Much to my dismay, Dook University won the ACC championship this weekend. Their win was demoralizing on several levels. First of all, those bastards totally owned my Tar Heels.
I mean, handed their ass to them.
Second, and arguably more painful, the Blue Devil victory meant we had to do “The Blue Devil” at CrossFit today:
- 125 double-unders
- 100 air squats
- 75 kettlebell swings
- 50 burpees
- 25 thrusters
The double-under plays hard-to-get, and then she’s the ficklest of mistresses. It took me a month to be able to do one. Pretty quickly, I started getting two in a row. About six weeks ago, I did eleven. Eleven. And then, like Keyser Söze, poof! they were gone. Now I’m back to one or two, and when you miss a double-under, the jump rope is going so fast that you whip some pretty remarkable welts on your hands, arms, legs, even face. Adding injury to insult, as it were.
Anyway, 125 double-unders would’ve taken me somewhere between 47 minutes and two hours (and required a first aid kit). Coach Dave didn’t have that kind of time. He said the WOD should be under 25 minutes, so I took the substitution: 375 singles.
The air squats were OK. My right knee has been feeling a little tender, but I busted through sets of more than fifteen. (Paul, did you do those 100 unbroken? I know you did, you Lucky-brand-jean-wearing honey badger.)
For the kettlebell swings, I went 25 pounds, ten less than prescribed. Then I flopped through four ugly-ass burpees at a time. If you ever want to find out if I’m withholding state secrets, make me do burpees. Or eat mayonnaise. I’ll cave immediately. Make me eat mayonnaise and do burpees, and I’ll sign an oath that I killed Kennedy. Even though I wasn’t born.
Rx on the thrusters was 75 pounds. Ha! Seventy-five pounds. I slapped tens and fives on a 15-lb bar, convinced I’d have to strip off the fives to get through the set. And after the fourth rep, I did drop the bar. But then, I don’t know, some sort of weird feeling came over me. I think it’s what other people call “resolve” or “perseverance” or some horseshit like that. I was like, “I’m going to do every last thruster with those 45 fucking pounds.”
My resolve started to crumble on the next rep. I could get through only three thrusters at a time, and that was with every ounce of will that I had. Twenty-five seemed ludicrous. My body started to quake.
With everybody cheering and telling me to get my hands back on the bar, my muscles screaming for rest, I grunted through the last six in a row.
Time: 25:19
Normally, I’ll write a little reflection on the WOD in my notebook. Something like, Pull-ups: switched from blue and red bands to green band on third round. Or Weight seemed too easy on the front squat at first, but it turned out to be about right.
Today, I wrote one word:
Cried.