Bruised

I've been driven indoors this week by the crazy rainy weather this part of California was supposed to have in November and December. Back then, I should have been grumbling about the treadmill and not being able to get out and go for a run (and back then, I would have been happy to do the cycle instead...how things can change). But November and December were unseasonably warm and dry, and now March is rainy and dreary.

Anyway, on Tuesday, I found myself wandering into the gym, very much NOT looking forward to doing sprints on the treadmill when I would rather be outside in the (gone far, far away) sunshine running the mean streets of Lincoln. M. the Reasonable was nearby, working out on his own time, so I stopped to ask him if he could recommend any workout that would save me from boring myself to tears on the treadmill. He suggested ten 30-second sets of jump squats and ten 30-second sets of the ropes (think driving a stagecoach, only in the middle of a crowded gym). After ten minutes on the treadmill, I got started, thinking that this would be not only fast, but far more entertaining than endless loops on the treadmill with Fox News and ESPN on the TVs in front of me.

And indeed, it was.

Fast-forward to Wednesday morning, when I woke up with some seriously sore calves from all of those jump squats. I had an appointment with M., so off I went to the gym, moaning slightly with each step. When I got there, I went off in search of a foam roller. Alas...they all seemed to have gone walkabout.

I limped up to the trainer area, where M. was talking to another trainer. He let me borrow one of his own personal rollers, one with little nubby, finger-like things on it that really works those sore muscles. (Like this one.) I spent about 20 minutes rolling my calves over it and letting out little whimpers of pain-pleasure as I worked some of the knots out.

Later, after another intense workout with M., we had a few extra minutes left in my session, so he had me sit down in a chair so he could help me further work the knots in my calves. I got a little worried when he settled himself on the floor, saying, "This is going to hurt a little." But I'm a bad-ass gymbo and I laugh in the face of pain...so I shrugged and relaxed. M. got to work.

HOLY!

There was gasping and hissing on my part, and a lot of apologizing on M.'s. My calves were very tight, indeed, and he was using a technique he's learned to get in there and isolate each little knot to work it. Every once in a while, my trainer--usually so kind and sweet and reasonable!--would let a satisfied little "Oooh, that's a good one!" slip out of his mouth as he tackled a particularly painful knot the size of a basketball. I could only jump about a foot off the chair and gasp incoherently.

The whole process was very uncomfortable, and it left me bruised and sore today, but it works. I'm nowhere near as tight as I was.

But yes, I did say "bruised." See?

Admit it, you love my purple striped pajama pants.

Today, I arrived at the gym again, having just passed my state exam (yes, yes, I passed, mazel tov to me and all that) and feeling 14 different kinds of exhausted. Again, the thought of climbing aboard a treadmill left me wanting to chew rusty nails instead, so when I had a chance to seek M.'s advice, I did.

"How about Tuesday's workout? That was a good one, right?"

"Yes...but my calves are still sore!!! I have M.-finger-shaped bruises on my legs!"

I received a quiet laugh and satisfied smile in response. We agreed that maybe the rowing machine would be fine for today. Before I left, he mentioned a web site I should check out, MobilityWod. It has suggestions for exercises and activities that can increase an athlete's mobility, and he thought I might benefit from going to the very start (a 10-minute squat. Yes. Squatting. For ten minutes. Ten.) and giving it a try.

Well, of course, by the time I got home, I had forgotten the name of the site, so off went a text, and I may have even said to M., "...Holy 10 min squat, Batman! Challenge accepted."

See, I may whine about the pain, and the bruises, and the associated discomforts of working out...but deep down, I'm always asking for just a little more.