Rowing, I’m told, is a fantastic cardio workout, with the added benefit of resistance/strength — thus killing two birds with one stone, so to speak. My gym doesn’t have rowing machines, so I hadn’t had the chance to test that theory.
Speaking of my gym (well, the chain of gyms to which I belong), it was recently acquired by another (larger) chain of gyms. Today I decided to check out one of the gyms owned by the parent company to get a lay of the land.
A quick look around yielded my pot of gold: a rowing machine! YAY!
So I decided to give it a whirl.
And on this 106th day of sweat I rowed for 30 mins, with all my strength, even though my arms felt like they weighed 500 lbs. Each.
The pain. Sweet Baby Jesus, the pain!
My arms were on fire. A fire that started, oh…I don’t know… around minute 3. GAH! How many minutes to go?? What? How do people do this?? It looks as if it should be so easy. What sick animal invented this device of torture?
The fact that I made it to my goal of 30 minutes was something of a minor miracle. Well, either that or a testament to the sheer force of my will (and stubborn, pigheadedness…).
Oh, I forgot to mention; I had noticed something pinching/hurting my hands with each thrust back of the handle, but I hadn’t stopped to check what was going on
for fear that if I stopped or even slowed down my body would go on strike permanently because in reality, that pain was a drop in the bucket compared to my arms a-blazin’.
As minute 30 finally arrived, I released the handle, and looked down at my hands. Here’s what was going on my friends:
A blister. My war wound. And it hurt like a mo-fo.
I looked from my damaged hand up to the screen displaying my stats for the workout. Turns out I had gone ~5,600 meters in those 30 minutes. That seems really far, right? And suddenly I looked at my blister as a badge of honor, earned after a hard-fought battle with the evil rowing machine. A battle scar well earned. It was almost enough to take my mind off the burning arms. Almost.
From there I moved to the treadmill for some running. Now that I’ve figured out that I can actually run (well jog, really) for 30 minutes (have repeated this feat, to prove it wasn’t a one-off anomoly or a freak-of-nature-thing), I am now working on increasing speed. i.e. Making it a real run, versus a jog.
I achieved a new personal best today: I ran a 12 minute mile (down from 13.2 mins).
I also did 40 minutes of sprint intervals (Run 6.0 for 1 min, Walk 3.5 for 1 min) without coughing up a lung.
These are incredible wins for me. I can do this thing. And that feels… well, there’s really no feeling like it.
Except for that burning in my arms.
For the love of all things good, someone please put out the fire in my arms. It’s been over 2 hours! GAH!!! I can’t even think about how much pain I’ll be in tonight/tomorrow when the lactic acid starts firing on all cylinders.
I’m trying to find comfort in a quote I read, “Pain is just weakness leaving your body”. So far though, it just feels like the weakness is beating me with a baseball bat on its way out.