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My almost-finished Week, which is not as bad as you'd think: - Blather. Rants. Repeat.
A Møøse once bit my sister ...
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My almost-finished Week, which is not as bad as you'd think:
Hell Week, they call it.

Eight days in this week- last Monday to tomorrow.  The goal? Work in five hourlong workouts at the high-intensity interval training place I've been going to for almost a year and a half.  Typically, I do two a week, but between wanting to accept the challenge and missing most of last week's classes due to my coughing up a lung, I set my schedule for the week of H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks around work and travel commitments: Tuesday noon. Butt-early Wednesday. Friday end of the workday. This morning at 10. And Workout 55&1/5- The Final Insult tomorrow at 5:15 after a whole day on the road in Rochester.

The usual routine for these workouts is to run (or in my case, powerwalk) on a treadmill for just under half an hour, then split the other half hour between "floor" exercises (a combination of dumbbells, TRX straps and bodyweight moves) and a rower.  On average, we might break 1,000 meters of rowing in a half-class unless it's a "run to row" special where rowing replaces running for part of the half.

Not so in Hell Week.  Every one of these has featured significantly more than that average.  One day was Match The Numbers- 100 meters timed to 100 reps, then 400 matched to 40 reps, 700 to 70, and a final 1,000 matched to 10.  I made it through most of that.  Hell Day Two was just straight 600 meter rows. Over and over.  For the third, we were evilly teamed: one did a set of floor reps as fast as possible with a second rowing for distance until the first was finished. The goal for the three of us was 7,000 meters and we almost hit that- I accounted for over 2,000 of it myself. Then today was an almost normal routine, but with higher goals.  Between it all through today, I personally put 7500 meters onto that goddam machine, and there's still the prospect of tomorrow night to have rowed an entire 10K distance in five sessions over eight days.

All of this for a stinkin' t-shirt.

----

To give us some relief from it, they held a Halloween party over there this afternoon.  Since I rarely want to bother Eleanor with having to watch the Bills game (especially after suckages like they pulled today), I went over for the second half of the game.  I've never been much for Halloween costumes, but right before leaving I had the perfect idea for one:

Our performance at these classes is measured on the treadmills and rowers, but they also track your heart rate, the goal being to be at 80 percent (green) of your maximum for at least half the class and at 90 percent or more (orange) for at least 12-20 minutes of it. That's where the Orange Theory name comes from.  While they've recently introduced Fittybitty-style watches that measure the pulse on your wrist, I've always kicked it old-school with a Polar-type chest strap to which a Bluetooth-enabled "pod" connects:



Like so.

I'm on my third or fourth; I sweat like a sewer and often overload the contacts, and my current one, slightly spacier looking than that one, seems to take 20 minutes to "read" me every time- so I just put it on 20 minutes before class now (and can check its ready status on an app on my phone).  So I figured I'd go as a heart monitor- needing only a heavy black oversized something to wrap round my midsection and a blowup of the pod attached to something like a Tupperware lid or, success!, a bread plate we use just about every night.

Printing the oversized pod was easy. Finding the black something, less so. A kludge with safety pins and one of Eleanor's old pairs of yoga-ish pants wouldn't hold. So instead I figured I'd just hang crepe- that a few wraparounds of black streamers from a Halloween store ought to do the trick.  And there are not one but two such stores just a plaza south of the studio!

Did I mention I'm not much for Halloween costumes?

These places are chockablock full of the Licensed Merch but low on practical things like decorative stramers and, duh, tape.  The first place didn't have anything; Ed's Party City finally filled the bill for just over four bucks, but only after twenty minutes of hunting through aisle after aisle of fake blood, cats-o-nine-tails and assorted severed body parts.  (They also had lifesize mockups of Trump and Hillary in their front window; since I got out so cheap, I considered going back, buying a severed arm, and connecting it to the Orange Numpty so it would look like he was groping the Nasty Woman. Maybe tomorrow.)

In the end, though, I mummified nicely enough, connected the bread-plate pod to it, and walked in dressed as this:



It was rather a hit, and I got a lot of mileage complaining about the fact that my homegrown one didn't register on their monitors, either;)

Lots of kids came with their 'rents, and I spent a little time at the end joining them on our ab-roller dollies tossing balloons around.  Also joining us was "Chef Kristen," my trainer from this morning; I took solace in her helping me disprove one of the theories often advanced by another of the staff during intense mat-based exercises, i.e., that "You can't fall off the floor." The hell I can't- and it was good to see I'm not alone:



Hopefully me and the tee will still be standing after the final one tomorrow night.

ETA The gym site put up one they shot of me in the costume:

HM
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