Balls of Steel. Hearts of Platinum.

Chalk dust makes you beautiful

What’s the most beautiful moment you can imagine at a gym? That second when the WOD heats up and the boys all decide their abs needs a little fresh air? Or maybe something with a touch of fantasy; say an hour alone in the box with a group of CossFit chicks, a comet hurtling towards Earth, and the realisation that none of them want to die virgins?

The most exquisitely beautiful moment I’ve experienced did indeed involve a group of incredible CrossFit girls … and a room full of shirtless men. It happened unexpectedly at CrossFit Platinum, when Beatrix was doing her final WOD of the 2012 games: in between thrusters and pull-ups Susan, quietly, calmly and caringly, rubbed chalk dust on her own hands, took Beatrix’s hands and then smoothed the dust over her palms. It was the smallest, simplest action; and at the same time; the most powerful and outstanding example I’ve ever seen of what makes CrossFit a sport of the heart, not just the body.

 As the two of them stood there, suspended in a haze of chalk dust while around me athletes grunted and judges shouted encouragement and competitors cheered; I realised that there are my people, every one, and I’m so incredibly proud that they are.

 Whoo hoo; 3 whole reps! 

Pfft; I didn’t need chalk during my final WOD. That’s because, unlike Wonder Woman who got 70 something reps, I got 3. I can’t do pull-ups so I was basically out after my 3 thrusters. But if cheering could have carried me up, chest to bar, I’d have done 3000. My little judge, Candice, got me to try every possible starting position and hand hold, hoping to help me get at least one rep out. “Try it with your hands wide. Ok try it with your hands closer together. Now try it with your palms away from you. Maybe try muscle it up. Right, no, then try swinging.” Candice negotiated techniques, Lisa tried some last minute kipping coaching, and Rheana (who does pull-ups as if her arms are piston driven) just screamed. I didn’t get any pull-ups, but I didn’t give up on the WOD until time ran out … and those amazing ladies didn’t give up on me.

It’s a beautiful thing; the fact that the people I train with believe I’m capable of so much. No, they’re not delusional. They know I’m not like Cindy and Christa; not only can those two move furniture and carry heavy stuff without the help of their boyfriends; they can do it with their boyfriends napping on top. Rather, it’s a case of knowing that we can achieve more together than we can on our own and that the weights or reps we’ll manage alone at Virgin will never come close to the amount we’ll do with our “family” cheering us on.

Even when the score sheet provides absolute, indisputable proof that I am – to use Emily’s word – sucky, they treat me as if I’m at the top of the leadeboard. I’m not; just in case you’re wondering. I am in fact 74^th; which would be awesome if not for the fact that there are only 75 women on it. Yet after every single one of my WODs Thabiet’s come to pat me on the shoulder and say congratulations. After every one! Not because I’ve broken any records, but I guess because he knows I’ve broken my own threshold for pain … and if I’m honest, for humiliation.

Run Forest, run

 It’s strange how there in our gym, pumping iron, pounding the pavement and throwing our bodies over ropes and under bars, surrounded by screams and grunting and occasionally swearing; in these many small gestures, you can feel the love. No one’s ever training that hard that they can’t take a moment to push you. Unless you’ve been there it probably doesn’t make sense, but when it feels as if someone’s deboned your legs while you’re doing yet another 400m run (no, Julian has no sense of restraint when it comes to cardio) and Neil tells you to stop walking and start running, your legs somehow start working again.  When you know you can’t do more than a ladies’ pushup and Craig Ninja puts 5KG on your pack and tells you to go for 10 strict ones; incredibly you’re suddenly She Hulk.

