Frailty Pt. 2

After my first run at trying to learn cleans last Friday, my shoulders were pretty tender. Sunday I added insult to injury when I took down the 45lb bar my sweetie left racked above eye level (we are an extremely mixed-height household) and re-racked it at a reasonable height, without warming up first. In the muscle-clean portion of the exercise I turned to my friend and said,

"I'm going to feel that."

Talk about an understatement. My shoulders were sore in the gym on Tuesday, when my little post-squats metcon involved the rowing machine. It got worse yesterday, not so much from the push-presses and power jerks -- which don't move the arms in whatever direction my shoulders don't want to move -- but just in loading the bar, and to a lesser extent lowering the bar back to rack after a successful jerk. The final straw was a 15kg plate. I returned to the office unable to lift my right arm, but by the end of the day it was more cooperative.

In addition to ice and ibuprofen, today was supposed to feature plenty of rest for my poor arms. Unfortunately, like a moron, I decided to change the water cooler in the work kitchen. Not only did I fail to get the water bottle to shoulder height -- we have a particularly tall water cooler -- but I also managed to aggravate my shoulder badly enough to bring tears to my eyes. Six hours later I'm back to being able to lift my arm, but it seems pretty clear to me that cleans should not in my future tomorrow.

I have always expected myself to be up to the strength-oriented tasks of normal life. I was the older, and more sturdy, daughter in a family with no boys, and I always took it personally whenever my dad complained about being the person who carried things in our family. I carry my own suitcase, even when the suitcase is 42" tall to my 60" and the stairs are steep. And I always, always change the water cooler for myself. The last time I declined to do so involved a real shoulder injury, after a serious fall in a skating class. It feels shameful to be unable to lift 5 measly gallons of water.

I am ruing the cost of this attitude now that the workout I looked forward to all week is in jeopardy, though. I've wanted to learn to do cleans for so long, since they've always been that 4th or 5th major movement that "everybody" should do but "nobody does them right without good coaching". Here is finally my chance to capitalize on good coaching, and I've fucked it up for a water bottle.

Argh.