It was an extra-special day today at CrossFit. While there is typically an air of self-loathing in the building, tonight there was a tangible cloud of sadness and desperation. Buff Billy Mays sensed this and didn't take the sensitive route.
"What, nobody has dates tonight?"
The trolls were obviously on edge already and that comment nearly threw them into tears. It was not undelicious. But then again, here I was spending Valentines Day with a bunch of strangers and really looking forward to the bacon and fancy wine (upgraded from box to twist-off bottle, bitch!) I had in store for myself afterwards. Biographers are lining up to be the first to put to record my lifetime of awesomeness.
BBM was clearly in a hurry to get somewhere. That OxyClean isn't going to sell itself. So he passed us on to a new trainer who looked eerily like a dude I went to high school with. That would be unremarkable if that dude wasn't known to be a psycho and last year strangled his girlfriend to death.
After a warmup of 400m rowing and 20 pushups Psycho Strangler reviewed stuff that we had done two classes ago. Namely presses and push presses. Then he threw the wrinkle of the jerk in there. This confused the fuck out of the trolls. In their defense, it is kind of difficult pretending that a PVC puss pipe is heavy enough to necessitate squatting under as you jerk to get it up. (Jerk? Get it up? I know there's a lonely-guy Valentines Day joke in there).
After that he demonstrated the feet-to-bar, and knees-to-elbows. Which consists of dangling by the bar and doing just that. It's relatively straightforward stuff, but for some reason it needed extra explanation tonight.
Finally, as though the name of the movement wasn't self-explanatory, the group got it straight and we moved into our workout. The workout today was to row 250m, do 5 knees-to-elbows, and 10 jerk pushes using just the bar.
Maybe I had put my badass pants on or something, but for some reason I felt like abusing myself a little more than was prescribed. I asked Psycho Strangler if it was OK if I threw some weight on the bar. Since this dude weighed about a buck 20 and was clearly in awe of my chiseled physique, he said I could put 10 pounders on the bar. Fuck that dude, let him try to strangle me. I put 25's on.
Seriously, put me in the octagon with circa 1979 Chuck Norris and Kimbo Slice together, I'm ready.
Rounds two and three of this routine did put a slight strain on my beastliness, but the most frustrating thing was waiting on the trolls to finish with the rowing machine. I ended up finishing in just under 8 minutes. I definitely regretted my over-exuberance there for awhile. Once it was time for the finisher though, which was only a 200m run and 20 air squats. I really didn't feel like overachieving this one, so I did was I was told and finished up.
I stuck around for the stretching this time, but I'll be damned if I didn't have by bacon and classy wine on my mind. I felt I earned it. Why not romance myself a little bit on this special night? Turns out, by disappointment in the rigors of the workout was not my only disappointment of the night.
Pork sides. What the fuck are pork sides? It looked like bacon. It was packaged like bacon. It was just extra cheap. It was so bland I had to google it. Pork sides are uncured bacon. What kind of ungodly deception is this? I feel so dirty and used. What's next? Am I to be told that my $8 bottle of wine is not classy? This world no longer makes sense to me.
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