CrossFit Athletic Group

On paper, "Coffland" looked like a harmless hero workout.

But it became evident early that harmless was not the right word. Harmful, maybe. Harmlots. Harms. Something that has to do with your entire upper body screaming in pitches only Mr. Z can hear. The run penalty was paradise; we modified with 400m instead of 800s because Shannon, Murley, and Matt were not present.

In a world before Nick Bewick existed we had a character named Pat. I didn't think he was going to make it at the Champions Club at first, but he just kept showing up every day and brought us these foods imported from the Far East that tasted like some Viatnamese person got bored with yeast. That sort of thing just grows on you after a while I guess. Pretty soon he was a fan-favorite from Mrs. Carey to David Saporito.

So back to "Coffland." People were dying. Alan hung from the garage door bars with his tiptoes on the ground and still took over a half hour to finish the workout. But the 6:30 pm session was going to be my saving grace. Here was my projected order afgter assessing the room:

• 1st place: Jay. Manmonkey who could not ask for a better workout to suit him.
• 2nd place: Fry. At this point, she was probably in the best shape she's ever been in her life (including Summer 2018).
• 3rd place: Josh Howey. Juniormanmonkey/wraastler. 8th grader but his hands are freaking huge.
• 4th place: Rachael Kroll. She was still milking that foot surgery and got to cut the run short
• 5th place: Pat. Maybe next year after gainz.
• 6th place: Avery. Bad at hanging. Really good at running. It should balance out.
• Last place by forever: Mrs. Pip. Bad at hanging. Bad at running. No deadlifts or back squats. The opposite of Jay's view on this workout.

At 0:00 they all jumped up and hung. At 0:03 Mrs. Pip came off the bar; I knew I'd have to change the rules for her. She got 2 attempts before running. Then Avery dropped. Then Kroll. Then... okay what the hell Josh Howey, were you just bored?? Then Fry. Surprisingly it was Pat and Jay still on the bar at 2 minutes. At 2:11, Jay Junkin let go of the bar and furiously headed out the door for the run. Pat, the 30-point road underdog had won.

When Jay got back from his run, Pat was still hanging from the bar.

"What the f#@% Pat," blurted Jay when he came in.

"That's right," said Pat. "All day, son." And that was that. Jay's ego died on November 20, 2017.

The next morning I walked into the gym at 8:07 to prepare for the max effort deadlifts about to take place. And there was Pat, still hanging from the bar. Or, at least part of him. His hands were firmly wrapped around the bar, hook grip, shoulders in an externally rotated position, only there was no body attached to it. 8 feet below on the floor laid the remains of Pat's torso and legs decomposing on the floor. A small family of crickets gathered around to feast on whatever the fungus left behind. For insurance purposes, I opted against filing a police report and cleaned up the entire scene before a surprisingly populated 8:30 am session rolled in. But they say the ghost of Pat L still haunts those black pull-up bars and grants strenth (pronounced without the "g") to those who pay sacrifice and overly sweaty hands to those who don't. Oddly enough nobody has used those bars since.