Row 8 rounds of two minutes on, one minute off.
I forgot to take my notebook, so I’m not sure of the meters on my splits. The lowest was 456 (round 1) and the highest was 475 (not round 1.)
I had to break down and join the YMCA again. The affiliate that opened in my town has, sadly, closed up shop. There are three gyms in town: the YMCA, a powerlifting gym, and a globo-gym. After careful consideration I decided on the Y because they have a decent weight room, a full size indoor track, a full size indoor basketball court, and best of all – a Concept 2 rower.
Back in my pre-CrossFit days I used to go there a lot. Mostly I ran or walked or tried to figure out how to insert and extract myself from the inscrutable Nautilus machines. I also distinctly remember there being two rather nice C2 rowers there, whose delights I occasionally partook in. This was back before I knew anything at all about rowing, and when I was scared of the end of the weight room where the barbells resided.
Fast forward to five years on, I emailed the staff at the Y and asked a few pertinent questions like:
• do you still have the rowers?
• can I do Olympic weightlifting?
• do you have med balls, plyo boxes and giant tractor tires?
It turns out they did still have one rower, but none of the other goodies. Happily, I am allowed to bring my own equipment in as long as I’m not worried about some one swiping it. I’m also allowed to do Olympic weightlifting as long as I “don’t bash into a person.” I’m not sure what they think I am going to be doing. I’m not sure they are sure what Olympic weightlifting even is.
I’ll bear crawl across that bridge when I get to it.
In the meantime, I eagerly headed to the Y this morning to reunite with my long lost friend the rower. It is, as I remembered, a genuine Concept 2 rower. It is also the Rower That Time Forgot. This baby is ancient. I guess you could say it has character. No matter, it works, even though the chain feels like it’s being pulled through a chamber filled with gravel and there is a bit of duck tape here and there. Happily, the monitor was relatively receptive to being programmed and I put in my intervals and took off. There was some adjustment required, as the poor rower was stuck in a corner of the track and so close to the wall that the back of my head touched at the end of every pull. I thought about cutting a hole in the wall so my head could just stick through, but I didn’t want to be banned on my first day. I payed for a whole year, after all. So I just moved it a little. Compromises.
My cold is still hanging on a bit, so I decided to start taking ZMA again as that seems to clear my sinuses out for some reason. ZMA has a reputation of inducing some really vivid, far out dreams. I’ve never had a problem with it as my dreams are pretty far out on a normal night. Last night, however, I made the mistake of watching the final episode ever of the great British crime show “Wire In The Blood.” Right as I was popping the ZMA I thought to myself, “Self, I hope we don’t have serial killer dreams all night.” Too late. I did, indeed have serial killer dreams all night. I alternated between being the serial killer, and being Tony Hill, Carol Jordan and Alex Fielding. Lovely. On the bright side, I can breath this morning and I didn’t find any obvious blood stains in my vicinity, so I think I’m in the clear.
If you’re looking for a great show, I highly recommend Wire In The Blood. You can rent all six seasons on Netflix. Not for kids though, especially not for kids right before you send them to bed with a belly full of ZMA.