The 2% Solution: 30 Minutes to Transform Your Life

Reps and Cheer: A CrossFit Twist on the Night Before Christmas

December 22, 2023 Dai Manuel Season 1 Episode 34
The 2% Solution: 30 Minutes to Transform Your Life
Reps and Cheer: A CrossFit Twist on the Night Before Christmas
The 2% Solution with Dai Manuel
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Show Notes Transcript

Picture this: a gym where sugarplums are replaced with kettlebells, and the night before Christmas is all about the CrossFit Open!

That's the world we're plunging into on our festive podcast episode, where the cherished holiday poem gets a heavy-lifting makeover. It's been over a decade since "Twas the Night Before the CrossFit Open - A poem" first flexed its muscles on my blog, The Moose is Loose, and now it's time to resurrect this gem for a round of holiday reps with a side of laughter.

Join me in a yuletide session where we reimagine a silent night filled, not with quiet snowfall, but with the anticipation of PR dreams and the clinking of barbells. 

We'll squat under the mistletoe as the story unfolds with Coach Glassman leading his eight tiny competitors in a workout of festive proportions—no chimney shimmies here - just the sound of athletes powering through with Christmas cheer. 

So lace up your Nanos and prepare for a sleigh ride of CrossFit cheer; it's the perfect companion to your eggnog recovery shake!

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Speaker 1:

Happy holidays, especially Merry Christmas. But you know what? My favorite, absolute favorite Poems of this time of year is Twins and it for Christmas, and this is going back over 10 years. But I remember on my blog the Moose is Loose. I don't know some of you remember that that far back. I can barely remember that far back, but I had that blog, themoosesloosecom, and I had done basically the CrossFit version. It's CrossFit version. So I'm going to read that right now To get everybody in the season and for all my CrossFit friends. I think they'll get a kick out of it. Be in this time of year. Let me get my reading voice up.

Speaker 1:

All right, okay, it was the night before the open went all through the box. Not a member was stirring, not even a coach. The jump ropes were hung by the garage door with care, in hopes that coach glassman soup would be there. The athletes were nestled all snug in their beds while vision of PRs danced in their heads, judges resting and me, feeling at ease, had just settled ourselves for some fascia release when out on the driveway there arose such a clatter. I burped from the floor to see what was the matter. Away to the entrance I flew like Dan Bailey, swung open the bay doors and threw up my hoodie. The pylon light on the freshly paved street gave life to the chalk outlines of tires that we beat. When, what, to my questioning, I should appear but a miniature prowler and eight tiny competitors, with the old driver so lively on course, I knew in a moment that must be the coach, more rapid than marathoners, his athletes. They came and he grunted and shouted and called them by name Now Fronny, now Chan, now Casper Bauer and Pan chick on Thor's daughter, on Fuchsia, on Fortunato and Cleaver Push, pull that prowler, give me a dozen more wall balls now, sprint away, sprint away, sprint away. All as dry, chalk on the hands before Fran flies. When they meet with an obstacle, no one ever cries. So up to the box the athletes. They flew with prowler in tow and with the screaming coach to, and then, in an instant, I heard from the box the clanging and thumping of each weight as they draw.

Speaker 1:

As I drew in my head and was turning around descending the rope, coach came with a bound. He was dressed in wad gear from his head to his toes and his clothes were great, with a white chalky glow, a bundle of wad gear he had flung on his back and he looked like a street trader, just opening his back. His eyes, how they lit up, his five o'clock shadow, his mischievous sneer, and cheeks as they billowed. His lip curled up was drawn like a chain on a bar and his chin started to quiver as he grunted three, two, one, hey, the butt of a paleo stick he held tight in his teeth and a cloud of chalk and circled his head like a reed. He had a stern face and a big barrel chest that shook when he screamed in me more rough.

Speaker 1:

He was stoic and strong, a right, serious coach, and I gassed when I saw him in fear of reproach. A wink of his eye and a knot of his head soon gave me to know I had no wad to dread. Coach spoke not a word but went straight to his work and filled all the gear packs, then turned with a jerk and laying his forefingers on top of his strong chin, he gave me a belief to have no fear and begin. He sprang to his prowler to his team, gave jolt and away. They all sprinted like one you same bolt. But I heard him explain as he passed at a site happy CrossFit, open to all and to all. A good night.

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