Ass-Clown

I was still effing sore from all the ridiculousness that was yesterday’s WOD when I walked in the gym tonight. Every pull-up felt like I was hoisting a corpse. Plus Coach Rich made us do box jumps and bear crawls for the group warm-up. I looked at him half-way through and panted, “Are you sure this isn’t the metcon?” (That’s metabolic conditioning for you non-CrossFitters.)

The strength segment was presses. That was fine. But jeez maneez, the second part was 3 rounds of:

• run 400m
• 15 full snatch
• 9 hand-stand push-ups

Well, I snatched thirty-five pounds, which was twenty less than Rx, and HSPUs are, shall we say, a tad beyond my capabilities at this point. I put my knees on a box, derrière in the air, and do them like that.

And of course, the running. Bleah. Blech. Blechity-bleah. I’m so slow. So…

…

…slow.

I’m slow anyway, but I knew I’d be extra-specially so today since I was already plumb wore out.

The 200m turn-around spot is at the second oak tree up the hill from the gym, which sucks until you head back and then it’s not as sucky. Even I feel OK coming down that decline. I’m not speedy or anything, but I don’t feel like I need to drop to all-fours.

The only problem is when I do a late WOD, and it’s dark, and the street lights are on. It’s not that I’m scared or anything. It’s that there’s this low stone wall, see, and—OK, let me explain.

Point is, I have major junk all up in my trunk. This is well documented.

But when I’m running down that hill in front of the gym, and the street lights are on, the way my shadow lands on the stone wall makes my butt look

The hot guy who stole my sister-wife, Kristen, away at the Valentine’s Day shindig was running behind me at one point (because he was that close to lapping me). And before the WOD, I noticed he wasn’t actually a hot guy. He was a ridiculous specimen of male beauty. Beardy and tatooey and muscly and blue-eyed.

Yikes. I did not want him to catch even the slightest glance of the carnival fun-house shadow of my posterior on that wall.

So I ran.

I ran like my legs were steel springs.

I ran as fahst as a leppid.

…Of course, I’m absolutely sure that Hot Man’s entire focus was on me, not himself, during the WOD. I’m pretty sure everybody’s focus was and is always on me. Because I am the center of the universe.

(I’m very self-absorbed sometimes, have you noticed?)

(But to be fair, my ass’s shadow does make it look like planets orbiting it would not be out of the question.)