14.4 killed me last week.
I managed to get off the rower in a reasonable amount of time and headed over to the rig for toes to bar.
T2B are not my thing.
I rarely-if ever-can get 3 strung together at a time.
But during 14.4, I was stringing together 5 at a time. Consistently. I felt great.
And then at number 25, I felt my left hand rip. And it hurt.
I cut my sets down to three at a time.
At 35, my right hand ripped bad. I could feel heat searing my palm.
I was down to singles.
By the time I hit the 50 mark, there were small little piles of skin just hanging on the bar.
I got through 31 wallballs before they called time.
Every time the ball hit my open rips, I wanted to cry.
I no repped a few times. That made me want to cry more.
That was my score.
I posted it and knew I wouldn’t be able to redo the workout. My hands were trashed. Cutting the skin off and cleaning them with hydrogen peroxide and alcohol reduced me to sobs.
141 was all I could post.
I desperately just wanted 1 clean.
I was embarrassed to post my score.
I knew I could do more work.
I don’t know if I’ve ever been more disappointed that I couldn’t redo a workout.
And then I realized something: I am not just 141.
Prior to that workout, I hadn’t strung together 5 toes to bar in…ever. Much less done multiple sets of them.
That score doesn’t tell anyone how many times I wanted to stop…and didn’t.
141 can’t show people that I may have been no repped because my wallball didn’t hit the target, but I hit depth every time.
141 doesn’t explain that this workout was painful and miserable and I gave it everything I had (including my skin).
And I’m really proud of that.
141 may be my score.
But my score can’t tell my story.