Crossfit: Two Months

I've been at Crossfit for two months now. TWO MONTHS. It took me a year to get up the courage to even attend. Finally, last December after being persuaded by my Crossfit-loving brother, Brock, I went for my "free" workout and while I felt energized and exhausted afterwards, I also was completely freaked out. That was one of the hardest things I had ever done. 

It took me two more months to gather the courage (and the funds) to start the beginner class. I knew I was walking into a place with a lot of warrior athletes. I knew I was going to stick out like sore thumb. I knew I was starting something that very literally scared me to pieces. 

It makes me think about junior high. You remember the presidential fitness tests? I just remember we always had to run the mile for those tests and I literally stunk at running. I felt terrible, I would get kind of light-headed and I was always the. slowest. person. Running a mile was an exercise in torture--physical, emotional and social. There is nothing like trailing everyone in your entire grade on the track to make you feel like a loser. I would see the slight, pretty, blonde girls run by with their pontyails bobbing perkily and I would catalog the injustice that I was not a part of their ranks. I would leave that track every single time thoroughly convinced that I was failure through and through. 

I know, I know, woe is me! You are playing the tiniest violin ever for me. Yada yada, I survived. The thing I found out in adulthood is that while I was mired in my own particular misery those same skinny, blonde girls were mired in their own. We all have challenges. I just had to learn how to face mine. 

I reminded myself about that as I walked back into Crossfit in early March. Just show up, I told myself. Try. Compliment others. Learn. After the first couple of times, I thought it would get easier. Nope. As soon as I would finish one Crossfit class, I would start worrying about the next one that was 48 hours away. Would I survive? Could I do it? Would I ever be able to do any of the moves fully? Was this really the most ridiculous thing I had ever undertaken? To say that I was panicked is no understatement. I remember the morning of the third class praying as I walked out of my door. "Please, just help me today. Help me." I didn't even know what to pray for. I just knew that what I was attempting felt herculean and I didn't feel capable. 

And things got a little bit better that day. I still felt exhausted and energized after the WOD (workout of the day). I still laughed maniacally at some of the things they wanted me to do (I'm sorry, pull my knees to my elbows all while hanging from a bar? Who does that?) and I scaled nearly every move. But I also found myself getting stronger and smoother each time. The best part though? That incredible feeling afterwards when my whole body felt magnetized and energized and alive. It has reminded me to respect my body and the great work it has done to carry me, lift me, and shoulder this life and this weight every single day. 

Has every workout been spectacular? No. Not even close. Do I still stick out like sore thumb? You betcha. Do I hate that part? Oh, don't you know it. But I've learned too. My pushups are stronger, my form has improved, I've never done so many squats in my life and every once in a while in the middle of a lift or a row or something, I feel it. Some part of me becomes strong and powerful and I feel myself growing. And that feeling makes want to keep going back.  


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