My body tells me no/but I won’t quit/cause I want more/
I’ve got this song by Young the Giant on mental repeat since I heard it, somehow for the first time, last week. I wish I could blast it throughout my workout to encourage me when my body can’t seem to do what I want it to. Since I’m not in charge of the DCCF playlist though, I settled this morning for a new technique. CrossFit LisBeth suggested this week you yell at your bar, call it bad names. That’s just deliciously bad enough to make me feel like the badass I’m still trying to be. The best one came from the blog post comments: “You’re coming with me, b*tch.”
I didn’t yell, but I muttered under my breath at the squat bar before I began each set at 140 pounds for 3 sets of five, and at the crazy heavy deadlift bar later. I couldn’t believe how heavy the weights were. I didn’t even make the fifth lift on my first set — the bar seemed to be settled in drying concrete. But Ben told me to get set again and keep my chest up, and I got it that time.
Then he informed me that my 145 lift was actually 155. Ridiculously bad at adding, I’d misloaded the bar. I had struggled with all my might at the February meet to lift 155 pounds once. No way had I just done it five times!
“Keep it on there,” he said. “Do your next two sets with it. Now you know what it feels like to do five really heavy.” I did indeed and I wasn’t sure five more were in me, much less ten. My body didn’t feel equipped to fight the bar off the floor over and over again, but did I ever want it!
He let me reverse my grip on the next set, and with the force of The Coach Voice, drilled me into getting my chest up and pulling back. Again I had to reset on one of them, when an attempt got it only an inch off the ground. With Ben yelling that this was it, this was the big lift in the meet, my legs shook as I heaved the bar up.
One more set. Time to keep my arse down, my chest up, and give it everything in me. And however little that was, it was going to have to be enough because I wasn’t going to quit. Each of the five seemed 20 pounds heavier than the one before. Yet again I had a failed attempt, but I wasn’t getting off anything short of the full set. With both Ben and Sean yelling I called the bar some nasty names in my head (I believe I may have said ‘you’re mine mother-f*cker’), gripped it with all my might, and began the fight to separate it from the floor.
I’d like to say it ripped it off the ground, but I fought for every centimeter. It had to have been only a few moments, but it felt like an eternity straining, some strangled shriek twisting its way out of my throat, as I tried, tried, tried, to lean back and keep my chest up, pulling all the while even though there was no way this b*tch was coming with me. And then, impossibly, I was standing up with it. I let the bar crash to the floor and wanted to call it some more names, in an adrenaline-stoked rush of glee.
I’m proud that I did this but now I want more. My deadlift is my weakest lift if you look at the CrossFit strength standards, so yeah, even if my body is telling me no, I won’t quit.