Holy Crap. I Solo Murphed

Over the last year of Crossfitting, I realized something really important. IT’S NEVER AS BAD AS YOU THINK. It’ll be hard, but you can always find a way to get through it. Convincing yourself of this is usually the toughest part. Your brain is hardwired to protect you from danger, and going to something called “Death by Power Clean” before breakfast sets off all the alarms.

That was me last year when I signed up for Memorial Day Murph with my pal. Just a month into Crossfit with a confidence composition of 0%, I was already dealing with daily anxiety just going to the box for the regular ol’ WODs. The thought of Murph cranked that right up to 11. Because man, it’s a shit ton of reps:

Murph Whiteboard

So I did it with a friend. And it wasn’t as bad as I thought. Fear + Adrenaline – Surviving = ENDORPHIN PARTY.

Let’s return to 2014. A year wiser (right) and somewhat stronger, I figured solo Murph would be very bad, but that I’d be delightfully surprised to finish it with gas in the tank. (More on that stupid assumption later). I planned on an assistance band and 20 rounds of 5-10-15 and was ready to go.

Mile 1: Whee! I’m slower than most of the pack but I can still see them!

Rounds 1 -5: Yeah! Everything is awesommmme!

Round 6: Last year I’d be halfway done.

Round 7 – 9: Ugh, push ups.

Round 10: Last year I’d be out the door.

Round 11: Shit.

Round 12 – 15: FUCK PUSH UPS.

Round 16: Is. That. My friend Mike. From Denver. Who I haven’t seen in 4 years?

Round 17: Not Mike.

Round 18: He’s waving.

Round 19: Good. Mike will see me take my last breath because I’M DYING.

Round 20: I might live.

Mile 2: I wobbled my way over the door, waving at Mike, “I’ll be… back…” “How far you going?” he asked. “I’ll run with you!” He fell in line with me and we jogged/ran and caught up on former employers, current jobs, reasons for being in town and how he had recognized my gym from Facebook while out for a run himself and stopped in.

“Cool! So, do you still…AHHH!” This is the part of Mile 2 where I tripped, fell, and in one studly move bloodied my knee, hand and shoulder. Mike helped me up and we walked a bit. I knew I was fighting the 60 minute time cap so we started loping on and off again for the last half mile. At the last 100 yards he said, “Bye!” and kept running, leaving the scene as mysteriously as he’d arrived.

I beat the clock by a minute and some change, which wasn’t bad for an injury-sustaining WOD. But it had been hard. Harder than I had thought. Yet even in the seventh circle of push up hell, it was still one round at a time, one rep at a time. It was never not doable.

And it wasn’t really solo. My brain might have felt like it was filled with cotton candy, but I could hear my friends cheer me on. Actually… Erin sounds a lot like Eric, who was working out right next to me. Bonus!