A day of crossfit

Dear Diary,

There was a time a couple friends of mine convinced me to join them for a crossfit workout … it didn’t go well …

I was making great progress through a gauntlet of man makers, dead lifts and all sorts of unreasonable punishment … and by great progress I mean barely completely them with terrible form.

Black metal stacking chair used for crossfit workout
This chair is not intended for sitting!

One of the last work outs was jumping onto a chair.  Now for the little girls who can’t make it all the way up to the top of the chair, this gym had a step you can use instead.  This step is only a couple inches off the ground and gives you the sense of accomplishment on par with opening a can of soda or peeling an orange … actually an orange represents a far steeper challenge.

During my previous workouts, I did bunny hops off to the side while real men (and women) would do impressive things near me.  However, today I said NO MORE and I went up and stood in front of this black metal chair with a blue cushion that I somehow needed to reach.  I had already done a lot of leg work outs so I knew I had to dig deep and get those rubbery things under control.  I jumped and landed on top of the chair.  Clearly, I was on my way to real manhood!  bunny hops were now a distant memory of my past!

I needed to jump five times and on the third time I landed on the chair I was so pumped I was ready to fight a lion … and then it happened.  I had only landed on the edge of the chair which led to my weight pulling the chair towards me and conversely flipped me forward to have a meeting with the chair.  Specifically the black metal rail forming the back of the chair.  As I met the chair, physics folded my girth over the back turning me ironically into a taco … which (along with the tacos bigger cousin, Senor Burrito) was primarily the cause of the extreme impact which drove me into the chair.  Now, I have been kicked multiple times by steers and those kicks felt more akin to being tickled when compared to this sensation.

I fell onto the ground and my blubbery carcass began flopping around and I realized that being covered in sweat only adds to the look of being a fish out of water.  As I struggle to find my breath, I hear one of my work out buddies, Cortney, ask, “You ok, Jimbo?” without breaking stride in her routine.  I want to say, “Tell my wife, I love her” and what flowers I want at my funeral.  The story of Harry Houdini dying from being punched by a boxer runs through my mind and I am sure my end is near.  Cort finishes her work out and waits patiently for me to end my feminine and shameful behavior.

I eventually gain the ability to breathe again and explain how the mean chair assaulted me and turned me into my favorite food.  Cort was gracious though and didn’t laugh … much.

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