Even though I’ve climbed Kilimanjaro, cycled solo across the Namib Desert and been coaching functional movement for the best part of five years, there was a time in my life when I was the last person you’d want to consult for advice on how to get fit and change your life for the better.
I was unfit, overweight and generally sucked at relationships. Climbing a flight of stairs was not something I’d do voluntarily. Let alone invest time in becoming a better dad or husband. Grabbing a beer would get preference over playing with the kids. Because of a poor physical state, I was in a poor mental state. No energy for training translated into no energy for trying (anything).
And then came CrossFit, and the ‘Box’. The merits of this seemingly crazy fitness phenomena are not under discussion. You either love it or you hate it (or, like me, you adapt it). CrossFit jargon is descriptive and even funny. The ‘box’ is the place where you workout. WOD is the workout of the day and an AMRAP is as many reps or rounds as possible, to name but a few.
There’s also an uncanny similarity between life itself and what happens in the Box. I doubt whether Greg Glassman, CrossFit’s founder, did it intentionally but I’d like to give him credit for it anyway.
A CrossFit class starts with a warm-up. It is a period where you ease into things under the watchful eye of someone who cares about you. You are taught the basics. Like an air-squat for example. The simple act of squatting down and standing up. A movement underpinning most of the more daunting movements you’ll encounter on your journey towards physical well-being. You are required to do it over and over and over again until you can perform it with your eyes closed not even thinking about it anymore. Like wiping your butt.
The warm-up is a period of anticipation, anxiety and giggles. It’s a period spend in your comfort zone. Unless you’re new to CrossFit in which case the warm-up will feel like the workout. During the warm-up there’s time for idle chatter but there’s also that lingering feeling that some time very soon the shit will hit the fan…
The warm-up is usually followed by a skill- or strength session. After you showed proficiency in the basics, mastered the fundamentals, you progress to a session where you can test yourself. This session is specifically designed to equip you with for what is to follow. It is where you realize that you’re not as strong or as flexible or as accurate as you thought you were. It is a session during which doubt is a constant. It is also during this session where it dawns on you that you probably need expert coaching for certain movements. Like marriage counseling for example.
Then, before you can say Rich Froning, the buzzer sounds ‘3..2..1..Go!’ and you’re into the workout proper. Every man for himself. You dive in head first, and go as fast as you can. You sense that you’re falling behind. The Joneses already started round 2 and you’re still renting an apartment. The pace is frantic and unsustainable. You feel tired and alone. Where’s the coach? Can’t he see that some are cheating?
You adjust your pace. You even adjust some of the movements. Self-preservation becomes the focus. Life will beat the crap out of you, stupid to be doing it to yourself. You look around and see people of all shapes and sizes battling the same demons. You realize that you’re not alone. Inspiration comes from where you least expected it. There’s a guy with only one arm doing kettlebell thrusters. Your problem suddenly becomes insignificant. If he can do it, so can you.
Then, just as you are about to throw in the towel the buzzer sounds again, signalling the end of the workout. You collapse into a heap on the floor. You’re not quite sure what just hit you but you’re breathing and you’re alive. You survived. Again. You realize that the suffering you just endured made you stronger than what you were before. And as the smoke slowly rise from the ashes, so does a new opportunity. You look up at the white board relishing in the fact that you just completed something which only a short while ago seemed impossible to do.
The coach walks over and gives you a high-five, he was there watching all along. Bring on tomorrow!