A-bomb Day


Today was a freakin’ A-bomb of a day. No, not read as “a bomb day”, like unicorns shat hundred dollar bills in my hands, but as “A*ss-bomb day”, like unicorns just shat. Yes, Merriam-Webster, ‘shat’ is, in fact, the past tense of shit. ‘Shitted’ is just ridiculous. 

Today, I woke up with my throat drier than the Sahara, my nose stuffier than an abandoned storage unit on Hoarders and my stomach more bloated than Kate Upton after she’s inhaled three double cheeseburgers, during her Sports Illustrated photoshoot. I decided to hike up a denim skirt I haven’t worn in three years and some boots anyway because I thought (or really, really, really wanted to believe) that I could conceal my gross sickness with the illusion of being well-kempt. Well, it turns out that it doesn’t matter if you’ve finally chosen to brush your hair or you straighten your back more when you walk – you can’t hide the misery in being ill. All that thick, green mucus clogging up your sniffer? Everyone can see it. They’re just too polite/disgusted to say anything about it.


Look at this hilarious picture I found on Google.

Today, I nearly hit my head against the table falling asleep during some classmates’ presentations. Some girls have SUCH a strong Legally Blonde accent, where every? like, two words? in every sentence?? like, curls up tonally? like a question?? 


It’s not that they are uneducated human beings, but it certainly sounds like it. They could be debating the complications of the string theory, for all I know, and I’d still want to punch a wall. Or their face. 

Today, I went to the grocer’s and found out they didn’t have any stonefruit in stock. NO PEACHES, NECTARINES, PLUMS. Agh, what am I going to do with myself? I guess I’ll just have to satiate my cravings by staring at this guy’s bum.


Thank you, sister, for sending this picture to me. If you haven’t Googled ‘French rugby team calendar’, your life is about to change. 

Today, I went into the gym preparing for a new PR on my deadlift. 185lbs was the goal, which isn’t much compared to my recent PR of 175. I ate so much carbs throughout the day just to build my body up for it. I was so proud of myself when I passed on a free fresh bagel and paid for a gluten-free lemon cookie (whose brand name I shall not mention). It had all these words on it like VEGAN, GLUTEN-FREE, ORGANIC, NO REFINED SUGARS, and so I ate it, feeling good about my decision. And then it turned into this chalky, gloppy paste in my mouth that tasted like toilet cleaner sugar syrup –  it was SO sweet, I felt my molecules vibrate two fold. In fact, I probably almost vanished for a moment. Why on earth would anyone ever eat that and HOW on earth could it constitute a delicious, nutritional treat, I don’t know. I could’ve probably used it to chalk up for the CTBPUs we did today. 

And of course, I ate 90% of it before accepting that the next bite will never taste better.

Today, we did a WOD with 21-15-9 deadlifts and CTBPUs. Just as I called ‘time’ on the last pull up, the band around my foot pulled at my left knee so that I felt it dislocate again. For those of you who don’t know (which means all of you, really), I’ve had a torn ACL for nearly 8 years and I never did the surgery. I was 14 when it happened during a basketball game and was told I was too young to operate on at the time. 8 years passed and I learned how to adapt to the instability by building the muscles around it and focusing on linear movements. Long story short, I did everything I could to not let it hold me back. 

Today, I broke down like a little girl. 

It’s not the pain that struck me hard, but the slap in the face from reality that I’m not getting stronger. I’m still weak. And that is one of my biggest fears. Strength and power. That’s the juice I feed on when I’m doing CrossFit. When, just for those 15 WOD minutes, I get to feel like I’m performing at my 100% again. 


We went from talking about unicorn poop to my depressing knee injury. O woe is me! O woe is me! I came home crying and began to cook grilled asparagus and tomatoes in burnt butter sage sauce, and all was good in the world again. I am now typing this with one leg resting on my trashcan, wrapped in an ice pack with my strengthwrap. 

Photo on 10-17-13 at 11.05 PM

I also had very interesting conversations with some good pals of mine about our lives and other important stuff. The question posed was,

“What is your ground?”

I came to the conclusion that the reason why I’ve felt like a floating island is because I have no ground. Or I’m still searching for it. I don’t deal well with stability and never have, so it’s hard to find a constant anchor when you’re never in the same place for long. I thought CrossFit was it but after today, after thinking about how many times I’ve cried in the gym this past month, I am not too sure. Not too sure at all about this love-hate relationship. Don’t get me wrong – I would never give it up, EVER. But a ground is supposed to be something that holds you together and makes you feel whole again, right? Yes, nothing like an emotionally-stimulating conversation over hot tea made by a wise, all-knowing guru Indian housemate. 

This is the end of my post. End.


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