That’s my New Year’s resolution, my life resolution, my philosophy, my dream, my unicorn, my goddamn rainbow in the stormy sky.

Last night, at Crossfit, I tried harder at dear “Kelly”:

5 Rounds

400m Row

30 Box Jumps  20”

30 Wall Balls 12lbs

I tried harder but I did not do better.  Kelly kicked my ass. Box jumps and wall-balls always do. They are the kind of exercise where five reps feel pretty good. Fun even. Then my heart rate starts to increase. And my legs get wobbly. And my arms don’t want to act like normal human arms. By the 140th box jump, my legs didn’t want to play at all. I jump, I pause, I jump again and BAM not high enough. Now I’ve got an ugly scrape and a knot the size of a golf ball just above by ankle. Poor me.

And to do I get some pity? A little atta girl? No.  The coach says, “Not bad, but it’s not as good as Mark’s,” and she pulls out a picture of a bloody shin to giggle at.

Oh Crossfit, you silly game of torture.