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Have you ever seen a dog chained up in a yard go after a squirrel, completely forgetting that he is on a chain that only goes so far? Well, that’s kind of what I looked like today during the fist WOD of the Disney Fitness Challenge.

Why was I stopped dead in my tracks like a dog in a yard on a chain chasing a squirrel. BECAUSE THEY DOUBLED THE WEIGHT IN THE SLED AND DIDN’T TELL US! That’s right. I got to the sled pull assuming that the race organizers were going to stick with the WOD they posted online and also published in a athletes guide. That WOD had us doing a sled pull with #45 – which is a piece of cake.

However, I got to the sled pull in the WOD and took off like a bat out of hell for about 12 feet, then came to a sudden, humiliating stop. The weight has been upped to #90 – a little more tricky to pull, especially on wet grass.

The race organizers also completely changed the second WOD just moments before we started. The pullups and toes to bars were substituted with butterfly sit-ups and renegade rows.

So, I did not exactly have a “magical” day here at the Disney Fitness Challenge despite the efforts of so many Disney employees who kept telling me to have a “magical” day.

Overall, I’ve got to say I had fun and didn’t finish last. I’m second to last. However, I am the oldest. There is just no way I can keep up with those pesky 40 year olds. The only other woman over 50 isn’t competing tomorrow which means – I WIN THE 50+ CATEGORY!!!! Woohoo.

I just have to finish – which means I better get into my compression tights, take an Advil and get to bed.

Sweet dreams of hurdles, axle bars and toes to rings dancing in my head.



Powerball was up to about $199 gazillion last Saturday. Whenever it gets into the gazillions, I start plotting the end of my old life and the beginning of my new, less-wrinkled, more rested life.

I sneak into the office late at night, clear out all my crap, get a big, black Sharpie and write SAYONARA on an 8″ x 11″ piece of white paper, tape it to my computer screen and walk the hell out. 1957-sayonara-german-movie-poster-detail

I have a problem with “work.” Not the kind of work we do with barbells, boxes, jump-ropes and torture devices such as the Airdyne.

I’m talking about “work” – the “work” you do to pay your mortgage and put your kid through college. That 40-hour-a-week thing that turns out to be more like 50-hours-a-week. I wouldn’t mind it so much if we could just move those “work” hours to another part of the day – like the part when I’m asleep. Then I could sleep-work!

“Work” always get the best time of the day. That 10 hours smack in the middle, when you have a lot of energy. Which means that you have to fit your WOD in between the sleeping part and the “work” part. Of course you also have to fit the laundry, grocery shopping, yard work, vacuuming, errands and doctor appointments in the that time, too.


It’s time! Watch live now.

So there I was at the Southeast Regionals, minding my own business and hitting people up for donations at the booth for our local Steve’s Club, when a couple of guys came by and asked if I was competing in Clash of the Fittest. “Nope,” I told them.

“Well, a woman on our master’s team dropped out and we need a replacement. Wanna do it?”

Now, I did not know these guys from Adam but I could see no reason to break my 50+ year string of saying “yes” to strange men, so I said “Heck ya!”

The competition is this Saturday and I’m sure it will be a blast – as soon as I locate my teammates. But I am already miffed about the whole “Masters” division thing. More specifically, who the f#ck decided 40 is old enough to be in the Master’s division? Are you kidding me? Hell, at 40 I didn’t even have gray hair and I could stay up late enough to watch Saturday Night Live.

Why am I – 54-years-old – competing against 40-year-olds?


If you are over the age of 40 and you do Crossfit, you know why we need our own blog. Sure we have less cartilage, hair and hormones than those whipper-snappers banging out the handstand push-ups and 30-inch box jumps.

But we can seriously kick your collective asses when it comes to…comes to…comes to…big kahunes.

Do you have any idea how much gumption a 55-year-old woman in menopause must have to walk into a box w/out air conditioning and try to dead-lift a 65lbsĀ trick next to a supple, tan 20-something-year-old blonde with a bootie that would make Kim Kardashian cry and breasts that defy gravity, who is yawning while dead-lifting #205?

Or the 60+ year-old guy who could be driving around on a golf cart, swinging sticks and drinking gin and tonics but instead decides to take his bald head to the nearest Crossfit box and try to squat below his knees with Mr. six-pack abs watching?

Oh, and did I mention they’re doing this with Kanye and Eminem blasting?

I like to think we’re special. My chiropractor thinks we’re idiots. Still we go, despite the aches and pains and Kanye. Damn the muffin-tops and man-boobs. We’re gonna WOD right next to you. And we’re going to love it and you love us back.

Two years ago, at age 52, I drank the Crossfit Kool-aid. I am now a Level One trainer and still love Crossfit. But I do have unique issues that don’t revolve around getting drunk and laid. I need someone I can talk to about glucosamine, arthritis and whether 40-year-olds should even be considered Masters.

I – and hopefully you – need a blog. So, here we go. Have at it!