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Welp, NaNo is over, which means I can now write without being overwhelmed with guilt about writing what I want to write instead of what I’m supposed to be writing, which I still like but which is not as much fun (and you guys I think this is why I’m not an artist if it sounds too much like work I have to run away from it).  My lingering flu is still lingering thickly at the bottom of my lungs, which made today’s WOD no fun at all.Strength was a 3×5 strict shoulder press.  I have this theory that someday I will press over 100# (45 kg and a handful of change).  Actually, that might just be a hypothesis about my future ability.  It’s hypothesis, test, theory, test, law, right?  So I’m at hypothesis.  I had a cunning plan to do my 3×5 at 85# but… um, not today.  80 (36+ kg) was the limit.  Also I do this really clever thing where if I’m really struggling to shoulder press I rise up on my tippytoes.  Cause that’s gonna help, right?  My feet say “it’s ok! legs GOT this!” and my shoulders say “NO I SUPPOSED TO DO IT BY MINE SELFS.” 

Metcon was a really REALLY ugly stepchild of Fight Gone Bad.

4 minutes to complete: 400m Run; max burpees

rest 1 min

4 minutes to complete: 10x Clean and Jerks 135/95; 15 Burpee over the bar; max Double Unders

 rest 1 min

 4 minutes to complete: 20 Pull ups; 15 pushups; max wall balls

Score: number of reps completed total for “max” elements (61, as RX’ed)

Because it was raining like a rainy thing that rains a lot, we were “graciously permitted” to sub in a 500m row for the 400m run.  The way this WOD works is you have a buy-in for each 4 minute chunk, and then spend the rest of the 4 minutes suffering through the “max” portion, completing as many reps as possible.

Honestly, it was a lot more fun than I thought it would be, it was just really difficult to do and control my breathing so that I didn’t have massive coughing fits.  I’d like to come back and do it again when I’m healthy.

In completely unrelated news, The Boy is in Seattle for a business trip and I’m single parenting all the dogs and cats until tomorrow night.  So that’s a thing.  And he took my new baby car with him.  Yeah.  Jerk took my Mini Cooper, left me with the lumbering Miserable SUV.  I mean, it’s fine.  For an SUV.  It goes fast enough, has a good stereo, holds a lot of people, and will tow things.  That’s why we got it.  But it is no Mini Cooper.

And in related to that ranty news, here is a rant for you.  Parental guidance suggested.  Parents, if you don’t know some of the terms I’m about to use, take notes.  You may need them someday.  Just not while your kids are at the “repeat everything I say” stage, which is why Wrigley’s Spearmint will always be “some fucking gum” to my family.

Attention assholes who use the parking garage across from my work.  There are two kinds of parking spaces in this parking garage.  Compact, which are cleverly marked with a “<C>” and … not compact.  STFU, I’m ignoring the handicapped spaces, sometimes I consider amputation for the sake of parking.

Anyway, there are lots and lots and lots of compact spaces.  The entire center of the garage is compact spaces.  And one half of the outer spaces on each level are … not compact, you know what, I’m going to call them AWESOME.  DO you know why they’re AWESOME, asshole?  Because I can park my motherfucking SUV in them.  It’s not a big SUV.  It’s certainly no quad-cab dual-axle penis implant hick truck meant to haul a fifth wheel.  But it’s too big to fit in a compact space.  I’ve tried.  I’ve MEASURED.  My wheels? they touchy the yellow lines on either side simultaneously.  And since you insist on parking your punk ass as close to the lines and as crookedly as possible, that means I have approximately four inches of space in which to open my goddamn door.  Not to mention my butt hangs out where one of you shitstains is going to whack your pretty sparkly paint job into it and not leave a note.  You, on the other hand, fit neatly into the compact space with nearly a foot of room on each side, which means if you all stop parking like twatknuckles, you can ll have two feet of room to open your doors into.  You know what you do instead?  You Porsche (ok, Cayennes, you’re off the hook, but the rest of you), Mini, z5, Elantra, and motherfucking pantystained VESPA driving pigsnackers park in the OTHER spots.  LEAVE THE OTHER SPOTS FOR THE PEOPLE WHO NEED THEM.  Or I’ll park in the compact space behind you, so you can’t get out. 

Love, Me.