So I called the box to express my dismay at being bamboozled by their deceitful Groupon when the dude told me that they have a Kids Room in which g-Nasty could hang out. Delighted by this news, I neglected to ask further, probably important questions before scheduling my emasculation for that Tuesday.
g-Funk and I showed up at the joint early on Tuesday, anticipating the contingency of bolting if their "Kids Room" consisted of a glorified closet with an old dude wearing slippers "watching" the kids. These motherfuckers are unaware that I check that sex offender registry. Suckers.
Registry checked out clean, but I was nevertheless dubious entering the joint and being greeted by a buff version of Billy Mays. He showed me the Kids Room with more than a little chagrin on his face. I'm not going to lie, it totally looked like a. . . .I mean. .. .it looked like what I would imagine a porno casting couch room would look like. Old, skanky U-shaped couch and a non-functional tube TV. Fortunately, however, it had a big-ass bin full of toys. Oblivious to the concept of germs, g-Squared dove headfirst into that fucker. With his feet up in the air and head in the bin I considered him to be sufficiently satisfied and went about checking out the box (and the folks therein).
The amount of old chicks in that joint were so numerous that it made me overlook the hot chick in the middle. We're talking Golden Girls old here. Blanche was rocking box jumps while Rose worked the jump rope. My Rue McClanahan fantasies as a little guy seem all that much grosser now that I've seen her in spandex.
Naturally, as people started filtering into the joint I sized them up accordingly. We had the obligatory old folks, the pretty fit, but scary-looking broad, and the plump trolls that would NOT quit giggling like 14 year-olds. I've made this mistake before, but I totally was Lee-Fucking Haney of this group.
As the clock rolled down to game time I stripped off my sweatshirt and unleashed my guns. More importantly, I showcased my dope-ass shirt that my buddy (that sadistic fucker that introduced me to CrossFit in the first place) gave me. I think it gives adequate representation of my jumproping skills
Buff Billy Mays didn't let it go unnoticed.
"Is that a guy jumproping?" He astutely asked.
"Yup", I articulated back.
"Sweet".
Fucking right. Sweet.
Eventually it was time to get down to business. BBM brought us into a circle where we would go over what was going to happen today. He briefly explained the theory behind CrossFit, but not really. Not enough, at least, to keep the Trolls from giggling.
"God damn accountants" I thought. Thinking for sure they had to be a group of number nerds that never saw social interaction beyond the monthly Applebees lunch date.
The "workout" so it was called, consisted of a 200 meter run warmup. They took us out back where we ran through the dark-ass parking lot to an invisible curb and back. There is no way I'm not spraining my girly-ass ankle on that run eventually.
When we got back BBM and some squirly-looking dude that I can't think of a name for demonstrated the proper techniques of the three exercises we were to do, They were ring rows (the girly kind where you plant your feet on the floor and pull yourself up), air squats, and pushups. They insisted on a different kind of pushup where you kept your elbows close to your chest and pushed up using more tricep than anything, then lifting your hands when your chest was on the ground demonstrating that you're all the way down. "Show me" pushups, they called them. We're in Missouri. The "Show Me" state. Clever bastards.
After the demonstration we were given the workout, which consisted of a 200 meter run then 21-15-9 of pussy ring rows, Show Me pushups, and air squats, followed by another 200 meter run. Easy as hell, but we were being timed on the workout as a benchmark for the same test 4 weeks later. Apparently the best time was 3 minutes and 30 seconds. They instructed up to line up outside while they counted down. Oh how the Trolls like to make lame jokes about that. They called themselves the Accounting Crew. I knew it! Nobody is more annoying than accountants, and NObody could think of a lamer name for themselves. Accountants are the worst. Those and people. People suck.
The count reached zero and it was time to roll. Now I can run like a deer, so long as I don't sprain my girly-ass hooves, which was quite probable over this terrain. I managed to navigate the treacherous asphalt with no difficulty and got to my station to rock my workout.
I was flying through this shit. Being the immaculate specimen of masculinity that I am I was barely breaking a sweat. Sure g would pop his head out occasionally and insist that I admire this toy armadillo he found.
"Spectaicular, Buddy". I'd say without missing a beat.
I was tempted to admire the Iron Man transformer that he found, but I have to keep focused.
With the swiftness of an Olympic ninja I rolled through the "workout" and went back outside for my final 200. While not being overly cold out, I was gasping a bit, and damned if my lungs didn't hurt like an asthmatic bitch by the end of it.
Naturally, I finished Lee Haney-style, well ahead of anyone else. 5:10 was my time, which I presume was a calculation error for 3:10 since I'm about 2 weeks of training away from winning the CrossFit games. I finished with enough time to play with that sweet-ass Iron Man thing with g. I also got a chance to talk to BBM and Squirrel about their approach to ramping up into CrossFit, which I found interesting.
Unlike the last joint, where I took 1 ramp-up class and went right into a futile attempt at doing pullups and handstand pushups, these guys designed their short-bus classes to be a progressive introduction into these exercises. While I both resented in the ease of the initial workout and basked in my ability to rock the fuck out of it, these guys' approach to introducing Crossfit to noobs was admirable.. That's probably why Blanche and Rose were able to persevere. They were gradually introduced to these exercises over a course of 4 weeks as opposed to instructed to jump on a bar and pull their fat asses up. While I'm confident I could do more pullups than them, I kind of like the way the simple noob exercises are designed to build up into the less-simple ones. For instance, the tricep-centric pushups will build toward overhead lifts. It makes sense, even if it is a money-milking technique.
The finisher was tabata air squats. Two rounds of 20 second air squats. I could do that in my sleep if I weren't too busy with dozens of hot sluts at a time. After that the third-string flunkie lady helped us stretch, which I basically skipped because A) I'm awesome and B) the Lower Case g was getting a little impatient with me ignoring the spectacle of the toy pile that he made.
I go back on Thursday. Sans kid. We'll see if these clowns can keep up with the future Mr. Universe.
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