The first rule of Jason Decker is that he can’t eat that. The second rule of Jason Decker is that it doesn’t matter because he’ll figure it out.
The first rule of team We Came For The T-shirts is we came to have fun. The second rule of team We Came For The T-shirts is we came to use a ridiculous volume of f-bombs.
All of the f-bombs. For emphasis, and so the slow kids can understand some of what we’re talking about. Everything is better when it involves profanity. Amusingly, the nurses were in charge of ensuring an appropriate number of fucks were given.
We rolled into 307 Crossfit as Team Coppertooth Crossfit, a full Beartooth Crossfit team and a joint Beartooth-Copper City team. Ultimately, the two teams were very close in abilities, which may have contributed to a friendly in-house contest within the context of the larger competition. This made it even more fun, as the teams leap-frogged each other across the weekend.
After sitting on the sidelines of the Rimrock Ruckus, I waxed poetic about all of the fun I watched my friends and loved ones having without me. It was fun, but in the way watching Indiana Jones is fun, when you could have grabbed the monkey statue and bullwhip yourself. I saw smiles, laughter, sweat and heard the crashing of heavy weights. I saw the joy of PRs and the disappointment of perceived failures. I was the failure at that event, standing on the sidelines.
Not this time.
I went to Casper to avoid work. I went to Casper to avoid homework. I went to Casper to spend time with my wife, away from the house, kids and weekend soccer games. I went to Casper to laugh with good friends. I went to Casper to sweat. I went to Casper to gag on the wonderful taste of lactic acid, having found the line, the limit, the end – and kept pushing it. I went to Casper to bleed for our team.
What will you bleed for?
Luckily, I only had to donate a few drops from hook-gripping a bar. Like some kind of witch’s brew, you only need a couple drops. I got off easy.
We took hits for our teams. Injuries (hopefully none serious) and personal limitations necessitated same gamesmanship across the weekend. We had to lift each other up and when one couldn’t, another would.
Event two involved a deck of cards. The first card determined whether a male or female would perform the movement, card two selected the number of reps and the third card picked the movement. Male, 2RM, bench press. Female, 5RM, weighted pullup. Female, 1RM, thruster. Male, 3RM, overhead squat.
Jason (#canteatthat) was good enough to take the hit on the overhead squat. I may have ended under the care of a medical specialist if I’d attempted to break parallel with a large amount of weight overhead. It would have been… Bad. But I got to hide from the movement and Jason got to kick mountains of ass. Trish, the girl who couldn’t do a pullup 2 years ago did 4 pullups with 30# hanging between her legs. It warms my cold heart and puts a smile on my face to see how far she’s come. I think Stesha gamed her pullups better and got that fifth rep.
Jamie, in an brazen effort to donate not only blood, but broken bones and overt trauma to the cause, had the best crash I saw all weekend on one of her thruster attempts. Impacting the uprights of the rack with a bar loaded above her bodyweight, her legs folded and she bent over backwards, falling all the way to the floor, with the bar over her neck.
Thank Jebus she’s thin.
As I was contemplating whether cleaning the weight off her chest was the right action, she began repeating, “I’m ok. I’m ok. I’m ok.” I don’t know if it was a pep-talk for the crowd descending upon her, or an affirmation for herself? I bet she’d admit to both.
Dayne and I managed the bench press for each team. I’m sure we both gamed it wrong and should have gotten just a little more. I know I did.
We came to Casper for T-shirts, fun, time away from other responsibilities and bold displays of functional fitness. I think I can say we weren’t disappointed. The event shirts were spiffy, and the “Krossfit 307 Makes you Phat” shirts? Hell, yes. Give me two, hot and fresh. I actually had to Google Krispy Kreme to see if there might be, by some magical twist of fate, one in Casper.
No. Such. Luck.
I laughed more during this trip than I have in weeks combined. If my abs are sore this morning (everything hurts), it’s from laughing to death at Old Chicago, and has nothing to do with the competition itself. I think that is healthy. If you weren’t with us, we may have been laughing at you. Or Dayne. Both are equally possible.
You get that poor bastard away from the stresses of running his own gym for a few minutes and he turns into the punch-drunk village idiot. It’s fun to watch. We probably all did. A pack of adults competing in Crossfit for time away from the house and to push back the creeping death of middle age.
I did no homework, housework, MRIs, liver biopsies… Nothing. Saturday, I had to do a bunch of handstand pushups, toes-to-bar, box jump-overs and clean and jerks. I got to watch family and loved ones do the same.
Every member of Team Coppertooth brought different strengths, abilities and capacities. Some were strong Saturday, others Sunday. Some were strong with weight, others just kept moving forever. I can’t jerk well – at all (You’ve got those tree-trunk legs, why don’t you use them – #redheadedbitchinthebootyshorts), so I did power cleans and military presses. Jamie and Jason quickly and impressively dropped under the bar and looked graceful and powerful .
Fuck you, I’ll work on my leg drive. Noted. Thanks.
The #redheadedbitchinthebootyshorts did a greater-than-bodyweight thruster. Think about that for a second. How WWF is that shit?
