Brutal Mix of Noncompliance

Pre-dawn negotiating with my inner three year old isn't as hard as it used to be. I know how horrible I feel when I miss a workout, and 30-45 extra minutes of sleep isn't worth the following 14-some-odd hours I spend wishing I had just gotten out of bed. I have a well oiled autopilot that switches on, coming to a rescue like a parent saving their child from making a poor decision with a "you'll thank me later" quality. This morning was excrutiating. On the way to the gym I spent the entire drive mulling over as many negative things as I could possibly pull out from the recesses of my brain. I even went so far as to criticize my lack of a proper hair tie.

I was on fire.


a visual representation of my mood

During the warm up, shortly after I realized that my shoulder is still pissy (which is completely my fault for not rolling it out as often as I should be doing right now), and right before I decided, definitively, not to care about this workout, Carey swooped in with exactly the right thing to say, at exactly the right time: "You are in control of your day. You have a choice as to how this goes."

And so I chose to step in and care. I didn't have much left in me after all the holes I punched in myself on the drive over, but I gave 100% of what I had and I didn't complain while I was in it.

Sometimes when you are in a sour mood, the last thing you want to admit is that you don't really hate everything, you are just in need of a little rest and a hug.

Sometimes that needed rest is in the form of 5 rounds of a 500m row and heavy thrusters and the hug is a verbal dose of reality from someone who cares.