Even more incredible is the fact that it’s not a case of the brilliant athletes trying to get us special-needs ones to do better. More often than not it’s just a case of two regular people making one incredible team. Like Win and I. Gaelen and I have an unfulfilled plan to make ourselves T-shirts; hers will say Win and mine will say Ner. That way, when we’re together, we’ll each be a WinNer. It’s not as funny as you would think. (Or maybe it’s not as funny as I would think.) But that’s exactly what it’s like when we train together. Our lifts get heavier. Our cardio gets faster. Our endurance goes a few levels higher. When I wanted to drop out of the Open because I’d never done a snatch until the day it was announced as the WOD, Gaelen kicked my ass and made sure I dragged it over to the gym. On days I feel like browsing the sweet isles at Woolies instead of doing push-ups, I go to CrossFit because my partner in pain is there.

Sister act

It’s a sadness for me that out there in the rest of the world, “sisterhood” is just a gender-correct tri-syllable. The older I get the more I wonder what happened to the days when women would hold the ladder of success while a sister climbed up instead of snapping pics, hoping she’ll be going commando so they can post it to YouTube. Here at CrossFit though sisterhood is alive and well and the sisters are kicking ass!

Our fellow CrossFitters are more than a bunch of people with scraped shins, bruised hips and a penchant for chalk; they’re our family. We find more than fitness at our boxes; we find a sense of belonging. Our gym is more than kettlebells and skipping ropes. Our gym is Lisa sipping coffee and hanging out when she’s not training us and reminding us that being a mom doesn’t mean giving up your sexiness and being a weight-lifting power athlete doesn’t mean giving up your femininity. It’s Neil’s daughter catching rainwater from the gutter on her tongue. It’s Craig Ninja keeping his pepper spray sheathed and really shining as a coach. And of course it’s Julian; who laughs like a child, with absolute, bubbly abandon and who looks as proud of his peppermint tart as of his Open scores and who saturates CrossFit Platinum from the mats to the rafters with warmth and energy.

It’s all these things that make me feel that I’m not simply going to a gym; they make me feel like I’m coming home.

Do I really know you?

On Saturday I was telling Caro that I keep marrying off people who aren’t even involved and that maybe I don’t know my fellow CrossFitters at all. But now that I think about it I realise that’s not quite true. I don’t know where they live or what books they read or – apparently – whether they’re single or not, but I know that Bronwyn is as generous with her sweetness and laughter as her banana bread; she’s the first girl at CrossFit platinum who came to introduce herself to me and who asked if we could warm up together.

I know Caro knows how to transplant blackberries and that she doesn’t think it’s a waste of time to come in (when she could be home on her couch) just to cheer on 3 people WODing. I know Craig Blue-Shoes isn’t related to Thor and that he speaks very quietly for such a big guy. I know Paul can tell people he’s eating crocodile in a way that makes them believe him, but this “rough ‘n tough” block of muscle is soft enough take time out of his WOD to train with a 14 year old boy.

I know Marion made me feel as famous as JK Rowling because she knew my name and told me she liked my writing the first time we met; without her and Farhana and everyone else’s enthusiasm I’d never have had the confidence to carry on with these blogs.

Been there, got the T shirt

 It’s all these people who I’ve gotten to know and loads of people who I haven’t who keep me coming back again, week after week. It’s all of them who make me proud to wear a vest with our name on, because I’m proud to tell the world that I’m part of this phenomenal family.

Whew; I’ve been wanting to write a blog just for all of you for a while, but I didn’t think I knew you well enough. I guess I was wrong; I know the most important thing about all of you: a lot of people have hearts of gold, but only we have hearts of Platinum.

Lettuce Leaves Scare Me

Be afraid; be very afraid

I don’t do diets. I would do them if they included maraschino cherries and chocolate icing. But they don’t. So I don’t.

The thing is that healthy eating never feels like something with a reward at the end; it just feels like punishment for being born with tastebuds. Anyway; apparently Eve embraced an organic, raw food lifestyle and look where it got her! If she’d skipped the apple and gone straight for the tree with the cocoa beans, theology would be telling a very different story.

