Yesterday morning, Mr. Fields and I arrived at the Boulder Rock Club at 8 a.m. for something dubbed Group Training. We didn’t know what it entailed; when I inquired, I was told to just show up, no sign up necessary.
It turns out that Group Training is a solid hour of spreading pain and exhaustion into every corner of your body, including — despite this being your body — corners you didn’t know existed. This experiment in masochism is hosted by the BRC’s head coach, Chris Wall, who somehow manages to seem perfectly nice even as he pushes you through plyometric leaps, plank poses, and violent overhead throws of a medicine ball.
Today, I can’t raise my right arm above my shoulder without being reminded of the smiling bald man who put us through a climbing-inspired wringer. Nor can I straighten my left arm. Or walk without my calves seizing up.
In short, it was the best hour of conditioning I’ve had in a long time. I can’t wait to go back.