Hope all is well....I've been wicked busy with fantasy football research, moving in to my new place, and jetting all over the country to exotic locales like Gull Lake, MI and Geneva, NY so I apologize for the two week gap between posts. However, since then I've gone to a bunch of classes. I've got a few pics for you, some hilarious videos and, of course, some witty commentary.
I've decided that since I've gone to probably ten sessions since my last post it would take forever to write up each of them, so I'm just going to pick a couple anecdotes that I found hilarious or that make me look like a boss. Sooooo enjoy.
21-15-9 and Front Squats
As many of you are aware, I fell deeply in love with a fellow CrossFitter almost immediately after starting. I have said nary a word to her, but my love grows stronger for Kansas shorts with each passing moment. Some of my friends find it funny to disparage my ultra-in-shape princess, indicating that she is using performance enhancing drugs, or bringing her gender into question, but I just brush them haters off and keep on ballin.
At a session about two weeks ago we did a wicked hard WOD (Workout of the Day), 21-15-9 of pull-ups, dips and burpees. Basically, you do 21 pull-ups, then 21 dips, then 21 burpees. After that, 15 of each, then 9 of each. It was hard as hell and I was absolutely dead afterwards. (See pic below of the kid bustin out a pull-up...it's OK to stare at my rippling muscles ladies, totally natural)
After the 21-15-9 was done, I collapsed on the ground and laid there until Doug, the head trainer, started yelling at me to stop being a bitch and go do some front squats. I obliged and joined up with two dudes who were able to front squat about six times a much as me. No joke, both of these dudes were straight yoked, miles out of my league.
Now you may be asking yourself "but John, why would you do such a thing? Wouldn't you rather join up with some poor schlubs who can barely walk so you could look sweet in comparison?" My rationale: location.
In front squatting, I reasoned, as in real estate, location is paramount. I noticed that these two greek gods were stationed directly next to, you guessed it, Kansas shorts. I hopped in with them hoping I could make some small talk with her in between sets, maybe drop a few witty one liners, get them digits, take her out to a delicious seafood dinner, then, ya know, see what happened from there. Such decisions, as Jeremy Goro will tell you, are why I am 27 and single.
What I failed to consider was that proximity was far less important than relative performance. We did 5 sets of 3 reps, so I started out with 135. Each of my squat buddies started with 225. This meant that after each of my reps 2 45 pound plates had to be added to the bar. Not the best feeling in the world. Kansas shorts started out with 115 for those of you scoring at home.
I did OK for my first three set, but, unfortunately I wasn't able to chat up Kansas Shorts as she sat on the opposite side of her squat rack from me. Lame sauceeeee.
For our 4th set Doug came around to critique everyones form. As luck would have it me and Kansas Shorts were squatting at the exact same time. A quick recap...
To me: "John, you need to go deeper, you're not going down far enough"
To Kansas Shorts: "Great job, perfect form."
I looked over and was horrified to see that Kansas Shorts had upped her weight to the exact same amount as mine. Fuck.
To me: "You need to go past parallel, you need to use proper form or you're going to hurt yourself, you really should think about going down in weight."
To KS: "Perfect, push yourself, great work!"
Not only was I a million times worse at this than the two dudes in my group (who were each up at some astronomical weight I can't even count up to) I was actually weaker than a girl I liked. I think this was the moment when my genitals actually went up inside my body. I'd blown it with the girl of my dreams, no hope for a happy life, and my man point count was certainly well into the negatives. I felt kind of like Billy Madison when he tried to write buzz in cursive, I really wanted to run out of the gym crying and never come back.
I was able to channel the shame and embarrassment I felt and bust out three respectable front squats in my last set, but the damage had been done. After class ended I pretty much booked it out the door, then went home, ate a gallon of Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream while crying, and watched the Notebook.
