CrossFit: The day I got addicted

This post has been somewhat difficult for me to write and I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s the fact that if I revisit my first experience with this gym, it will remind me how much I miss it. Like with running, I feel an emptiness that can only suffice with Helen, Fran and the occasional Olympic lifts. So maybe concluding this at 5 am in the morning is what I needed. Finding my CrossFit gym or “box” as I later learned it would be called took several steps.                         I remember calling my brother, Todd, he had just left his military style boot camp and was giving me all the details. First let me say Todd and I are extremely close. When the time comes for someone to ask my hand in marriage, he must get permission from the three men in my life: Todd, Rope my trusty Vizsla, and of course my Dad. My father will be the easiest to convince.                         Todd and I bond over workouts. Both of us are extremely driven and also supportive of the other. When I visit, we plan meals in Houston around our workouts. “We need to workout before lunch at Lupe’s because with what I’m planning, we won’t want to do it on a stomach full of fajitas,” he would say. Since living in different cities, we try to talk most mornings over the phone. Conversations follow like this:                         “Todd, I did a tempo run at a 6:45 pace for 9 miles, not bad huh?” I would say proudly. He would usually reply with,  “Ash, that’s awesome! At boot camp, we had to do 500 push-ups and if we stopped, they soaked us with freezing water.”                         “So jealous! I wish I lived in Houston that sounds awesome!”                         My sis-in- law, Bailey, who is an incredible runner, does not understand these conversations and considers it a “Falk” thing.   When she ran her last marathon, she smiled the whole time and enjoyed the process. Well, as much as you can enjoy 26.2 miles. Todd and I don’t always smile on our runs; we are usually too beat down from attempting to out run some Kenyan.                         Hearing stories of Todd’s boot camp and seeing the results not only in his physical appearance, but more importantly his race speed drove me to find a boot camp of my own. Being the competitive family that we are, I NEEDED to also be faster. The boot camps I tried in Dallas were just a little too “soft.” I wanted military style workouts. I wanted my body pushed to the extreme. I wanted to pass-out. If I threw up, even better.                         One of my best friends from SMU, Melissa, who I affectionately call “Big Sis,” was the one that first mentioned the term “CrossFit” to me. She fell in love with the program and even became a trainer in Georgia.  I remember her saying, “You’ll love it ash, people just like you.”                         Not thoroughly convinced yet, I went back to my long run schedule.  It was on one of these runs, that I passed a CrossFit gym on the Katy Trail. If that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is. I also worked for the Katy Trail and we were in the middle of our busy season, the Katy 5K race, and I needed additional sponsors. So, in finding out what this “CrossFit” was all about, I set up a meeting with one of the owners, Koy.                         I walked into the gym and for someone that does not intimidate easily; I was intimidated. Pull-up bars, tires, ropes, and weights that I did not recognize from typical gym studios surrounded me. What was this place?                         Well, Koy informed me. He also frustrated me. I made the dumb mistake of saying that I was in good shape. Of course, I’m in shape, I run more than 70 miles a week. Koy smirked, and said why don’t you check the gym out. We have a free class on Saturday, but don’t be discourage because we scale to all levels.                         Discourage. Me. Please.                         He told me that he coached the Deep Elum location on Saturdays and to find him there.                         Although motivated to check it out, I did not want to go alone. So I told three of my girlfriends that they were going to come with me to this really fun workout. I may have bribed them with drinks the night before at Capitol Pub.                         The next morning, we walked in, hung over. Unfortunately, we met several guys at Capitol who bought us plenty of shots.  Poor decision.                         All of us were a little taken aback as we walked into the gym. People were walking upside down on their hands, others were on rings doing twirls in the air, some were jumping up and down in some sort of push-up, plank, jumping jack combination, which I would later learned is a burpee. Still to this day, I call it Bartleby. I’ll blame Harry Potter on that one                         Koy remembered my name and introduced me to the other two coaches there, one I recognized from Capitol Pub. Actually, as we were stretching, well rolling out (already painful to my overused muscles,) we saw the other guys from the night before. Dallas is a small world.                         As we were stretching out, I was amazed at how in shape everyone around us was and also nice. Not only did the coaches introduce themselves, but so did everyone else.                         I was repeatedly ask, “Is this your first time here?” “How did you hear about us?” “So glad you came.” “Please, don’t hesitate to ask me any questions.” I have always thought strangers are just friends I haven’t met yet. So this communication was heaven to me.

