I need to preface this post (and consider it an update to the previous post) that there isn’t actual torture involved. At least not in the mind of the person conducting the torture.
My son, the literal dungeon master, is well trained for this sort of thing. He plans the sessions based on our current physical capabilities and makes sure we aren’t doing permanent physical damage to ourselves.
For example, I have an ulnar collateral ligament injury on my left arm. A 5mm tear that hurts like a son of a bitch and limits most of my “torture” sessions to legs or core. And if I even attempt anything with my arms he stops me.
So he’s a conscientious torturer.
This past Sunday, in addition to the squats and crab walks with bands and banded clams (NOT a sexual position, folks. Get out of the gutter.) he introduced “ab rolls”.
With this implement of pain:
Innocuous looking, right?
You don’t roll it over you abdomen. Nor do you roll it over someone named Abby (unless, of course, you first get consent).
People who are really good at this (like my son) grab the handles from a standing position and then roll the wheel out until their arms are outstretched and their body is horizontal, only the toes and the wheel touching the mat.
So, we’re not really good at this. We started from the kneeling position and rolled the wheel out to where it was “a touch past comfortable”.
Eight times. Four sets.
On Monday I couldn’t cough, sneeze, burp, laugh, get up off the sofa without experiencing a hell I’d never imagined before.
Now it’s Wednesday. It’s a little bit better. And honestly I feel much better physically.
But the dread of what next Sunday brings looms.