So you can understand my lack of enthusiasm when Tia arrived home to tell me she’d be eating Paleo for 6 weeks, as part of a challenge at CrossFit Jozi. (That’s her CrossFit gym, CFJ, which is way across on the other side of Jo’burg to mine.) She was excited at the prospect of discovering 792 ways to prepare Brussels sprouts and I was trying to think of even just 1 way to manage 6 weeks without cupcakes. Nothing came to mind. But I had to do something. Something radical! I could threaten to go find my cake elsewhere. I could tell her she was banned from playing with the kids at CFJ. Or I could do the unthinkable and join her in her insanity.

All I can say is, Adam, I was feeling your pain brother! Before I knew it I’d turned my back on cupcakes; who knew a smelly little cabbage-thing could look so tempting when held in such a beautiful – albeit callused – hand.

Imtiaz scares me too

Tia ran through all the Paleo basics with me. No grains; no sugar; no alcohol; no chocolate; no burgers; no pies ... Just the idea of making it through a month and a half’s worth of lunches without gluten-free bread scared me. Although not as much as the idea of doing the pre- and post-challenge workouts with her coach; Imtiaz.

From everything Tia had told me it seemed like Imtiaz ran his gym with military efficiency. The man seemed neat, organised, focussed, punctual to the second; in short, nothing at all like me.

It didn’t help that that WOD was ½ pull-ups, which I knew I sucked at even when I jumped them; and ½ overhead squats, which I didn’t know if I sucked at because I’d never done them.

Hit me baby one more time

Despite Tia telling me I had nothing to be nervous about, visiting CFJ for the challenge was like meeting the in-laws for the first time. You know how it is. You’re nervous because you want to make a good impression. You don’t know where to stand or if you’re sitting in someone’s place. You feel like you don’t belong. You don’t want to embarrass your partner or puke on the floor because you’ve had too much to drink.

Needless to say I made it through the door and onto the floor without turning and running! (Tia was strategically blocking the exit.) My quest for overhead squat excellence ( … or competence … or even just balance as I fell over backwards with the bar) was going well until Imtiaz approached me and gestured towards my back with a sturdy looking stick. A stern looking man in stealth mode armed with a stick? Surprisingly bad for calming the nerves.

Turns out the stick is more for pointing (in this case at the distance I should still squat down) than poking. Who knew?

How do you say “barbell” in Assyrian?

It occurred to me, as I hovered in an impressively deeper squat, that there was something that felt vaguely familiar about CFJ. I realised that in some way Imtiaz reminded me of a Semitic languages lecturer I used to have; minus the comb-over and ability to read and write in hieroglyphics.

The lecturer in question was an aging academic genius who could converse in biblical Hebrew, classical Arabic, and several long dead languages. He was happy to give us 4 periods of lectures instead of the scheduled 2. (Yes, I was that student.) He was equally happy to mark assignments I’d set for myself after I got through the prescribed work. (Yes, yes, I was also that student.) Under the tutorage of this old staunch Afrikaans Christian the beauties of Islam unfurled; the mysteries of Judaism unfolded and the complexities of my own faith were examined.  

Practicing with my little PVC pipe I recognised something of that spirit of discovery and that intensity at CFJ. All this knowledge reigned in by discipline and commitment and underpinned by love for this incredible thing we all share. If only we were WODing in a library my life would have been close to perfect right then.

Take me underwear shopping

So here I am, more or less past the point of fear, at the end of 6 weeks that have been filled with a lot of cooking, an abnormally massive amount of eating, spectacular quantities of coconut oil and a significant loss of centimetres. My clothes are down a size, my bra is down a cup (sadly nature didn’t ask me where I wanted to lose first) and my knickers are so loose I keep thinking someone might mistake me for Sharon Stone.

It’s also been 6 weeks of finding strengths in my weaknesses. The overhead squats that were the cause of a many sleepless nights and hysterical emails to Imtiaz have turned out to be one of my stronger lifts and I’ve gone from PVC pipe to 25 kg bar. More impressively; my thumbs have stopped going numb when I do them, meaning I’m equipped to handle a cup of hot coffee without striking terror in the hearts of our pets.