OK, I didn't really do any of those things, but I pretty much felt like a little bitch. In all seriousness I'm guessing no one else really cared too much about how much or how little I was able to lift, but it seemed extremely important to me at the time. As has become a common theme, I'm gonna need to grow up and accept that I'm not going to always be the best at everything right away.
Alright, that's all I've got for tonight, more to come soon though I promise. Thanks for reading and stay hooooood.
21-15-9 and Front Squats
As many of you are aware, I fell deeply in love with a fellow CrossFitter almost immediately after starting. I have said nary a word to her, but my love grows stronger for Kansas shorts with each passing moment. Some of my friends find it funny to disparage my ultra-in-shape princess, indicating that she is using performance enhancing drugs, or bringing her gender into question, but I just brush them haters off and keep on ballin.
At a session about two weeks ago we did a wicked hard WOD (Workout of the Day), 21-15-9 of pull-ups, dips and burpees. Basically, you do 21 pull-ups, then 21 dips, then 21 burpees. After that, 15 of each, then 9 of each. It was hard as hell and I was absolutely dead afterwards. (See pic below of the kid bustin out a pull-up...it's OK to stare at my rippling muscles ladies, totally natural)
After the 21-15-9 was done, I collapsed on the ground and laid there until Doug, the head trainer, started yelling at me to stop being a bitch and go do some front squats. I obliged and joined up with two dudes who were able to front squat about six times a much as me. No joke, both of these dudes were straight yoked, miles out of my league.
Now you may be asking yourself "but John, why would you do such a thing? Wouldn't you rather join up with some poor schlubs who can barely walk so you could look sweet in comparison?" My rationale: location.
In front squatting, I reasoned, as in real estate, location is paramount. I noticed that these two greek gods were stationed directly next to, you guessed it, Kansas shorts. I hopped in with them hoping I could make some small talk with her in between sets, maybe drop a few witty one liners, get them digits, take her out to a delicious seafood dinner, then, ya know, see what happened from there. Such decisions, as Jeremy Goro will tell you, are why I am 27 and single.
What I failed to consider was that proximity was far less important than relative performance. We did 5 sets of 3 reps, so I started out with 135. Each of my squat buddies started with 225. This meant that after each of my reps 2 45 pound plates had to be added to the bar. Not the best feeling in the world. Kansas shorts started out with 115 for those of you scoring at home.
I did OK for my first three set, but, unfortunately I wasn't able to chat up Kansas Shorts as she sat on the opposite side of her squat rack from me. Lame sauceeeee.
For our 4th set Doug came around to critique everyones form. As luck would have it me and Kansas Shorts were squatting at the exact same time. A quick recap...
To me: "John, you need to go deeper, you're not going down far enough"
To Kansas Shorts: "Great job, perfect form."
I looked over and was horrified to see that Kansas Shorts had upped her weight to the exact same amount as mine. Fuck.
To me: "You need to go past parallel, you need to use proper form or you're going to hurt yourself, you really should think about going down in weight."
To KS: "Perfect, push yourself, great work!"
Not only was I a million times worse at this than the two dudes in my group (who were each up at some astronomical weight I can't even count up to) I was actually weaker than a girl I liked. I think this was the moment when my genitals actually went up inside my body. I'd blown it with the girl of my dreams, no hope for a happy life, and my man point count was certainly well into the negatives. I felt kind of like Billy Madison when he tried to write buzz in cursive, I really wanted to run out of the gym crying and never come back.
I was able to channel the shame and embarrassment I felt and bust out three respectable front squats in my last set, but the damage had been done. After class ended I pretty much booked it out the door, then went home, ate a gallon of Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream while crying, and watched the Notebook.
OK, I didn't really do any of those things, but I pretty much felt like a little bitch. In all seriousness I'm guessing no one else really cared too much about how much or how little I was able to lift, but it seemed extremely important to me at the time. As has become a common theme, I'm gonna need to grow up and accept that I'm not going to always be the best at everything right away.
Alright, that's all I've got for tonight, more to come soon though I promise. Thanks for reading and stay hooooood.
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