The final workout of Saturday was a metaphysical study in #russalmostdied and fuck Dayne “Torpedo” “Lying Donkey Show” Dyer.
After weeks of loudly and publicly proclaiming himself barely able to remain above water without a flotation device, we discovered that Dayne has the smooth, slicing re-entry stroke, vigorous flutter kick and literal bow-wake of someone who not only can swim, but may have been the 100 free swimmer and captain of his high school swim team. Fuck that guy. I told him as much after seeing his first length of the pool.
Loudly, middle fingers extended, two lanes away.
Taylor did same, only adding that little flick of his head and the running of the hand through the hair, while winking at several females poolside.
Hello, ladies. I’ll be your lifeguard.
Swimming 25m sprints, relay-style, as a team, before crawling out of the pool and climbing a 15-foot rope 20x as a team, while pedaling 200kcal on an Airdyne. I don’t know how many of the calories I was responsible for, but it impacted me worse than the others on We Came For The T-shirts. #russalmostdied. The rope climbs were easy, we got through them quickly. But the Airdyne mocked us, with a hundred calories to go and only 3-4 minutes to do that which we’d been unable to do for the first hundred.
I popped. I’ve not been that far into the pain cave in a very, very long time. Decades. Truly. One of the things that I love about team and partner workouts/competitions, is they force you to toe the line. In situations where you’d quit on your own, you force yourself to keep moving for the team. Chains and weak links and such.
Team BTCF pulled away.
We finished the Airdyne/rope climb with a few seconds to spare, but at the expense of Russell dying. Walking to the next station, a sandbag toss over a 52″ corral panel, I told Jason, “I’m not in a good place right now.” I think I kept the boys’ bags on pace with the girls’, so the team wasn’t waiting on me, I think – they could have been standing around me with their hands on their hips and I wouldn’t have known.
It turns out they were.
The final portion of this event was a 75-yard relay sprint. I could barely walk. My thighs were balloons of blood, lactate and hydrogen ions. They were not entirely under my control. I waddled.
I’m told the judge actually communicated with The Almighty on my behalf.
This event was personally embarrassing and did our team no favors in the overall standings.
If you’ve never done a multi-day athletic event, they can be a serious trip. You wake in stages. Establishing that you are first alive, you blink in the dark. What hurts? What doesn’t? What did I expect to hurt? Then, you sit up and do the same thing.
How do I feel now?
Repeat in stages for the next hour.
Everything and everyone seemed to be mostly alive and well for day 2.
Team BTCF dusted WCFTTS by a mile at the end of day 1. Crushed us. Embarrassed us.
Nice work, homies.
Turns out that We Came For The T-shirts is a morning team. Or a second day team? Day 2 went very, very well. Both Coppertooth teams finished mid-pack or better on a difficult first Sunday workout, requiring a pre-fatiguing row, then a snatch/thruster couplet and finishing with a muscle-up, burpee, squat-variant triplet.
We all woke Sunday assuming the final, mystery WOD was only for the top couple teams, and would require qualification well ahead of us in the team standings. Wrong. Sorry. Not so much. Jed, the announcer, informed me that yes, it’s for everyone and it’s going to be a doozy.
We all had to recalibrate when given this information. Following the morning workout, the masses gathered around the whiteboard for the big reveal. If Bob and Jillian had been there to introduce the workout under spotlights, it might have dialed it up a touch, but there was adequate suspense in their absence. Several of us had discovered parts that didn’t work very well and were generally pissed off about movement of any kind, let alone high-intensity, weighted movements under the the threat of a clock.
4×2 minute AMRAP. 1,2,3,4 the team would cycle through 20 wall-balls, 20 pullups, 20 deadlifts (more on this in a moment) and 60 double-unders. Each Coppertooth team had a member we wanted to hide from something. Dayne and I both had fucked up our backs during the first workout (he Sunday, me during the first workout of the competition) and were genuinely disinterested in doing deadlifts. He went first in their lineup to avoid them and WCFTTS decided that I’d go fourth to achieve the same effect. Both strategies failed, egregiously. Both injured backs did a full set of deadlifts.
This workout could not have gone any better for WCFTTS. Our best finish of the weekend, we got 10th, and weren’t beaten until the final couple heats of the top teams. There were smiles. The deadlifts had the paradoxical effect of making my back feel better, while ending Dyer’s weekend in agony.
Strange how that worked out.
Everyone brought strengths and weaknesses. I think our biggest strength as a combined gym was that we came with no expectations or pretense, other than to enjoy the hell out of a weekend in Casper.
We knocked that shit out of the park.
What started as an accidental joint team after miscommunication at BTCF, turned into a great weekend for two full teams, representing two great Montana gyms. We’re already talking about doing this competition again next year and making this an annual get together, though hopefully without election bullshit to repetitiously ebb into the conversation.
You all rocked it and I couldn’t be more proud.
The worst part of the weekend…
#adultproblems – dragging all of your friends to an out-of-town restaurant that has increased their already impressive prices by at least a time-and-a-half, and fired the good chef that same day. My apologies for #theincidentatthevirginian. Dinner, Friday night was the low point of the weekend, and we still laughed and carried on until we cleared out half a restaurant. Maybe it wasn’t that bad after all.
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