This picture was taken about 6 years ago at the CrossFit Games. Pukey the Clown and I shared a staredown in the vendor village while my brother was busy winning his 2nd Affiliate Cup.
The CrossFit Games are a blast; whether watching the competitors, the dudes with fresh haircuts and low self-awareness, the free stuff at the vendor village, or the totes awesome food – you’re going to have a good time.
Sadly, I’m not going this year. Not as a spectator, or a competitor. I didn’t even get the Wildcard invite like Hunter McIntyre. I’m as disappointed as you are.
Anyways, I’ve met several variations of Pukey, and this week was maybe my most hated rival. We’re talking Burpee burps, running yacks, mid-WOD puke and rally, post workout spins, and the dreaded Fran cough-and-turn-your-head.
But never before have I experienced the Baby-Yeck from your shorts to your neck.
Yes, my baby vomited on me.
No, it’s not a surprise. This is a daily occurrence because sweet little #akaRoy has something called reflux and he spits up after every feeding, jostling, and dad’s dance moves. If there is ever a vomit competition in the CrossFit Games, my baby boy is going to dominate Fraser-style.
Here’s a quick story of why this is different:
We’re in Las Vegas visiting family. Daddy (that’s me) is holding baby while he warms up and mommy fixes his bottle. They’re in a clubhouse weight room, about 200 yards away from the house. He’s jostling the baby, but the baby doesn’t have anything in his tummy. Hence, why he’s now crying.
Daddy brings baby in for a kiss.
Baby continues crying.
Daddy munches on the baby.
Baby’s tongue shakes like a rattle snake.
Daddy sings to baby.
Baby lets out a massive “bleh,” emptying out his stomach, and calling on his ancestors to find the power of more white, hot stomach goo to shoot onto daddy.
Daddy takes it.
Daddy hands baby back to mommy.
TLDR: I’m covered in baby vomit, but too far away to go back to the house and change.
This workout is a sprint. It’s fast and meant to be a grind. Push-ups aren’t especially metabolic (am I using that right?) and Front Squats don’t typically get you out of breath, but just like flint and steel, put them together and you make FIRE.
The Workout – “Stationary Sprint”
8 Dumbbell Front Squats, 25 lbs
5 Round For Time
I’m doing this workout in a clubhouse gym in Las Vegas. However, my older kids want to swim. So we’re going to do this workout poolside.
3… 2… 1… Go!
I’ve recently started playing Dungeons and Dragons. My character is a Rogue Halfling named Roscoe. He’s got a rough background (former criminal) and some pretty sick skills (stealth and lockpicking).
Why am I telling you this? Because that’s what I’m thinking about during my first set. The baby has decided he doesn’t want his mom to hold the bottle while he feeds, yet he has the hand-dexterity of a 5 month old and is crying because it keeps falling. He’s going to be an awesome teenager.
He’s crying like he just found out he looks like me. I’m drowning out the sounds of his tears with thoughts of DnD, and that makes me a nerd.
Sidebar: Anything that used to be nerdy is now cool. Why? Because the word cool is now being properly used.
My squat depth is perfect. You ain’t going to find a butt-wink over here! I might have to be a adjunct professor for Squat University. 8 reps is straight $.
Push-ups aren’t too bad. I usually stop after 10 to take a break on most WODs, but this one is only 12 reps per round… so let’s dance.
Speaking of dancing…
I feel like there should be a break programed into this workout. If I finish too fast, Joanie is likely to ask me to help with the baby. Maybe I should take my time on each rep in order to focus on proper form and avoid being a parent.
Front squats are a fickle beast. They’re more intensive on the quads and core, but sometimes they can really make you sweat. I’m feeling the burn, but the weight is light enough where I know I’ll be able to push through.
New declaration: unbroken front squats each round.
Push-ups are good. I recently worked out with my brother and he yelled at me because I was moving my butt too much on each PUs.
Sidebar: Push-ups = PU… also know as the sound you make when something stinks, pee-yew.
My Push-ups, pee-yew.
I feel everything now. The squats are suddenly wayyy heavier. It’s like someone switched the weights with something an actual athlete would use. Less than a minute ago, I was trying to delay time and now I’m feeling my squads soak up lactic acid from my gallbladder.
Push-ups start to look like a yoga pose. (That’s not a good thing).
I’m holding the weight, convincing myself 16 reps of Frontal Squats isn’t that much.
I do each of the 8 unbroken, I’m back k to living with Pukey the Clown in the CrossFit Games. Next time I go to the games (as a spectator), I’m going to challenge him to some kind of workout competition. Except midway through, #akaRoy is going to spit on him like the dinosaur from Jurassic Park.
That’s how we win in this family, Roy.
Push-ups on this round are way harder. It’s like I should have taken a break on the 10th rep each set. My chesticles feel wrapped up and pulled down. I’m resting the side of my cheek on the floor. Hair is sticking to my forehead. Not my hair. Nor my wife’s. Baby is bald.
Oh good Lord. It belongs to someone else. A stranger.
Stranger hair on me!!! I wipe it away, another piece sticks to me. I want to scream, but Joanie has gotten the baby to sleep. Ewww. This is gross. Did someone get a haircut in here?
Listen, as someone who has an excessive amount of body hair, I don’t typically find issue with the stringy do-das, but when it’s long locks belonging to a stranger who clearly was using Nair.
It’s gross, but I finish my Push-ups.
My goal was sub-4:30. That means I have 45 seconds to power through. I take a deep breath and look at my dumbbells. They don’t look back at me, because they’re dumbbells. I pick them up, rest them on the front of my shoulders and begin my decent. I can feel the wooble in my legs.
Your warmups is my dance routine.
Not sure why that thought came into my head. Each squat is a step towards self-destruction. I’m the one who rises from the ashes. No rep will be different than the last, and this time that’s a good thing. I’m going to finish strong, and then jump in a swimming pool.
Remember how I said the baby puked on me?
Well now there’s a smudge of vomit on the floor where I was doing Push-ups.
I put myself right back into my baby’s yack-trial and hair graveyard and start doing push-ups. Joanie is trying to take a good picture while she cheers me on. Sadly, there ain’t going to be a good picture. Not with me and my current status/surroundings. I ain’t exactly photogenic to begin with, but you add exhaustion with destruction and you’re seeing a really nasty human. Maybe that’s why I don’t get invited to the CrossFit Games.
I get them done, too tired to move. Hair’s on my face, I don’t even care anymore.
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Tune in next week for another Death to Dadbod.
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