“The difference between winning and losing is most often not quitting.” ~Walt Disney
The Burpee Pull-ups roasted my legs like marshmallows prepped for S’mores. Last week Coach told me that I didn’t have to do strict push-ups for my Burpees . . . just get on the floor fast and up faster. Still, my arms were fried, so when I recovered from the Burpee, I launched as far as my legs would push, hoping to save my arms from the gruel of a dead-hang pull-up.
Ripping off rounds like single-shot anti-aircraft artillery in molasses, my quads & glutes hogged a lot of the oxygen my lungs could have used. After every tenth rep I swallowed vast gulps of air from a turbine-propelled floor fan. Those ten reps sets became five reps sets, which downgraded to three rep sets before finally settling on one slow & wind-sucking rep at a time. Once the hundredth & final rep caught up to me and dragged me down to its low & sniveling level, I could no longer claim that I had never done 100 Burpee Pull-ups for time.
My time on the clock didn’t make much of an impression on me. That it was still daylight out, and the same daylight under which I had started, impressed me significantly. My greatest impression was the two guys who had long since finished their sets and stood to keep count & cheer me onward & upward. Neither seemed to care how slowly I had been reduced to move, and neither seemed to care that I grunted saliva with nearly every chunky breath. They stood, they cheered, they smiled, and they eventually shielded my mind from whatever pain my body suggested to it.
And, just for the record, I’d do that workout all over again just for the privilege of spending time with people who believe in me when I can’t otherwise find the energy to believe in myself.