This weekend, I witnessed Micaela complete the “Murph” workout at the CrossFit gym in Lee’s Summit, and I can pretty much sum it up in one word. Wow.
Of all the words in my big old word-nerd vocabulary, the best I can come up with is ‘Wow.’ Even after thinking about it this weekend and trying to wrap my head around the accomplishment, that’s all I can say.
First of all, Carl’s kids from the X-Treme Trampoline team joined him for this workout in honor of a fallen Marine—a worthy and admirable cause, and I was proud that my kid was one of the ones that was there. They headed over to the CrossFit gym after they completed their usual 3-hour Saturday morning workout (ok, it was a smidge shy of 3 hours, because they wanted to get to the next place on time, but still).
Let me just say that if I had been asked to complete the activities that these guys completed, I’m pretty sure I would have ended up in an ambulance headed straight for the nearest ER. In some strange sort of physical self-torture, the participants VOLUNTARILY subjected themselves to countless repetitions of, well, torture. It went a little something like this:
Run 1 Mile
100 Pull Ups
200 Push Ups
Run 1 Mile
So, I’m just going to theoretically take myself through this workout. Let’s just start from the beginning. Run 1 mile. Hopefully, I have DAYS to actually complete this, because the only place I’ve been running lately is to the fridge to see if we have any ice cream left. And is this like a REAL mile, or is it like a mile I measure? (In which case a walk to the mailbox and back would count.)
Moving along. Let’s just say I actually complete the mile without either of my lungs collapsing and without going into some sort of asthmatic wheeze-attack. 100 pull ups. Uh huh. Got it. So, let me just get this straight—they want me to actually lift my body weight using the strength of my arms? I will confess, the only thing I have pulled up lately is the blanket before I take my nap.
200 push ups. Much like the dreaded pull up, this has not been accomplished in quite some time, and I feel quite certain that if I attempted it at this point in my life, I would end up flat on my face with a broken nose. Maybe with the assistance of a car jack I could do this. Maybe. But 200 times? Um, nope. Not happening.
Whew, almost there. This workout is a walk in the park! Only 300 squats left to go. And that would be great, except for the fact that the first time I squatted, my legs would turn to mush and refuse to lift the half side of beef that I affectionately call my butt.
And let’s just assume I made it through that insane amount of self-imposed torture. (I know, I’m cracking up, too…but let’s pretend.) THEN, after my entire body turns to a wobbly bowl of pudding and I have no feeling left from the hips down…THEN, all I would need to do is run another mile. Oh yeah, no problem. Because The Bionic Woman was my great aunt, but keep that on the down-low, because I promised not to tell.
Just watching these people made me want to hook my inhaler up to a continuous airflow to maintain some semblance of oxygen absorption. I could feel my lungs seizing and my bronchials beginning to spasm as I dodged the flying sweat droplets that flew through the room. Holy Heart Failure, Batman! I was in the presence of workout royalty. I was surrounded by studs, both men and women alike, and at that moment I knew that I never, ever wanted to make one of them mad, because they would squash me like bug. (An inhaler-dependent, wheezing, out-of-shape bug.)
But I digress. As I watched these athletes finish the challenge set before them, I remembered that my kid was among them. There were a few kids, all the ones Carl could coerce/threaten/bribe to participate in this painful ritual, and they all finished. OMG, did you hear me? They all finished this insanely crazy insane challenge. Why? Because they are awesome. My kid was awesome. She came through that workout like a trooper. I have never ever seen her sweat so much (well, except for all those times I make her do manual labor around the house), and I’m pretty sure that amidst the look of pain and suffering, there was also a look of accomplishment on her sweaty, drippy face. Way to go, girl—you rocked that workout!