Flowers for Algernon, the Blerch and New Year's Resolutions

When I was a kid, 7th grade or so, we read a short story called Flowers for Algernon, by Daniel Keyes.  It's a powerful story from the standpoint of "he who giveth also taketh away," that sort of thing.  Ultimately, the cliff's notes version kinda reads like this - mentally retarded patient receives experimental surgery which not only cures his mental retardation but turns him into a genius, effectively tripling his IQ.  Along with his newfound ability to appreciate the world around him, he falls in love, changes careers, etc etc.  Trouble is, the effect of the surgery is temporary.  Eventually it recedes, and he falls back into darkness irrevocably, even as he is able to recognize the symptoms of his decline.  Sad, right?

There's another piece written by the guy who does the internet cartoon site The Oatmeal called "The Blerch." If you're not familiar, the link is on the title here, but it can also be summed up in the cartoon below:

There's something of both of these in my internal dialogue with myself about my training.  I could be accused of overtraining (and I often am).  Since re-establishing a fitness routine, I have only taken rest days when absolutely necessary, and certainly not on a regular basis.  They can usually be summed up as "wow, everything hurts, from walking to lying in bed to sitting in my car."  Looks at training log "Ummm yeah.  I haven't had a rest day in 12 days."

Intellectually, I understand the physiological need for rest days.  I know from a cerebral standpoint that resting will ultimately help to progress my training.  Problem is, every time I think about taking a rest day, a few voices speak up inside my head.  One is the Flowers for Algernon voice: "You rest, you take time off, and all this hard work you've put in is going to go away.  I can hear you getting fatter.  You're not going to get stronger by sitting there on your ass - you're going to get stronger by getting your ass to the gym and doing work."

The other is that Blerch voice. It's the voice I heard during swim practice every day growing up... and is ultimately what kept me from being as fast as I probably could have been.  My coaches would always say "you've got tons of talent, but you rely too heavily on it."  And they were right.  I could slack in training and still race fast. I was willing to kill myself to beat you in a race, and I had big-ass feet and hands and pretty good technique, and when I really put my mind to swimming fast, good things happened.  Until I got to college, and realized that EVERYONE had big hands and feet, and everyone liked to win.  I was lucky enough to have a coach in college who knew how to get me to train hard and get faster, and the results came along with it.

And then after I quit swimming, I basically let myself go.  That was the Blerch talking too.  "You were a swimmer... you're always gonna look like this.  No need to exercise, you're naturally an ectomorph.  Have another..." Until I looked at that picture of myself from the previous post and said "holy shit, dude.  What the hell happened to you?"

And then I started to do the work. Hard.  I started doing three CF classes a week, then 4, then 5.  I lost that belly and grew muscles.  People noticed me and said "you look great."  I looked at myself in the mirror and saw muscles I'd never had.  I got strong.  Like for real strong.  Deadlift 455 for 5 reps strong.  I got addicted to having muscles and a flat belly.  I fiended for faster erg times, faster benchmark workout times, bigger numbers on my squat. more ripples on my abs.  Remember what I said about being willing to kill myself to beat you in a race?  CrossFit takes that and turns it up to 11.  I didn't want to just beat myself, I wanted to pick the youngest, fittest, fastest dudes in the gym and beat them too.  I told myself it was in the name of excellence.  I have always had a drive to be very good at the things I love.  Wine?  Made a career out of it.  Food?  I count myself among the best cooks in my group of friends, which includes some folks who do it for a living.  And now CrossFit.  For four years I have pored over articles, books, videos on strength training theory, olympic weightlifting technique, nutrition, exercise physiology.  I am a geek through and through.

Ultimately, some time ago, I convinced myself that I couldn't ever stop.  Not that I wasn't having fun - I was!  I love the huge bang when a heavy barbell hits the floor.  I love the involuntary yell I give at the top of a heavy lift. I love looking at the clock and realizing I PR'd a benchmark workout or beat one of my buddies' times. I get off on feeling like a beast unleashed. But I have become terrified of the Flowers for Algernon phenomenon, as well as the irresistible pull of the Blerch.  I viscerally believe that if I stop even for a moment, the muscles, the 6pack, the speed... all of it will go away.

And so on Monday, the second to last day of the year, even though I had already lifted for 2 hours in the morning, I came back to coach a class at the box where I train, and decided to hop in and do the metcon that was programmed for that day.  No matter that I had already trained hard that day.  Two things were at play - first, it was a workout in my wheelhouse that I knew I could crush:
3 RFT:
10 deadlift @275
20 pullups
40 double-unders

Second, another Mike in the gym with the last initial "S" had put up a time that friends of mine had thought was mine... and I took offense, thinking "Don't those fools know I could smoke that time?" (Yes, I'm aware of how ridiculous that sounds).  And so after some quick warmup, I hopped in and got after that workout with a vengeance.

Some background - I had been suffering from some plantar fasciitis for a bit - moderate heel pain that tended to go away after warming up without too much trouble.  Easy to train through, easy enough to ignore.  Or so I thought.  On the last 10 double unders, my heel started to hurt pretty badly... and I figured "Hey, I'm only 10 reps away from the finish, HTFU and crush that time."  So I did.  5...4...3...2...1... Boom.  I put up a time that was more than a minute faster than anyone else that day.

Unfortunately, "BOOM" was also the sound of the massive POP in my heel, coupled with a sensation like a rubber band had snapped and was rolling up under my foot.  THAT was coupled with excruciating pain - tear-inducing, mindbending pain.  I was rolling around on the floor, grabbing my heel, saying "Oh FUCK" over and over and over again.  Lovely, right?

Long story short - after some examination, it turned out I had torn the plantar fascia in my right foot.  Meaning at least 3 weeks of complete rest and immobility for my foot, and that was best case.  I'm not allowed to walk barefoot for a month.  No running, jumping, squatting... heck, I can't bear any weight at all on it right now without pain.  Not exactly Beastmode to be limping around like a gimp.   PR my squat on New Year's Day?Shot.  Run the 10 mile Little River Trail Run on the 18th?  Nope.  Compete in the my box's CrossFit Total Challenge in January?  Not holding my breath.

Literally my worst nightmare.  Algernon and Blerch waiting in the wings, licking their chops.  After getting confirmation of the injury on  New Year's Eve, I came home and cried, thinking "all that hard work... down the drain."

And then, after that bout of self pity and some conversations with some good friends close to the situation, I have come to a realization.  It didn't take 3 weeks to build this strength or this engine.  It took years.  It isn't going away in 3 weeks either.  And there are plenty of things I can do to keep the ball rolling.  Accessory work for my core and posterior chain strength.  Swimming (my old nemesis) for conditioning.  And seated press work for my upper body, which I could use to concentrate on anyway.  It's going to be ok.

And so... my New Year's resolution is a little different.  It's to train smarter, not harder.  Listen to my body.  Take rest days and flip the bird to Algernon and Blerch when I do.  Recognize the injury for what it is: my body saying "Dial it back, dude!  I can only take so much abuse!"  And realize that when I recover from my injury, I'm going to come back stronger than I was before.  I'm going to strap that weight on the bar, put it on my shoulders, and squat the everloving shit out of it. And when I'm done - I'm gonna ring the PR bell and say "That's enough for today."  Because it is.  Happy New Year, y'all.