Twas the night before
the Open Christmas, when all through the Reebok/CrossFit megabox house, not a competitive exerciser creature was kipping stirring, not even a Spealler mouse.
WODKilla socks stockings were hung by the coconut water machine chimney with care,
In hopes that
Dave Castro’s suit St Nicholas soon would announce anything heavy be there.
washed up college athletes children were nestled all snug in their overpriced recovery gear beds,
While visions of
cheat meals sugar-plums danced in their heads.
rich soccer moms mamma in her Lululemon ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
rolled out for two hours settled our brains for a 45 minute AMRAP of box jumps long winter’s nap.
When out on the
place we pretend to lift stones lawn there arose such a angry white people music clatter, I triple extended sprang from the Airdyne bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the
garage door window I flew like a Dan Bailey flash,
Sumo deadlift high-pulled Tore open the shutters and threw up the Pure Pharma banner sash.
Rich Dasher! now, Khalipa Dancer! now, Camille Prancer and Christmas Abbott Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, on Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the
rope porch! to the top of the well… wall wall!
row a marathon dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”
softballs dry leaves that grown men can’t throw before the wild hurricane fly,
Rich they met with an swimming pool obstacle, he tried not to die mount to the sky.
So up to the
Pendleton house-top the cheap single speeds coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of
Progenex Toys, and Castro St Nicholas too.
catapulted sprang to his wrapped hummer sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all
had a four inch verticals flew like the OCT showed us down of a thistle.
But I heard him
say over the walky-talkie exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of camera frame sight,
Open Christmas to all, and to all a torn achilles good-night!”