The struggle is real. Like, for real, for real. I still can’t do my running ‘warm-up’ without literally feeling like I’m dying while I’m heaving for air.
No matter the day, no matter the work out, the warm up sets the tone for the rest of my training session. I am just a hot ass mess.
On this particular day, I started out running up and down the track. The first trip back, I every so slightly tap punch Franz on the arm. Immediately, I knew I made a mistake. I knew I’d pay for it. I ran away, doing my second trip and down the track, and make my way back to Franz who not so slightly slams his knuckles into my arm. Wincing in pain, and laughing at the fact that I brought this on myself, I finish my last two trips down the track. As I finish, my chest is burning and I am desperately trying to breath.
The work out that Franz planned, brings us to the back of the gym. All around us are bottles of water that people had mistakenly left behind. After doing about 476 long jumps, I sit on a block, trying to catch my breath. Next to me, is a box of water. You know, that cleverly marketed ‘Boxed Water Is Better’ carton… half full. And, since it wasn’t MY carton of water, I just know that it was full of backwash. It had to be.
As I sit with my elbows on my legs, and my head hanging down, sucking in any air I can get, Franz comes over to me like I am a boxer in the ring, between rounds. He dramatically encourages me to continue on, grabbing my sore shoulders, and then decides to ‘pump me up’ by refreshing me with a splash (read: long pour) of room temperature backwash water…. from the lonely carton of water sitting next to me.
In a matter of seconds, my sweat, warm water, and what I believe is most definitely someone else’s spit, comes streaming down my face, off of my hair. There’s literally nothing I can do. I just start to laugh. I wipe my face off, and threaten Franz’s life, and get back to my long jumps. Each jump sending drops of water all over the floor.
It’s hard to feel grosser than I usually do when I’m at the gym, but on this particular day, I did. I was disgusting. Par for the course, I guess.
I’ve been Franz’d.