I asked my new gym friends what kind of workout the coaches planned.

“The WOD is on the white board,” one of the girls said.

“The WOD?” I asked confused.

“Yes, the workout of the day. See it’s 100 push-ups, 200 squats, 100 burpees, 200 abs ending with a 400 meter run,” she replied.

Then she turned to her friend and said nonchalantly, “I guess they are taking it easy on us after those squats on Friday.”

This must be some kind of sick joke. Taking it easy! What? Suddenly I feel the death stares of my girlfriends that I not only dragged to the pub, but to this as well.

Crap, they are going to kill me.

This workout was incredibly humbling. Koy was right, in shape, no I was not. Everyone moved quickly. Holy crap, how is that person already on squats? I have 70 push-ups left, I thought. Am I not doing the push-up right, why are they lifting up their hands? No one is giving up. Will this pain be over?

Also, whoever made up this burpbee should go to hell alongside the guy who invented heels. Horrible.

Despite the pain, even more noticeable was everyone’s determination to give it everything they had. If someone slowed down, someone else was in that person’s ear encouraging him to continue.

In this way, it reminded me of tennis. You gave it your all on court: Blood, sweat and tears. Nothing was left, which is why losing a match would put me in a state of depression for days, along with several broken rackets.  

Furthermore, everyone stayed focused, unfazed by muscle weakness. What was this place? Who are these people? They make Jason Bourne look like an adolescent little boy.

I kept looking around wondering if people were staring at the new girl, who was dying a slow burbee death. Seriously, I looked like a dead fish. As I later learned, no one cares how long it takes or what you look like, just that you are giving it your all.

Also, people who just met me were telling me how great I was doing, “Come on Ash, a few more, you got this.”  They don’t even know me and they’re rooting for me. Wow, these people are really nice.

After class, the coaches said don’t be surprised if you are a little sore. Please, a little sore. I’ve had concussions, played a tennis match with a broken wrist, multiple knee surgeries, literally had my Jeep crushed by a truck on the highway, and have not felt as much pain as my body did that evening and well into the week. I missed my Sunday morning run due to pain. Trust me. I have a high pain tolerance and missing a run only happens in extreme cases. This would count as extreme.

I remember going to a movie with my friend Jocelyn and I couldn’t even walk up the stairs. Muscles that I never knew existed felt on fire. It hurt to laugh. It hurt to sleep. It hurt to stay still. My body was swollen.

But, I loved it, every second of it. In my excitement, I called Todd and told him everything we did. My big sis, Melissa, said I told you so. She was right. I was addicted and I hadn’t even started yet.

So the next week, I signed up for the Elements Class, the beginning CrossFit course to go over the moves, and my addiction for Helens, Frans and kipping pull-ups set in.

Although, my non-CrossFit friends sometimes laugh at my newfound love or obsession. It’s something I’m so happy I found and frankly until I couldn’t do CrossFit, I didn’t realize how much I would miss it.

I guess it’s true; you don’t really appreciate something, until it’s gone. Well not gone for me completely, just on hiatus.

I miss the workouts. I miss the coaches. I miss my friends pushing me at the gym. But, I still have it. Those friends I met are still with me and have been so supportive during this time.

Before and even after surgery, I was overwhelmed with calls, texts and emails asking me how I was doing and more importantly when will I be back. Not coming back to CrossFit never crossed their mind; this of course was not an option.

I won’t disappoint them. I’ll be back and for once healthy. I struggled for so long at the gym because my stupid self told me to continue to ignore that familiar pain in my knee.

As I’m recovering, I’ll just improve on the moves I hate.

Overhead push-ups. I got those. I have been practicing. Unfortunately, I now have a dent in my wall, but oh well the money to fix it will be well spent when I can do one without the additional support. I’ll just bring my landlord to CrossFit; he’ll understand it then.

For those that don’t understand, you have to try it. We get called a cult. If being in a cult means getting in the best shape of my life surrounded by the people that pushed me to get there, I would sign up again. Also, what the hell are you waiting for?