This morning’s WOD was:
50-40-30-20-10 of box jumps (20″), double-unders, and sit-ups. (That is, you did 50 of all three exercises, then 40, etc.) Some CrossFit workouts are named, benchmark workouts, and all the benchmarks have girl names. Without the box jumps, this workout is known as “Annie”. With the box jumps, it’s known as “terrible”.
I can jump a 20″ box, but I usually do 17″ during WODs because it takes me forever if I don’t. Today was no exception.
The WOD began, and on my eleventh box jump, I felt a sproing-floobity-boop. I headed into the other room. Coach Paul said, “Amy! Where are you going?!” I said, “My sports bra came unhooked.” He said, “Come back! We don’t care!” But I knew what I had to do. There were double-unders coming up. I didn’t want anybody getting physically or emotionally hurt.
I managed to reattach the clasp, hurried back into the gym, and said a little prayer to the brassiere gods. Fortunately, there were no more boob mishaps.
At one point, Coach Paul started celebrating loudly the fact that Lindsay had done the double-unders in the round of 30 unbroken. My double-unders are still inconsistent at best. I’ve gotten 18 in a row, but sometimes it’s three. Or two. Or one. This time, I thought, “Goddammit. I’m going to do 30 double-unders unbroken.”
One thing I realized recently is that I simply wasn’t jumping high enough to get the rope around twice between bounces. So I concentrated on that, and the first ten went by easy. I kept going. Twenty down. Head up, jump high, keep the rhythm: 24, 25, 26, 27, 28—
Stupid double-unders.
I adjusted the rope, finished the last two, and started my sit-ups.
I had sort of been keeping pace with Lindsay (though she was jumping a 20″ box, thus doing a harder workout), but she smoked me on the last two rounds. Once again, I was doing my last round when every other soul in the gym was done.
And everybody cheered, as they do. And that’s so nice, of course. But it also makes me feel a little like a circus freak.
I finished in 28:05 and then sat there pretending to wipe sweat off my face but really crying into my T-shirt.