. Sans gym I'm hoping to keep up training by running everyday and doing more rounds of the 1500/750. Traveling always seems to mess up my training, but I'm hoping that won't happen this time. If Mulan could pull off pretending to be a man in order to train, I can definitely find the time and place for a good workout. Yeah, that's right, I just need to channel my inner Mulan. I need to be a man(n).

The 1500: Bring the Pain

     I am a subscriber to an email sent out daily by the people of Spartan Race. It is known as the Spartan Race WOD, or the workout of the day. Every day I get the email, read it, think about whether or not I should do the workout, decide I should, but then I come up with a million reasons not to (most of my reasons are exercise-related, like I have bjj later that day and don't want to be worn out from doing a crazy spartan circuit--if I use one form of exercise to get out of another, does it count as an excuse? Something to ponder...). Anyway, today's WOD looks incredibly daunting. It's known as the Spartan 1500 and is as follows:
    -100 Burpees
    -100 Pullups
    -100 Box Jumps
    -100 Sandbag Squat Throws
    -100 Jumping Jacks
    -100 Ab Twists (50/side)
    -100 Squats
    -100 Sidekicks (50/side)
    -100 Jumping Lunges
    -100 Curls (50/side)
    -100 Tricep Overhead Extensions (50/side)
    -100 Frog Jumps
    -100 Squat Jumps
   -3 Rope Climbs
   -300 Crunches
As I read through the list of what looks like one of the most intimidating workouts I've ever seen, and my eyes jumped from one scary exercise to the next, I cringed. It's not the exercises themselves that are unfortunate, but there are enough reps in this workout to make a grown man cry. They don't call it the 1500 for nothin'.
     After reading the WOD once, and then twice, and then a third time, I decided that not only should I do this WOD, but that I actually would. I haven't set a deadline yet...I still need to decide how much time I'll need to condition myself for the 100 pullups. Perhaps I'll substitute something a little more manageable for that one. Maybe do two rounds of 10 pullups with a 90-second flexed-arm hang? Decisions, decisions. The 1500 is something for me to work towards. And if, by some otherworldly miracle, I conquer the tough feat of completing the 1500, I'll try to address the challenge set forth by Spartan Race; those f-cukers want you to do it in an hour. Ha. Haha. That's funny. I'll be lucky to get it done in a day. Tomorrow is my first attempt (each exercise will be completed 50 times instead of the suggested 100). Updates to come.

Olympics? Try the Georgia Games

The opening ceremony for the 2012 Summer Olympics aired last night. I sat next to my father and watched the endearing, but messy, ceremony that introduced the world to this year's Summer games...

The opening ceremony, if you will, for my 5k in the Georgia Games* was much...simpler. It consisted of a 30 minute drive to Kennesaw with my coach, while listening to Percy Sledge. He didn't seem to be a fan of my music choice, but I was driving so his opinion held very little weight. Having said that, once we got to the course, I did everything he told me to: pinned my bib on the front of my shirt, stretch my calves, run for a minute to loosen my legs up, etc. Not at all to say I didn't sass him--not sure I could hold my sass/sarcasm back even if I wanted to. The race started and then it was done. We did an hour of driving for a race that took me less than 25 minutes to run. Gotta love a 5k.

My morning concluded with a good hour and a half of bjj. 40 minutes of which were spent rolling...needless to say, I got my ass handed to me for 40 minutes. And thanks to my new love for this wonderful sport, every minute I'm not rolling, I'm thinking about rolling...and what to wear when I do. That's right, gi time. I bought my first gi from my coach. It's black. My coach won Worlds in it. I feel like a ninja. The second gi I own is also black. It was ordered online, which is always kind of sketchy. The top fit perfectly after washing it once, but the pants seem like they were made for a man whose lower-half resembles a short inverted-pyramid--very wide at the hips and very short in the legs. Oh well. Two ninja suits are better than none.

*The Georgia Games are a series of sporting events put on by Georgia State. They're just like the Olympics, if the Olympics were small and kinda crappy and the athletes weren't as good and no one really cared