Twas the Night Before Christmas…at the gym


By Trey Tompkins - For the Record-Herald



Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the gym

Not a creature was stirring, not even grown, ugly men.

The stockings were hung by the squat rack with care,

In hopes that St. Arnold soon would be there.

The members were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of sweat-droplets streamed down their foreheads.

And the trainer with his frown, and I by his flank,

Had just set our minds to a 30-second plank.

When out in the parking lot arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my stance to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I hurried and jumped,

Tore open my T-shirt to show off being pumped

The moon on the breast of a new-fallen snow,

Gave the lustre of mid-day objects below.

When, what to delay my goals should appear,

But a weightlifting sleigh, and eight chiseled reindeer.

With a massive old driver, a broad intimidator,

I knew in a moment it must be The Terminator.

More rapid than Cross-Fitters his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

“Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!

On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, on Donner and Blitzen!

To the top of the roof! To the top of the obstacle wall!

Now flex away, flex away, flex away all!”

As runners that after the gun of a 5k,

When they meet with a road block, briskly jump away.

So up to the roof top the coursers they knew

With a sleigh full of Kettle-bells, and St.Arnold too.

And then, in an interval, I heard on the roof,

The prancing and pawing of each veiny hoof.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

Down the climbing rope St.Arnold came with a bound.

He was dressed all in sweats, from his toes to his cusps,

And his clothes were all sweaty from squats and push-ups.

A bundle of iron he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a giant, just opening his pack.

His forearms how they bulged! His pecks how scary!

His chin was like steel, his stance made me wary!

His calves flexed hard like in a body-building show,

And the intensity of his aura you may never know!

The weight of the bag he held tight in his grip,

But with such savvy strength it just wouldn’t rip.

He had broad shoulders and abs with such envy,

That veins popped out when he flexed, like in a Hollywood movie

He was shredded and jacked, a muscular old man,

I flinched when I saw him, in spite of my workout plan!

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled up the barbell, and cleaned with a jerk.

Then flexing is bicep with a firm grip that he chose,

And giving a nod, back up the climbing rope he rose.

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a command,

And away they all flew like cheetahs on dry land.

But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he yelled with a shout,

“Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good workout!”

The End

Original story by Clement Clarke Moore

Rendition by Trey Tompkins

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By Trey Tompkins

For the Record-Herald

Trey Tompkins is a local resident who writes fitness columns.

Trey Tompkins is a local resident who writes fitness columns.