You log on your laptop, click on your box’s tab, wod of the day. Four letters hit you like a forearm shiv to the diaphragm. “Fran”.
Your heart races like a gladiator who has been told his day in the colloseaum is at day break.
Hello 8 hours of sleepless tossing and turning.
The sound of your alarm crashes into your sleepless mind and tosses you out of bed. Shoes, pr shorts, favorite t-shirt.
Frying pan cracks to life, and your inner caveman crushes a amount of bacon that will have cardiologists baffled for years to come.
The cold air sticks your lungs together as you leave your car for the gym door. The silence inside is even colder.
Calm before the storm.
You stretch, no one really warms up, they dance around the box floor like two mma fighters tossed in a cage with no ring of the bell. Mind set, waiting for the 3…2…1…go.
Long gone are the days of Spartans, legionaries, and gun slingers. The ability to test our skills against other men, in our tribe, or to defeate others in a combat of skill and strength.
This is our battlefield. This is our proving ground. This is war.
95 of the worst pounds on planet earth stand before you. Set upon a steel bar melted down and cast from the swords of warriors fallen before. You slide your hand on it, it’s sharp and cold.
Chalk on the ground between you and the pull up bar takes place of sand rubbed into the hands, for grip. For grit. For the blood to mix with melding you to the steel.
Like most battles, chaos ensues and recollections differ from person to person.
the dust settles, we hope in less then 3 to 5 minutes, but for most its a lifetime of hell.
Those hit worse than others sprawled about the floor. A few alphas stay standing… Looking over the battlefield in a victorious manner, “well done” a handshake, a nod in acknowledgement of the battle fought. And won. Together. This is a bond. This is as close to battle as the 99% will ever come. And for those who have been, It’s familiar. It’s what they are bred for, It is therapy in the purest form.
Why is this you ask?
Just like our DNA has not adapted to eating grains and big macs. Our bodies have not been able to adapt to the boring, mundane, adventure less lives we now lead. We are decedents from warriors, Spartans, Vikings and tribesman. It’s in our blood. Community, brotherhood, the rankings of the tribe stand clear on a board for all to see.
Don’t fight it, let your body wander back to the days of glory for one hour a day. I know I do.