Yesterday was Free Saturday, as usual. And I went to the box, as usual. Earlier, in the middle of the night, I was woken up with elbow pain (same thing as the wrist pain). I breathed through it and groaned through it and my husband helped me, and I fell back asleep. I thought it was over. Ha! I should be so lucky.

So there I am in the box. My elbow had been twingy all morning and I asked for a modification for the kettlebell swings. With that in place, I started warmup. Midway through lunges (not even involving the arms!) my elbow let out a huge throb and I gasped and stopped to regroup. Panting, I held my elbow and tried to will the pain away. Yeah, that's not ever going to work. I turned to try knee-ups, holding my arm close to my chest. More pain. Bugger it all.

I dropped out of line and went to talk to Stef. Briefly I told him what was going on, and he said, "you do what your body needs you to do. If you need to not do this, then don't do it." With that assurance I gathered my things with my right hand and left. I was upset with myself for giving up on a workout, and for missing a saturday. But I don't push injury pain.

This morning I woke up and I was fine. I decided to go to Open Gym. I owed myself a WOD. Two people and one coach were there. Perfect.

I set myself up on a slightly higher stack of plates for box jumps. I grabbed a 12kg (26#) kettlebell. I drew my chalk line. I set my phone timer. I did a warmup. And I was off.

I remember thinking that 5-10-15 was an interesting rep pattern. I remember thinking that I might be able to try the low box next time. I remember thinking that lying down for situps would be a good rest. Oh, I'm so naive.

20 minutes is a long WOD. There are those moments between exercises when it's easy to get distracted by trying to breathe, and you don't realize time is passing. At one point, around round 4, I remember a conscious rush of awareness in my brain, a conscious switch over to that mental space of pushing, pushing, and getting the next step done. Round in circles I went, until "Still Alive" by Glados started to play and my time was done.

I lay on the floor and panted. "You go girl!" came from the woman working on her kip beside me. I held up my horns and kept panting. A couple minutes passed, and I peeled myself up. My chalk line had 7 swipes in it.

Triumphantly, I grabbed a red pen and wrote my rounds next to the DNP (Did Not Participate) by my name from yesterday. I walked over to talk to the coach while I wiped my face. And Stefan walked in. 

"Did you come to workout?" He grinned at me and offered me a fist bump.

Accepting it, I nodded. "Yeah. And I wrote a note on the board."

He walked over to read my red note, and grabbed a black pen to start his own scrawl. Coming back to me, he offered me another fistbump. "That's hardcore, girl. Good for you!"

I left glowing. I have never, in my life, in all my history of workouts, workout styles, and different disciplines, been prouder of myself for finishing a workout.