I So Rock this CrossFit thing

When people ask me why I joined CrossFit I lie through my teeth.

I tell them I joined because it's a great way to combine cardio and weights. Because it incorporates functional movements, which means I'll be able to lift the 25 kg bag of dog food into the car without popping out part of my spine. Because it's good for weight loss and muscle gain. It sounds great when I say it. I sounds even better on the web site I stole it from.

The truth is that I joined CrossFit because - after a break - my girlfriend is back on the pullup bar and I didn't want her watching other girls' asses as they deadlift the equivalent of two of me, while I shuffle my ass from one side of the couch to the other while pumping the TV remote.

Of course I want to look good for me! It's just that right now I want to look good for her.

Groupie love

Now although exercise has never been my thing; I flirted with the idea of joining CrossFit before my girlfriend re-joined the world of the fit and strong. I figured that I might not make a great CrossFitter; but with my writing and googling skills I'd make a damn fine groupie! The idea was inspired and let's be honest, typing is a very functional movement.

Being a groupie is easier said than done. I could stalk my girlfriend, but well, hiding in the shower so I can check her out when she goes to  the loo is a little creepy. And desperate. Possibly illegal. So I opted to focus my groupie love on Kristan Clever. She's hot, she's strong, she's hot ... did I mention she's hot? I ran it past my girlfriend who smiled in a way which suggested that; knowing my attention span; she didn't see fan-mail or restraining orders in Kristan's future.

Turned out she was right. *sigh* Once I discovered she wasn't on FaceBook there didn't seem to be much point.

May as well do it for me

So, after realising I suck at being a CrossFit Groupie and that I'm too jealous to be a CrossFit Girlfriend, there was only one option available: become a CrossFitter. I was worried I'd suck at that too; but it turns out there's no way you can suck at CrossFit, because the only measure of how good you are is how much better you are today than yesterday.

And amazingly enough; when you look at it like that; I so rock this CrossFit thing!

PS: Watch this space and this ass for updates. Oh, and if you see Kristan, please give her my email address and tell her to move a little more to the left when she trains, I can't see her if she stands too close to the ropes.

It's Easier if you Breathe

5.50: CrossFit day 1. I make my way down the path to Crossfit Platinum. I can do this, I can do this, I can do this. The room is pretty quiet except for a few guys warming up on boxing bags while Fort Minor’s yelling that it takes “5% pleasure; 50% pain” in the next room. I breathe for the first time since leaving the carpark and announce that I’m new. Small, quiet, something to pound on; I can do this.

5.55: I’m in the wrong room. Of course!

5.56: I can’t do this! The room is packed. As far as I can tell it’s some sort of Barbell Barbie & Kettlebell Ken convention. And I’m sure at least one of the Lilliputians flying up at the pullup bar has her clothes airbrushed on. 5% pleasure my a**.

5.58: Flashback to last Sunday at my gym when I dropped my blackberry onto the treadmill – again – and it went ballistic on the jogger behind me. Amazing how you can still feel so big while someone makes you feel so small. I don’t like girls like this. I don’t like their smugness. Their “don’t hate me cos I’m beautiful” attitude. The fact that they can wear spandex without looking like their behinds have been prepared for a moon landing.

5.59: Feeling fat. And small.

6.00: Class over; butterflies starting up again. I shuffle over to the coach, but two of the Barbies make it there before me. They’re dripping sweat all over the floor but annoyingly they look like they’ve been sprinkled with summer rain. Why don’t I sweat like that? Why do I sweat like a sausage under a grill? OMG, OMG one of them is saying something. I’m probably standing between her and the water cooler.

6.01: Nope; conversation is directed and me. Something about “welcome and enjoy” I think. It’s hard to tell when your heart is pounding in your ears.

6.15: I’m in a corner; carefully cordoned off with a kettlebell and a mat; working on deadlifts with my broomstick. (I hope no one’s watching me.) Since we’re going to be getting intimate and sweaty with each other I decide he needs a name. He’s very stiff so I settle on The Duke of York.

6.30: No one’s watching me! They’re all too wrapped up in their “50% pain.”

6.31: And then it happens. The class vanishes. The agonisingly vivid images of the day and its problems fade into watercolour swirls.  It’s just me and the music and my muscles hot and firing and my blood raging and my mind silent and clear … and that feeling of coming home.

7.00: Class is over. I’m glowing like a sausage. But I walk out feeling beautiful. Beautiful and big enough to take on the world.