3 Things You're Too Sore to Do After Crossfit

#1 Eat

After a grueling workout, all you want to do is go home and stuff your face.  But just a minute: 43,289 push jerks later and the mere thought of lifting a sandwich to your mouth makes your soul go flaccid.  The best you can do is lay down, fling the food into the air with a spoon, and hope it just somehow lands in your mouth.  Your family is two minutes away from laying out newspaper and putting your food in a doggy bowl.

Sorry.  No. 

#2 Sit on the Toi-Toi

Ladies, you might as well cut off all liquids.  Squats and lunges have destroyed your I-Have-to-Tinkle leg muscles for the next three days.  No worries, because you're pretty sure a little pee came out when you PRed your power snatch earlier on.  Ease up on the fiber too, lest you have to make a dipsy doodle in your incapacitated state.

Good luck with that.

#3 Wash Your Hair

No.  Just, no.  Your arms were declared DOA.  Your arms are done.  Thrusters and push presses and, well, how do we put this gently?  Two days from now, your hair will be greasy enough to fry an egg on your head.  At least you look ridiculously good naked, even with the bag you'll have to wear over your head.
  

This gentleman did not attend Crossfit.

Life at the Bottom of the Bottle

In a singular moment of clarity, he admits the obvious:

"Do you realize you have a drinking problem?" she asks.

"Yes."

But that will be the only instance of self-awareness when he acknowledges Crown Royal as his emotional crutch.

Every other night sings a different melody--when he pounds that fourth glass of Jack Daniels, turns to her, and hatefully spits, "I'm sorry I'm not perfect like you"; when he finishes off the bottle of Maker's Mark while she isn't looking, and then proceeds to drive her home; when the Ketel One runs out and all he can manage is to pass out in a drunken coma while he's still inside of her.

The excuses flow as smoothly as the two bottles of red wine he blew through the night he was supposed to meet her family.  "I was tired.  I was stressed.  You pressured me."  It will always be her fault, because accepting responsibility for his actions would be like trying to switch from beer to water.    

It's to be hoped that his whiskey will hold him in bed, his vodka will kiss him goodnight, and his tequila will push him forward when life knocks him down.  He must sense a brilliant life waiting for him at the bottom of the bottle.