Because I’ve turned into such a puny weakling, this week’s workouts have left me limping, wincing, and keeping my body full of the maximum recommended dose of Ibuprofen.

Tonight, the workout in class was a strength workout. We practiced push presses with sticks, bars, and kettlebells. By the time the workout started, my trainer had ascertained that there was no way in heaven or on earth that I was going to press the 45-pound bar. He had to spot me so I could do three reps. And by spot me, I mean lift the bar and just let me pretend I was lifting it.

So I was not too thrilled to see that the workout would involve me pressing two 8kg kettlebells. If you’ve met me, you know I have wrists that appear to be snappable. Probably not a word, but they are tiny and disproportionately thin when you see the rest of my body.

I learned how to do a clean, which is how I was supposed to get the kettlebell off the floor and in rack position, which is where the press starts. After watching me try the clean, my trainer told me I could get the kettlebells up “however you can.” So each wrist was holding up an 8kg kettlebell, which was resting on my forearm just below my outer wrist. And then I pressed a few times, rested, and repeated for five sets.

What I’m trying to tell you is that I’m going to have bruises. Big ones. On both arms. And I possibly won’t be able to type tomorrow, which should make work interesting.

But tonight was my workout Friday. My trainer said, at the end of class, that he would put a WOD up on the board tomorrow morning if any of us wanted to do it over the weekend. “Unless you need the rest,” he said. And then, looking at me, “and you need the rest, so I want you to take all three days off.”

Music to my ears.

Steps today: 9645