Three in the morning is a wonderful, magical time of day when Amazon is open and your credit card is burning a hole in your semi-hallucinatory consciousness. I bought my squat rack at 0300. My rower? Might have been closer to 0400, but still in that witching hour. When 0300 arrived on 12/28 my Amazon cart was full of goodies. A Roman chair, flooring, a programmable clock, a plate/bar rack, and DB shelving. All of it bargain basement priced to feed on the pathos of a populace fat with Christmas cheer and swimming in self-loathing and regret.
Bargains made sweeter by free shipping. Gods, I love shipping heavy shit for free. My UPS man hates me.
Thursday I got a call from a shipping company, asking if we'd be home on Friday. I was initially confused, trying to remember what I'd ordered. (I did mention that sometimes I am semi-hallucinatory at 0300, yeah?). Then it hit me. ASSAAAAAAAAULLLLT BIIIKKKKEEEE. They are in Carol Stream, IL, so less than 5 days after ordering, she was on her way. I thought it would take two weeks. I was stoked.
Then they gave me a delivery window. 0900-1200. Fuck delivery windows, okay? Fuck them.
Pulled up at 1135, then offloaded slooooowly.
So, I went to 515. For a WOD called Painstorm. I honestly don't recall if I've done it before. I may have blocked it out. It's a 40 minute AMRAP. Forty. Minutes. This is straight up crazy. I never count rounds during long AMRAPs. Partly because I don't care, and partly because I don't need my mediocrity pointed out to me. Not that you can really see well in the photo below, but my collarbones are bruised. Above my thumb and middle finger there are actually red lumps from catching cleans.
Soon they will take on the same hue as my hair.
Also #nomakeup #nofilter and shit.
But, my workout was done and there should be plenty of time to take delivery before I needed to leave for yoga, right? I'm not gonna miss Hip Hop flow, right?
I made breakfast.
East colorful shit. Make it pretty.
And then I waited.
And waited some more.
Did I mention I fucking hate delivery windows? For fuck's sake it's like being held hostage in my house. Can't leave. Can't make a phone call. Can't hop in the shower. Can't take a shit. Because you know the second you sit down and settle in for a little quality toilet time, the fucking doorbell is going to ring and you won't make it downstairs in time to catch the driver before he speeds away.
So I had a snack.
I got them jumbo carrot sticks.
And waited some more.
Dude barely made it in time for us to leave. Wanted to tell me his life story and wax poetic on the New Year. Motherfucker, drop that shit right here and get lost. I'M GONNA BE LATE FOR HIP HOP FLOW!
Fortunately, fantastic husband and I made class with a minute or two to spare. That meant we ended up in the middle and front of the room, respectively. I don't like being in the middle of the room. Makes me feel off balance. I like a wall to one side. That probably says something about my personality, but IDGAF.
After sweating through an hour of surprisingly useful stretching (Jenstar reads the WODs and tailors that shit for me...I'm pretty sure that's what happens. Either that or she's a witch.) and an almost headstand (I freaked out, there was squeaking), we ran some errands and headed home.
TO BUILD MY NEW ASSAULT BIKE, BITCHES!
About a year ago, I started constructing a home gym. By constructing, I mean I fought out some space in our basement. Fantastic husband had made noises about converting this part of the basement into a bedroom. It never happened. Being spectacularly impatient and impulsive, I cleared a bunch of stuff out, bought some equipment and claimed the space as my own. Behold my Mom Cave. Affectionately known as SpareDoor CrossFit. **please note SDCF is not an actual CF affiliate and is not associated with CrossFit in any way, shape, or form. Please don't sue me, Greg Glassman, I'm just a middle aged mom of three who works hard helping others and only uses the name in a tongue-in-cheek way as a hashtag in a private profile on Instagram.
See that mountain of shit back there?
I've been slowly perfecting it for months. Adding a 35# bar, a rower, rings, bands, a bench, a wallball, a KB, and (thanks to fantastic husband) more plates and a 20/24/30 box. This past week I decided that I wanted ALL THE SPACE. So I cleared it out.
Turns out all that shit was mostly empty boxes.
Today's delivery was the first stage of transformation.
EEEEE! Assault bike! Permanent rower position!
Over the next couple of weeks more will arrive, in the form of plate and bar storage and DB storage. Currently my DBs are just in a haphazard pile on the floor. Ain't nobody got time for that. Today we mounted some hooks for my resistance bands so they can be out of the way instead of constantly dangling from my pull-up bar.
Behold, the Spare Door.
I got the WOD clock mostly because trying to use the timer on my phone was a huge pain in the ass. I listen to my music loud and trying to hear the app beeping over the music was irritating, forget about watching the clock.
I CAN CONTROL TIME.
Here it is in it's 67% glory.
LOOK AT ALL THE ROOM FOR ACTIVITIES!
I can't describe how happy this makes me. It's probably idiotic (in fact, I know it is) but I can't wait to do actual walking lunges in my home gym. Stationary lunges make me want to ddddiiiiiiiieeeeeeee. There is so much more space now for whatever I want to do. That back corner will soon be inhabited by the aforementioned Roman chair (which will serve a similar function to a GHD, but less huge and expensive).
I just gotta keep that spare door. It's my goddamn mascot.
You may have noticed a lack of food pictures following my morning snack. That's because in all my excitement I may have forgotten to eat.
It's cool. We ordered pizza. Which I totally deserve so you can suck on your judgement.
I need a new squat rack. A heftier one, with a sturdier pull-up bar. That can wait, though.
It can wait until 0300...