Farch is back so I awoke with vows to undo the damage and crank off some calories on the wheel of pain. This morning was a low and slow 6K with a 500m warmup and cool down — about 24 strokes per minutes, loafing at a 2:04.3 pace and a 150-160 hr.
Still watching out for the back and not pulling any power-tens on the “fives” — a power-ten is an extra-special, tasmanian devil effort for ten strokes, usually invoked by a coxswain during a race in the name of something inspirational, like: “Power-ten for Coach Smith!” — which usually backfires in the minds of the people pulling the oars and performing the power-ten who think Coach Smith is a douche. Tens-on-the-fives, means cranking for ten strokes ever 500 meters or increment of 5 minutes. So … you pull like no tomorrow at 1,500 meters and at 15 minutes … anyway, I am not doing that now.
The scale in the Vegas hotel room told of the horror to come. I am fatter than I have been in the last ten years, so it is time to look at very long erg pieces (10K to 60 minutes) and really low paces to start burning the fat. Can you say boring?
(actually wrote this on the erg, while cooling down my heart rate to 100 bpm, connected wirelessly from the garage. Thankfully the ThinkPad X60 has a spill resistant keyboard, as I am dripping dave-juice into it)