Damn; this is a good feeling! It’s good to try on clothes and choose between what looks good, not what I can jam down over my hips. And it’s awesome to get dressed in the morning and want to do it in from of the mirror. It’s amazing to walk into the gym and spend an hour, feeling the weight of the world easing off my shoulders as the bar and I take on my problems kg by kg. And it’s really good to feel that sense of lightness that’s settled in my body, a lightness that has nothing to do with how much I weigh.  

That’s how we roll

Tomorrow I’m having supper with my new in-laws at CFJ to celebrate the end of the challenge.

I’m happy to say they’re the kind of in-laws who shout for me when I’m WODing, not the kind who’ll loosen the clips on the barbell hoping I’ll be their shot at winning America’s Funniest Home Videos. (Jamie, dude, you have no idea how good it was to hear someone screaming for me when I was so close to tears doing wall balls.)

I don’t know much about Tia’s family, but I know the most important thing any partner needs to know: they care for her. They cheer for her. They motivate her. Sure, they have a bizarre habit of rolling back and forth on sponge noodles in a suspiciously ADD way when you visit them, but hey, we all secretly want our in-laws to be a little quirky, right?

I can't even begin to guess at the triumphs of everyone who did the challenge. For each of us the rewards are uniquely personal. But like everything in CrossFit, even though the daily struggles were ours to deal with as individuals, a big part of our strength came from feeling we weren't doing this alone.

CrossFit Jozi; you rock;  thanks for making me part of your family over the past 6 weeks.

She’s Tiacalifragilisticexpialidocious

Love hurts

The first time Tia touched me I saw stars. I think I may even have cried, but endorphins tend to do a Men-In-Black memory wipe on me. That’s what happens when someone reaches the softest, most tender parts of you; the parts no one has touched before. Or should ever again.

It was a beautiful Sunday morning. The sun was up, the Astroturf was green, the soccer ball was bouncing around like a pinball … and little cartoon birds were circling my head. Not that Tia noticed; she was already chasing the ball across the pitch, oblivious to the whimpering of the crumpled little bundle cradling her ankle, pondering life without being able to wear closed shoes ever again and wondering what kind of a bitch doesn’t even stop to say sorry when she’s kicked you.

If I’d known the answer to that question, I wouldn’t have started FaceBooking Tia about comic books and AA Milne Poems two weeks later; I would have started that afternoon.

Focus dammit

The reason Tia didn’t notice my foot turning an attractive egg-plant purple and swelling in a way that would leave me with an equally attractive limp for over a month is this: she had her eye on the ball. When she’s pursuing something she does so with a single-minded dedication that means the rest of the world simply doesn’t exist for her at that moment.  

Bad when you’re playing soccer with her and you’re nothing by a blimp on the edge of her universe; incredible when you’re her life partner and you’re at the centre of it.

You know you want to

Much later, after we started dating, Tia stopped kicking me and started feeding me instead. The routine; as those who know her will appreciate; goes like this:

Tia: try this.

Me: no:
Tia: just try it.
Me: no.
Tia: ok, have a bite.
Me: no.

Tia: one bite.

Me: no.

Tia: ok here’s a spoon full.  

Me: no.

Tia: just open your mouth.

Me: no.

Tia: isn’t that nice?

Me: akjjehbanchgyul. (It’s difficult to talk with your mouth full.)

It’s true that I spat out the sushi she shoved at me into a cup. (Rather spit it out than puke it out.) And that I ran, like a fertile woman in a room with Steve Hoffmeyer, away from the spinach ice cream she made. And that I sulked for a morning when she put spirulina into my breakfast smoothie, presumably thinking I wouldn’t notice that it looked like the tide had come into my glass. But it’s also true that my culinary world has finally expanded past “vleis, rys en aartapels”.

Yes, I’m bragging shamelessly

So why am I telling you all about Tia and what do I have to brag about? I mean, apart from the fact that she’s the only woman in the world hotter than Kristan Clever? Well because this week for the first time she can reach out and touch dream she’s been chasing since before I met her: to coach CrossFit.

