Shoulder press 3/3/3/3/3
My diet went horribly, tragically wrong today. I’m just going to cover my eyes, plug my ears, hum, and pretend it didn’t happen. La, la, la. I didn’t eat you.
On a different, non-CrossFit note, the Weather Dog is predicting trouble. My good old dog Beetle has deep neurosis about thunderstorms or rain, and an uncanny ability to predict them. When bad weather does come and she hasn’t been able to sneak into the garage, she’s on you like Scooby on Shaggy when you step out the door. I gave her a dog biscuit tonight and she took it into the garage and hid it, then came out and looked around nervously. The Weather Dog is storing emergency supplies. That can’t be good.