My Leaderboard Attempt

This is something I was asked to write about. It seems more suited to here than on the Kyuzo blog. It’s slightly personal, I suppose.

I did a project in lockdown (remember that?). I decided I wanted to be on the Concept 2 Indoor Rowing leaderboard. I hadn’t submitted a log on C2, so I just decided to go for it for my own sanity, even though I wouldn’t get it recorded on the site. This was lockdown, and sanity was important. I won’t delve too far into my own psyche, but suffice to say a degree of struggle, conflict, and physical effort is required to maintain my disposition. I have had to become an expert in myself to calculate dosage. Lockdown removed a great deal of that. A goal was required.

I went for 10,000m. This would be my second attempt at hitting a C2 leaderboard score, having had a pop at 500m when I was much younger (1.21 in case you were wondering, but only alongside someone who pulled 1.19). After 4 weeks of training, plus probably 4 weeks previous to that aimlessly pulling random distances and intervals, I went for it, with my C2 set up in my sunroom. I was aiming for top 50, so I needed to get inside 35 minutes. The rough “plan” was to keep pace around 36 as though in a Pelaton for the first 5k, then up slightly, and then to attack a 1000m sprint finish.

“Plans are useless once battle is joined”, so said Patton. Well, okay then.

Halfway through at the 5k mark, the monitor was telling me that my projected finish was more like 38 minutes. I was massively behind, but I knew from experience that upping my pace too early was a recipe for disaster. So I held off and with around 10 minutes to go, I paced up. The time started dropping, but so did my energy levels. I didn’t feel good.

I had thought about asking my wife to be there to push in some energy drink in the middle section, but I also wanted total focus, so I’d opted to do it in the room solo. There are certain people who like hearing “Keep pushing” in their ear as they work, but I am not one of them. I just want to turn around and tell the person to fuck off, even if she’s the person I love most in the world. My thinking on this is that I have to be in control of my own mind and motivation, and shut out external distraction. But there’s something else in that too, where I think “If you think I ain’t pushing why don’t you come here and sit in this seat?” I’m belligerent, and hard to coach. But this was a solo attempt, for my own mind as much as anything.

I was, however, regretting my self imposed isolation as I felt myself empty. I had bonked during a fast 5k in training previously, and I thought I felt that coming on now. The next thing I said to myself was “Don’t let this be for nothing”. I say a variation of that in certain moments. “Don’t let this be for nothing”. This might be you, on a piece of equipment, in your own sunroom, while the world is locked down for a virus, but all the training and effort must count for something. I found a little more of something in me somewhere, and upped the pace. The projected time dropped, but not by enough. For the last 3k, I pulled harder than I would have liked to, and the clock started to fall below 35. But of course I couldn’t maintain it. My so called sprint finish for the last 1000m was a gasping, blubbering mess. With nothing left, literally, the last stroke took me in at 36.01.5. Enough for the top 70. Not enough for my goal.

I literally fell off the rower once I got my feet out of the straps and lay there on the tiles. After a while, my wife came out to ask if I was still alive. Decent of her, I thought, although I did think I saw a copy of my life insurance policy and a pen behind her back. I gave a limp thumbs up, and finally got my energy drink from her. I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t move. I just sipped it lying on the floor. I made some noises that weren’t sobs, but they were sob-like. It took about 15 minutes for me to make my way slowly to my feet. I was empty.

I’d been there before. A bunch of times. A few times with the dreaded prowler sled. A whole lot on the C2. Once or twice in wrestling rounds. Nothing left. Not enough to pick up the water you want. Not enough to speak or move. That’s pure exhaustion. Pure limit. I’ve seen so many guys and girls go to that place. If you’ve been there, you know where it is. I tell the competitors in the gym when they lie down after a hard round, “No. You’re not there. You’ll know when you’re there because you won’t be able to move even when you want to”.

And the worst thing is, I still feel I could have got under 35 minutes that day. I still feel like I left something there, maybe earlier in the attempt. That’s torturous. But I’ve spoken to so many people and it’s very common. You know that the ultimate thing that you want to say is “I gave it my all”. Every metric known to man would say I gave it my all. My inability to stand afterwards would say I gave it my all. But still, I feel like somewhere in the attempt, I was weak. In my preparation. In my training. In my pacing. Something. What is that feeling?

A friend did some Ultra Kayaking. Massive distances of 100 and 200km against military teams. They won a particular race one year, and the year after, the serious military teams were out to catch them. They were leading, when they got out of the boat to cross a lock and run with it on their shoulders. He felt himself collapse, and then has patchy memory until the hours later when someone was shouting at a doctor, ripping an IV drip off him, and throwing away his water jug. He had hyponatremia, a serious condition where excess water intake has resulted in a loss of sodium in your body. Essentially, he was over-hydrated. In the hospital, they were following common sense, had assumed he was dehydrated, and were pushing more fluids in, a “cure” that can be fatal. The man doing the shouting was the Royal Marine team medic with experience with Ultra athletes. They slowly brought his sodium up, and he made a full recovery.

And do you know what he says about that near death incident? Not “Thank God I didn’t die!” No, he says that it was his only DNF (Did Not Finish), and he’s disgusted.

All of these things are not the World or Olympic records. They matter to no one but the person who took them on. Who saw me in my sunroom that day? My kids walked by the door and rolled their eyes. “He’s at it again”. No one cares. Not one other person. You are doing this to yourself.

And why?

The accolades? What accolades? At best, if I was diligent, I’d have logged it on the and received a massive 67th position in the 40-49 years old category on a website page no one looks at except anyone with skin in the game.

It’s not comparison. I don’t care who sees me do it, and I don’t know of anyone who feels that it’s to beat others.

And who cares if you’re the 1st place masters 4 black belt at your weight on any given day when 3 other guys your size and age showed up? No one that’s who. Just the other 3 guys and you.

I don’t know why I do it. I don’t know why we do it. I don’t know if it’s conquerable. When I talk to others who know what I mean, they don’t know either. Not having the outlet for it is like being a wound up clock, but someone has their finger on the second hand, stopping the tick.

I hope that explains it well enough to satisfy the curiosity of the person who requested it.

See you on the mat,

Barry