And then I saw Tim write the day's metcon on the board:
- Row 2K.
I'm not exactly sure what happened next, because my brain was preoccupied with this thought:
No no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no.
Before I sat on the erg, I could already predict what lay ahead: Roughly two minutes of solid rowing, followed by two minutes of oh-crap-we're-not-yet-even-halfway-done, and then two minutes of extreme mental and physical anguish, and lastly, two minutes of just-a-few-hundred-more-meters-before-I-can-fall-off-and-die. And afterwards, I knew I'd be in for a good five minutes of rolling around on the floor, wincing in pain, and trying (and failing) to stand up.
I was right.
Result: 8:01. I've done worse. But I've also done better.
