As of late, there has been some concern with regards to my ongoing detente with the trainer at CrossFit known as “Ryan”. In an effort to further defame his character, I did a little research. It turns out that “Ryan” is not only a sadistic trainer by day, he is also an MMA fighter when the opportunity arises. A glance at YouTube shows one of his matches, one which I happened to attend long before I knew him. While he was down in the ring beating the holy bejeezus out of this guy (see here.…he’s the one in white shorts) I was up in the stands getting sloshed on overpriced donkey piss being passed off as beer. Perhaps this bit of information would have come in handy before I challenged him to a sumo-suit style match today (an example of which can be seen here). I need to determine which discipline in which I might be able to best this killer of men, because in the arena of physical prowess, I’ll be left in a big ol’ puddle of pummeled mess.
Time to take stock. I somehow doubt the city will allow me to hijack two fire department ladder trucks and issue a “race for glory” style test of manhood down the mean streets of Springfield. Nor could I ask him to deal with an unhinged meth-head wearing a chili-dog wrapper as a hat while claiming ownership of the dumpster behind the firehouse……these kinds of events don’t occur with enough consistency to hold his attention. Clearly, “Ryan” has the ability to crush me physically and he’s getting his masters degree in something, or so I’m told, thereby eradicating my ability to wipe the floor with him in a round of Celebrity Jeopardy. These are the kind of dilemmas that keep my cocktail tumbler full. My stress level was reaching red-line levels when I realized that the only dimension in which I could beat this man was in a bacon eating contest. As a child, I would eat raw bacon for sport. As an adult, I’ve been known to floss with bacon. When it comes to the fruit of the pig, few can match my ability to ingest such mass quantities of fried pork. I’m not proud of this fact. Also, there seems to be a very slim chance that frying bacon would be allowed at the gym, so again, another roadblock.
I can’t beat the man with wicked sarcasm and under-appreciated smart-assedness. No matter how many times I can dead-lift a broomstick, I won’t command his respect until somewhere near 300lbs. is on the bar. He’s not intimidated by my excessive body hair nor impressed by my ability to break a sweat just thinking about breaking a sweat.
And then it came to me in a flash of clairvoyance that can only come after several adult beverages……..what if I actually listened to “Ryan” and stopped trying engage him in this war of wills? What if it turns out that he’s not the devil incarnate but merely a man trying to better his fellow travelers through the regimen of physical fitness? How about enough bitching and on to lifting? Wouldn’t that be a better alternative than trying to undermine him as a trainer, a human, a person who cares about the physical well-being of his charges? Sweet Jews for Jesus, am I finally growing up?
Nah – that’s gotta be the rum talking. The plotting continues…….