A lot of days, I go into the box and I know I’m gonna murder the WOD. I just know it. I don’t give a shit about what’s on the whiteboard and I don’t care if I come in last. I’m going to kill this workout because I can.
Yesterday was not that day.
I could say that I wasn’t really prepared to come to the gym, it was a rash decision that I made at the end of work.
I didn’t have the shoes I needed for the mile run I needed to do prior.
I wasn’t really feeling it.
As I loaded my barbell (with 30# under the RX weight, I might add), I didn’t feel the fire I usually feel. The hulk shit wasn’t happening for me.
That 15 minute AMRAP was agonizing. Not because the weight was heavy or the burpees sucked (although, who are we kidding? The burpees always suck). But because the bar had defeated me before I ever touched it.
I walked out of the gym berating myself.
I could have been stronger.
I could have moved faster.
I should have been eating better.
I should be sleeping better.
I should have been more consistent getting in the gym.
Why do I even do this to myself? I’ve lost so much strength.
I cried the whole way home.
By the time I got back to my apartment–where Axl was waiting for me, so excited to finally have me home–I realized something.
Sometimes you defeat the bar. Sometimes the bar defeats you. But the most important thing is the choice you make after you get defeated. Did you go back? Or did you decide to walk away because it got too hard?
The bar defeated me yesterday.
But I’m going back today.
This is not too hard.