Look, I have often
dreamt of saving the world…I just didn’t think it would come so early in my
youth career.
I was going to
write about the Open starting next week and how I’m feeling extraordinarily
prepared to take the CrossFit world by storm.
But first I have to tell you about my brush with death and then my brush
with glory. If I had not saved the world
first, then the Open would not be happening.
All the world’s citizens would be slaves to some ugly aliens.
Let me explain.
A few days ago,
I was taking my daily evening walk down Hardy Street in Hattiesburg. I like to contemplate diplomacy and
international relations as I walk. This
particular evening, I was thinking about the escalating crisis with Iran,
its nuclear ambitions and the censure of the international community. While I was in this frame of mind, a flying
saucer accosted me. Yes, a flying saucer. I had seen them before, of course. In Tavalos, they are always landing and
disturbing my people. This one was
silver and ovaltine shaped and before I ever had a chance it secured me in its
tractor beam. I was pulled up into the
belly of the beast where I was confronted by the leader of the space
aliens. He was a humanoid figure that
did not look so radically different from the residents of Mississippi. In other words, this alien had a bulging gut,
googly eyes and a large tongue that wiggled around like a snake.
All of his henchmen
were big-boned too. Right away I knew how I could
defeat them.
“Send word to
your leaders that we are here to enslave you,” the master alien said.
“Go to hell,” I
replied.
“This hell,
where is it?”
The aliens were
not only fat, they were dumb too.
We talked for a
while and I gave them a false history of earth and found out that I was dealing
with one of the most moronic alien tribes in the universe.
I said, “Are you
a sporting tribe, sir?”
Spit or snot
dribbled down the master alien’s green chin.
Then he said, “We are a race of fine athletes, indeed.”
I laughed.
“You mock me,
sir?” he asked.
“Not at all,
sir. I just doubt your words. Would you accept an athletic challenge? And if you lost would you then leave my
precious planet alone?”
It took me half
an hour to explain Reebok’s sport of fitness.
I described the famous girl WOD called Angie involving 100 pull-ups, 100
push-ups, 100 sit-ups and 100 air squats.
The aliens
produced a Rogue pull-up cage from out of nowhere; they must have beamed one
up. I limbered up, worked up a good
sweat. I was a little worried because my
pull-ups are still not so good but I felt confident that I would be better at
them than the fat master alien. He
looked strong but I was sure he would suck at these bodyweight movements
because of his girth.
And I was
right. The alien got stuck on
pull-ups. I finished with a PR of
31:27.
“Champion of
Earth!” the master alien said, his fat belly heaving. He was still out of breath as he raised my
hand in victory. His alien hand was
slimy.
“So you will
leave my planet alone?” I asked.
“Until next
time,” he said and I could hear his laughter as I was beamed back down to
earth. You can’t trust aliens but for
now they were gone.
So to
CrossFitters everywhere, I say: You owe me one!
If not for Rico, you would not be looking forward to the Open! Presently, you would be a space slave serving
a band of fat aliens and how ironic would that be? The fittest on Earth serving the fattest in
the universe!
Good luck this
week!
Sincerely,
Rico
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