Five rounds for time of:
185 pound Push jerk, 10 reps
Rest 1 minute
I don’t own wristwraps. Or socks with sayings on them. Or any compression gear. I have no tattoos and I’ve never puked from a workout. (Came close! But never actually did the deed.)
Some people might look at me and think I’m not a CrossFitter.
I’ve finished first in a WOD only a handful of times – well, other than when I work out alone. (Then, I ROCK that shit. First place all the time, baby!)
Some people might think I’m not a “real” CrossFitter.
I don’t obsess about who lifts the most or who can do the most muscle-ups or who can walk on their hands. But I care a whole lot about who has a big heart, who cheers the others on, and who brings the coach a coffee when she knows he’s having a bad day.
I go as hard as I can, for me, every single day. If we’re not front squatting or overhead squatting, though, I’m working a goat. I have many, many goats. I have so many goats, it’s like a fucking herd. I should have a staff and a horn.
Today’s results may not be as good as yesterday’s, but they might be better than tomorrow’s. I really can’t predict anything. Sometimes I surprise myself with how strong I am, and sometimes I disappoint myself with how weak I am. Some mornings, my body just can’t handle too many pull-ups, and I have to resort to ring rows. But my effort never flags. It’s always there. I’m here to give, and give some more — and when I don’t think I can keep going, somehow I do. My head and my heart don’t know how to quit. My pedal is not just to the metal but I’m redlining the shit out of this puppy, even if I’m at the back of the pack. If the wheels don’t come off and I don’t crash, it’s going to be a hell of a day.
Oh yeah. I really am a CrossFitter.