Row row row your ass

So I find myself for the second time training for a Ragnar while nursing an Achilles injury. At a time when I really should be racking up street miles, that’s the worst thing to do. I’m left with cross-training, such as elliptcals, stationary bikes, and…rowing.

I climbed onto a rower today for the first time in a couple of years and had forgotten the basics, like dialing up the resistance before strapping my feet in because I can’t reach it after. Ditto with grabbing the pull handle, which the previous jerk didn’t put back into its place. I’m sure I looked perfectly in place, bumbling among the throngs of clueless New Year’s Resolutioners who will still be crowding the gym for another month or so.

Finally, after the third time clumsily strapping myself in, I got to work. Not long afterward, something else that I’d forgotten resurfaced: rowing really hurts my ass. Not like in a chafing, wound-y way, but because there are muscles involved in stabilizing oneself on the seat which don’t ever get any other workout, ever. I only made it twenty minutes because my ass was so sore, I was afraid I would fall off the seat. Nobody wants to see an old man suffering from ass collapse.

The good news is my ass will eventually get there; I’m somewhat more concerned about developing a tolerance for the crushing boredom of using that machine for an hour.

66 days to the start.