34
14.4 killed me last week. Literally. I managed to get off the rower in a reasonable amount of time and headed over to the rig for toes to bar. T2B are not my thing. I rarely-if ever-can get 3 strung together at a time. But during 14.4, I was stringing together 5 at a time. Consistently. I felt great. And then at number 25, I felt my left hand rip. And it hurt. I cut my sets down to three at a time. At 35, my right hand ripped bad. I could feel heat searing my palm. I was down to singles. By the time I hit the 50 mark, there were small little piles of skin just hanging on the bar.
I got through 31 wallballs before they called time. Every time the ball hit my open rips, I wanted to cry. I no repped a few times. That made me want to cry more. 141. That was my score. I posted it and knew I wouldn't be able to redo the workout. My hands were trashed. Cutting the skin off and cleaning them with hydrogen peroxide and alcohol reduced me to sobs. 141 was all I could post. I desperately just wanted 1 clean. I was embarrassed to post my score. I knew I could do more work. I don't know if I've ever been more disappointed that I couldn't redo a workout. And then I realized something: I am not just 141. Prior to that workout, I hadn't strung together 5 toes to bar in...ever. Much less done multiple sets of them. That score doesn't tell anyone how many times I wanted to stop...and didn't. 141 can't show people that I may have been no repped because my wallball didn't hit the target, but I hit depth every time. 141 doesn't explain that this workout was painful and miserable and I gave it everything I had (including my skin). And I'm really proud of that. 141 may be my score. But my score can't tell my story.
