Would You Like Cheese with That Whine?

I went and did a CrossFit workout with Bret yesterday. It's really way too convenient that he has a gym attached to his house with every piece of equipment you could need. If I had that, winter would be wonderful. No more questions about whether I can get across town when it's snowing to beat the band, so I can lift weights. Anyway, I digress.

The workout with Bret -

Run 1/2 mile
50 sit-ups
50 back extensions

Do this three times, while timing yourself.

The first run I sounded like I was going to suffocate, I was wheezing like I had pneumonia. I found that, at best, ironic, since the day before I had run five miles and didn't seem to be out of breath. Bret actually stopped and looked at me to see if I was o.k. (Very embarrassing.)

Then I did 25 sit-ups, 25 back extensions, 25 sit-ups, 25 back extensions. I just couldn't do them all at once - but I did them. A year ago, no, uh-uh, no.

I took off on my next run, again sounding like Darth Vader's huffy sister. I have no idea what the hell was wrong. Again Bret expressed concern, it was nice, but I was pretty peeved at myself at this point. Add insult to injury, on the way back to his house I am gasping along and space off, turning a street too soon. I ended up running two extra blocks - brilliant.

Then I repeated my core and back. Halfway through I inform Bret, who's about to head out the door for his third round of running - "I'm only doing two rounds". He didn't bat an eyelash, he just ran out the door.

I sat there slowly pushing my way through the sit-ups and back work. I convinced myself that there was nothing wrong with not doing the third round. When Bret came back from running and started his sit-ups I was done with mine. He said, "Off for your third round?"

And I whined, "No, I don't wanna." Yep, sounded just like an impudent 3-year-old who doesn't want to eat their broccoli, it was fabulously stupid. Bret just said, "Oh, that's right, you said you weren't doing a third round" and went back to his sit-ups.

I stood there and looked at the gaping door and bargained with myself - fine, I'll do it, but I am walking. I gruffly swaggered out and on to the sidewalk. Then I realized I was being a whiny baby and started to run. Yes, I interspersed with walking, but I was going to finish the damn thing. And I did.

Afterward I told Bret what he needed to say when I get like that - "Would you like cheese with that whine?" He laughed. I thanked him for pushing me. He said I pushed myself. He's right, but I also didn't want to look like a wimp in front of him.

What kind of cheese do you think goes with being a wimp? Limburger?

Yours in fitness, Kate