Dear Karen,

What happened?  Why have you forsaken me?  You and I used to be so good together.  Whenever I felt worthless or weak I would use you to build myself back up by “doing” you in under 5 minutes.  I used to do you over and over, and it was always so satisfying.  I used to do you in private, with my own clock.  And I used to do you in public, to the admiration of others.  Is that why you torture me and haunt me so now?  Was I too boastful?  Did I use this wonderful thing called CrossFit for the wrong purposes?  Would you have preferred if I had kept our numerous liaisons private?  Is that it?  Are you upset that I left you for the other Girls?  Like Grace?  And Helen?  Don’t you remember how much fun it was as I rode up and down and up and down with that delicious round weight cradled in my arms against my chest.  Dropping down then rising up and heaving the weight to the target over and over.  Don’t you remember how I’d start slow, then build, then build, then finally find that powerful rhythm until we could both sense the end, the completion, that amazing release that left me gasping on the floor, bathed in sweat, bathed in your glory, dripping in your passion, sated as only you could do.

So why do you mock me now?  Why do you do this to me?  In public.  Is it a combination of things that lurk inside your twisted Byzantine mind?  Is it the replacement parts?  No, that can’t be it, because I lift heavier than ever.  Is it how infrequently I visit you?  No, that can’t be it either because the other girls I only do occasionally still let me have my way with them.  They let me toy with their 95# or 1 pood kettles and post my times to the admiration of my peers.  They don’t mind that I do them in public, if only once every other month.  So what is it?  My front squat is double what it used to be, my back squat triple.  That 20# feels so light in my hands, so light as I ride down with it then explode up and up. 

So what is it?  What?  Are you pointing at my log book or my gut?  Both you say?  You say the log book shows too much strength work and not enough motor work?  And my gut spilling over my pants shows the inescapable toll of ice cream, cookies, chocolate, and other decadence?  Is that it?  You feel  you have to punish me because I overeat?  Because I have been seducd by the power of 500 pound deadlifts and 250 pound clean and jerks?  Is that it.  You hate me because I love another? 

That’s not it?  What are you saying?  What?  I’m punishing myself?  How can that be?  I’m delusional?  I’m self-sabotaging by picking and choosing and becoming a specialist?  You want a more rounded man?  Someone who lifts and yet can still ride you up and down with that old increasing powerful tempo we used to have?  Is that it?

I thought you were cruel this morning when you mocked me with that 13:42 staring down from the clock in large pulsating red numbers.  But now you are being even more cruel than I thought you could be.  I’d seen you humble other men and other women.  I never knew you would be that way to me.  You don’t have to be that way.  What did I ever do to you?  What?  I thought I mastered you?  Is that it?  And then I abandoned you for the comforts of cold steel bars, thick rubber bumper plates, soft ice cream, and liquid forgetfulness?  Is that it?  Why do you feel like you need to remind me of these things.  You’re a bitch Karen.  I hope I never see you again.  No wait, I didn’t mean it.  Come back.

I’m not upset about the Open any more.  About how you crippled me after just 142 reps.  How you held me back from the dubs and muscle ups.  I’m not mad at you for exposing my flaws like that in public.  Didn’t I just do you again today?  The best I could.  Haven’t I worked on “Air Karen” and 6# Karen?  Don’t they count?  Come back.  Please let me do you again, better, the way we used to be.  It’s not too late.  I’ll get better.  I promise.  What?  You don’t want me to do you until my gut is smaller?  How can I get a smaller gut if you won’t let me do you?  Paleo?  Zone?  Half the sugar and crap?  Karen don’t do this to me.  What?  I’m doing it to myself.  Karen, come back, please.

I wonder what tomorrow’s WOD will be…