The gun disarm we were doing in fighting class tonight wrenched my poor wrist in an awful way. "Careful with the wrist!" I kept saying, but none of the guys were careful enough. It was all guys plus me tonight, and guys think they are being careful, but they are not.
By the time we started the exercise-while-being-hit portion of the evening, I had to opt out of burpees. My wrists would not stand for that.
The instructor, however, would not stand for my not doing anything to provide stress before I did the disarm. Instead of burpees, I ran back and forth across the room while the guys whacked at me with pads and their hands.
"Bet you wish you were doing burpees right now," someone said.
I didn't, actually. I never wish I was doing burpees right now. Ever. Not even as an alternative to sprinting across the floor.
I will probably be sleeping in my arm brace tonight even without the burpees.