Well, I asked for it.

"Performance is directly correlated to intensity.
Intensity is directly correlated to discomfort."
-Coach Glassman, founder of CrossFit

In case you didn't read the comments, Max read my complaint about lackluster effort from yesterday, and suggested that, just once, I push a workout hard enough to puke. He suggested tonight's class as a potential. I actually hadn't intended to go to class tonight - the logistics with the car are a bit tricky - I was going to go to Ironworks after work and do my own 5x5 deadlifts. However, deadlifts were the heart of the WOD, and I'd be sure to get a better workout at class, so I figured, "what the hell."

Four Rounds for time:
Run 400 Meters
21 Deadlift 225#/155#

21:15 RX. or so I'm told.
splits: 3:22 | 5:44 | 5:21 | 6:47

I didn't puke. It wasn't really that sort of workout, at least for me - the weight was a bit too heavy (75% of my 1RM) to just slam through, and I wasn't willing to let my form slip into 'F' territory and risk injury (my form at the end was atrocious, and I'm grateful that I didn't do any real damage besides what's likely to be a fucking massive case of DOMS). I did, however, nearly black out and fall over on a couple of occasions, and came fairly close to just...crying when it was over. I also essentially lost my mind, apparently. In the third round, I slammed down the weight and Max said "OK, you're done. Go run." To which I looked at him with furrowed brow and gasped, "No. That was only 14." He said, "I've been standing here counting. That was 21. Go run."

Now, one of us miscounted - unless he was concerned enough that I'd injure myself that he intentionally stopped me early. Normally, I'd be willing to bet it was him. I've gotten pretty good at counting my reps, and he had a whole class to coach. In this instance, though, I really can't be sure. My brain was, to put it simply, diminished. Talking to people afterwards, I realized I was slurring my speech and, like a drunk, I had to talk slowly and with great concentration to string words together. It was surreal. My hands were shaking and my throat was burning from gasping for breath.

So, regardless of whether I hit 21 every round or not, I got what I wanted: a workout that pushed the limit of my capabilities. Thankfully I brought 20 ounces of milk to class, and that helped revive me somewhat afterwards, and I came home and had a double helping of tuna. I'm shooting for 9 hours of sleep tonight.