November 10: Born Again Hard, or Smiling Through The Pain

Thursday was hard. My arms had not felt that sore and stiff since I started Boot Camp. Well, maybe not to that extent, but definitely more sore than they had been in a long time. By Friday, I had recovered enough to feel okay about going back to boot camp. Avoidance would only lead to further hardship. About a week back, Sunil B. told me that he was thinking about signing up for boot camp again. But, because of how long he had been away, he would have to go through the 'tour of duty' again. He was thinking about it, but looked at it from the perspective of having to study for the CFA all over again. I can understand where he is coming from. 4 times a week is definitely a bit much to go through again, even though what it did for me was amazing.

Looked around after I changed, and noticed that there was barely anyone hanging around waiting. In total, 6 people were assembled. This could either mean a very satisfying or a very punishing workout, depending on Ruben’s and Titus’ moods. Sometimes they get into this mode of one-upmanship - who can be the bigger d**khead to their recruits. In the most positive way possible, mind you. In order to try and start things off right, I made it a point to be one of the loudest, so they wouldn't question our yelling ability. Luckily we were all experienced, so moving from one exercise form to the next wasn't all that difficult.

However, on a lap around the gym, my right foot hit one of the sandbags at an odd angle and I rolled my ankle. Titus noticed my grimace and instructed me to walk up and down the length of the floor, putting more and more weight on the right foot, and then had me rotate my foot both clockwise and counterclockwise. Got me out of doing squat thrusts, whoo hoo!

Rounding out the warm up, we partnered up and assisted each other in 4 sets of 20 throwdowns. My partner, wearing her funky silver sneakers, was unfortunately the target of major haranguing first by Ruben, and then Titus joined in the fun, asking each other if they had ever seen someone more nasty, or asking her if she intentionally came to class nasty. Now, mind you, she is a very attractive woman, with jet-black hair and large blue eyes, so looks have nothing to do with it. But, shutting out the DIs, we motored through our throwdowns. As I stood over my partner, pushing her feet down while counting out loud, Ruben paced around, a look of approval on his face, looked at Titus, and said, "Damn, Vincent, you're born again hard, aren't you?" I had no idea what it meant, but it sounded positive enough, and smiled back at him and Titus.

We were split up, and directed to the course. Titus gave us our drill. First, 50 tire squats, then over the hurdles. Then, 40 tire squats, and then over the walls. During the first set, I was vocal about my count at first, but then as I settled into my routine, the volume dropped. Ruben walked over and said, "Vincent, did I hear you repeat 24? What kind of retarded count is that?" Titus chimed in, echoing what Ruben had just said. Resisting the urge to flip them off, I turned up the volume, and in rhythm with my count, threw back, "Shut up, you're messing up my count!". The harassment stopped, I went over the hurdles and then back to the tires.

The 40 count was a bit more challenging. It had been so long, I couldn't even remember the last time we did squats, and welcomed it, but realizing that it was going to make me feel it the next day. Over the hurdles and over the walls, however when I approached the 3rd wall, the 6+ foot high PERSEVERANCE wall, I failed to clear it on the first 3 tries. My wrists started to chafe and bleed, and the middle of my hands started to really hurt. Frustration loomed, and I hit the wall. Literally.

Ruben managed to look stern, puzzled and concerned at the same time; and said, "Vincent, run two laps and think about how you're going to get up that wall." I trotted around, not quite feeling my rolled ankle. When I got back, without the long pause I had taken before, I jumped, scrambled up, slowed my pace as I reached the top, and made it over with a semi-angry, semi-anguished yell. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Linda giving me a big smile of support and approval.

25 more tire squats, over to the rock wall, where I attempted to do 60 sit-ups. Didn't quite get to 60, but in the interest of continuing, I hopped up and over to the logs, waiting for a boost. Got through those, no problem, and then got to the INTENSITY wall. Trying to ignore the increasing pain in my hands, I gripped the rope, and with more than enough help from Titus, made it over.

The remainder of the workout was in the PT space, but the details escape me, but for the fact that I got to do a lot of alternative exercises not involving my hands.

The DIs aren't monsters. I've learned that once you make it through the 6-week tour of duty, and you don't run away screaming, they look at you in a different light, and see you as more of an individual. If you are injured, they'll listen. If you whine, they come down harder on you. I was clearly injured.

Spent the majority of Friday evening with ice on my hands. And the rest of the weekend was pretty much shot because of my ankle. I'll call it Boot Camp Collateral Damage.