Yesterday when it all happened, in between bouts of pride and trying to figure out who else I could tell, I got to thinking about how far she’s come. And that regardless of how she’s grown or changed in the time I’ve known her, she’s still that same excitable girl, keeping her eye on the ball and chasing it down with total focused determination.

And I got to thinking that it’s like that with anything you’re chasing in life; another degree, another job, another relationship, another body; you’ve got to run at it like a bull, tossing anything standing in your way to the side with your momentum.

Hey, who bolted my weight to the floor?

Last night at CrossFit was a lesson in that kind of focus for me as I stood there staring down at a 30 kg weight debating whether I would lift it up off the floor or whether it would pull my arms down out of my sockets.

You know what I’m saying, right? All of you who’re challenging your bodies right now know what it feels like to face a workout that seems tougher than you are. When we just don’t know if we have the energy to drag ourselves all the way to gym, never mind actually work out. When you’re wondering when the fun will start and the pain will end.  

That was me last night; I had the sneaky suspicion that someone had bolted the bar to the floor so that David could get a few humorous shots in for his incredible collection. When that happens, you need to take yourself to a place where it’s just you and the bar. A place where you don’t have a history with the bar; because history tells you what you could do then and hints that that’s all you can do now. It needs to be you in a space where gravity is the unlwecome guest you’re about to liberate this barbell from.

Whether it’s you and the bar or you and the treadmill or you and your study notes or you and your job or you and the yoga mat and a body rebelling against having your head planted on the floor and your feet up where your head should be; you need to let the world melt away until all there is and you and this thing you want to do.

When my body says no it means yes

You’ve also got to move yourself into a mind-space where “no” just isn’t an option. I’ve had to recondition myself to look at a physical challenge and think “yes”. That’s not something that’s natural or easy for me. I can do it with studying, especially foreign languages, because I trust that my mind is brilliant enough to meet any mental challenge. But I struggle to do that when it comes to physical things. I’m terrified of physical challenges because I’m not used to doing things I don’t excel in.

So I’ve started saying “yes” to the things that scare me. (Who knew a knee-high box could terrify me in ways that Stephen King couldn’t even dream of.) Yes to the things I honestly don’t know if I can achieve. Yes to the stuff I’ve never done before. In fact, doing the CrossFit open has been one big exercise in saying yes for me!

Now when my body’s saying “no” and my mind is saying “well maybe” I pull a Tia.

Me: Try this.

Body: Hell no!

Me: Ok just try the light weight.

Body: No.

Me: Ok what about just a broomstick?

Body: No.

Me: Oh look here’s 20kg.

Body: uhjhsd hsegdehveg. (Can’t talk when you’re worried about splitting your skull with the big-ass weight you’re holding overhead.)

She’s my coach, but ok I’ll share

I look around at this breath-taking new world I’ve discovered; one with CrossFit and Paleo and a body that’s pulsing with the pleasure of movement and energy; and I’m thankful to Tia for leading me here.

Through fights in the parking lot outside Virgin Active when she told me the yoga class I nearly passed out in was a “nice warmup” and fights in the lounge when I told her CrossFit’s a cult not a sport; she just kept following her dream. And she kept saying: “here, try this”; knowing that once I’d gotten a taste of CrossFit I’d be hooked.

It occurs to me that she doesn’t know how much of a role model she is to me. How her tenacity – that people misread as stubbornness – is one of the things I admire most about her. How the unwavering belief she has in me has made me aim to be better than I believed I could be. And how her refusal to let go of her coaching dreams, even when things went wrong and she was gymless and desperately missing her CrossFit Family, inspires me to pick up the bits of the dreams I’ve left behind (my writing, for example) and focus on following them again, in whatever way I can.

When I think of Tia the image that usually pops into my head is of this small person charging after a soccer ball, hair tied up, head down, fists balled, looking for all the world like the Little Prince(ess), racing across a planet that belongs to her alone.

Tia, love, you’re deserve this so much. And you’re going to be so brilliant at it. As long as you keep running I’ll be right there cheering.

She's