It’s funny, I used write about races all the time. And races are the easiest thing in the world to blog about. They make for hilarious posts because I am guaranteed to always do something embarrassing while I’m running, and because they are easy to understand. I don’t have to explain the premise of a race (every reader understands that the goal is to run from point A to point B as fast as you can), which leaves me free to ramble on about the things that I really want to talk about. There are even mile markers to make my stories progress in a (marginally) linear fashion.
But lately, I’ve replaced racing with crossfit competitions. Still fun, but there’s just too much extra explaining involved to actually WRITE about them. Possibly, the root of the problem here lies in the laziness of the author rather than the complexity of the subject matter.
And on that note, I should get a prize for the athlete-able-to-fall-asleep-most-easily-at-a-crossfit-competition, which, considering the noise and energy level at these things, is quite an accomplishment.
Since I can’t really sleep when I’m away from home, I generally don’t hold up all that great at these out-of-town competitions. But when my dear crossfit pal from back home in PA texted me because a friend of hers needed another woman for his team, I agreed straightaway. Partly because M is one of those people I simply cannot say no to, and partly because the attention whore in me suspected this might provide some sort of opportunity for showing off.
Then I found out there was swimming involved. Hello swimming ability of an injured kangaroo. Sorry attention-whore, you just bought yourself an opportunity for extreme embarrassment instead.
My teammates were surprisingly chill about the swim (along with mostly everything else), and I somehow managed to string together seven 95lb snatches later on, so the day still qualified as an overall success. Except that, by one in the afternoon, my ass was dragging like nobody’s business. So I fell back to my usual standby of laying on the floor and falling asleep.
I did wake up briefly for the third wod of the day. Instead of actually warming up properly, I sort of gormlessly stood around staring at a deadlift bar and trying to will 185lbs off the ground with my mental powers.
“Are you okay?” M had to check up on me, “You’re looking a bit … forlorn.”
“Oh don’t worry, I’m just not awake.” I suppose this could have been something to worry about ten seconds before I was supposed to work out, but past experience with the magic of adrenaline assured me that everything would be alright. And it was. I spent 8 minutes throwing weight around like a total champ, and 30 minutes later I was passed out on the floor again.
I now have a reputation with two separate boxes as the girl who falls asleep everywhere and at inappropriate times.