Twas the Night Before the CrossFit Open - A poem

Twas the Night Before a CrossFit Christmas (aka the CrossFit Open)

Twas the Night before the Open, when all through the box

Not a member was stirring, not even a coach.

The jump-ropes were hung by the garage door with care,

In hopes that Coach Glassman soon would be there.

The athletes were nestled all snug in their beds,

While vision of PR’s danced in their heads.

Judges resting and me feeling at ease,

Had just settled ourselves for some fascia release.

When out on the driveway there arose such a clatter,

I burpeed from the floor to see what was the matter.

Away to the entrance I flew like Dan Bailey,

Swung open the bay doors and threw up my hoodie.

The pylon light on the freshly paved street,

Gave life to the chalk outlines of tires that we beat.

When, what to my questioning eyes should appear,

But a miniature prowler! and eight tiny competitors!

With a little old driver, so lively and coarse,

I knew in a moment it must be The Coach.

More rapid than marathoners his athletes they came,

And he grunted, and shouted, and called them by name.

“Now Fronning! now, Chan! Now, Kasperbauer and Panchik!

On, Thorisdottir! On, Foucher! On, Fortunato and Clever!

Push, pull that prowler! Give me a dozen more wall balls!

Now sprint away! Sprint away! Sprint away all!”

As dry chalk on the hands before “Fran” flies,

When they meet with an obstacle, no one EVER cries.

So up to the box the athletes they flew,

With prowler in tow, and with the screaming Coach too.

And then, in a instant, I heard from the box

The clanging and thumping of each weight as they dropped.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

Descending the rope Coach came with a bound.

He was dressed in WOD gear, from his head to his toes,

And his clothes were grayed with a white-chalky glow.

A bundle of WOD gear he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a street trader, just opening his pack.

His eyes-how they lit up! his 5 o’clock shawdow!

His mischieveous sneer and cheeks as they billowed.

His lip curled up was drawn like a chain on a bar,

And his chin started to quiver as he grunted “3, 2, 1, go!”

The butt of a paleo-stick he held tight in his teeth,

And a cloud of chalk encircled his head like a wreath.

He had a stern face and a big barrel chest,

That shook when he screamed, “give me one more rep!”

He was stoic and strong, a right serious coach,

And I gasped when I saw him, in fear of reproach!

A wink of his eye and a nod of his head,

Soon gave me to know I had no WOD to dread.

Coach spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled all the gear packs, then turned with a jerk.

And laying his fore fingers ontop his strong chin,

He gave me belief to have no fear and begin.

He sprang to his prowler, to his team gave jolt,

And away they all sprinted like one Usain Bolt.

But I heard him exclaim, as he passed out of sight,

“Happy CrossFit Open to all, and to all a good night!”

Good luck everyone!  The Open is Upon us...