“Okay, so you're healthy - I need suggestions. The boyfriend wants 'healthy food' for dinner
and I have no idea what he means. Is
stir fry healthy?”
“I really want to get healthy. Think you can create me a
workout routine I can do at home?”
“I’ve got this trip to Figi planned in a couple of
weeks. How can I lose weight before
then, you know, without starving myself?”
“Your snack drawer is terrible. There’s nothing in there but protein, and,
like, healthy food.”
“You’re the only person I know who bitches about working
out, and yet still gets excited about it.”
These conversations happen with me all the time. How did I become “that girl”? I’m the
person in the office who people come to with their questions about diet and
exercise. The guy down the row shares his latest finds in smoothies, and
protein shakes. The girl up on 8 asks me
if I’ve tried the latest workout craze.
One of my plethora of bosses talks to me about his current regimen and
wonders if I’ve tried any of it, or if there’s anything I would change. And, my trainer informs me that she puts me
through things she’s never put another female client through. I’m the “healthy chick.”
Seriously???
How in the Hell did this happen? I’ve never been particularly athletic. I mean, I played soccer in high school, but
only because a friend wanted to try out for select, and didn’t want to go alone. Crazy thing is, I actually made the team. For
select soccer. As a freshman. Having not played anything but school ball when I
was in the 6th grade. Yeah…
looking back, I realize I was apparently athletic then, too. I just didn’t realize it.
Fast forward to my early twenties, and I’d become the girl
in the new marriage. We were broke, and
eating CRAP all the time. I gained weight.
Things got rough, and I gained more. I had two babies, and on piled the
pounds. The more I gained, the worse I
felt about how I looked, and the more I told myself I wasn’t athletic, and just
had to do the diet thing in order to lose it.
In the spring of 2008, my family moved to Jacksonville,
FL. The few women I spent time with were
either thin and lovely, or extremely athletic, or both. Living in Florida also lands you smack dab in
the middle of swimsuit world. Year round.
I hated the way I looked, and hated how I felt standing next to women
who didn’t look frumpy, overweight, and so… stay-at-home-mom. I hated who I
was, and I was ashamed of how I looked.
I joined a co-ed soccer team, and spent one miserably hot summer running
in the humidity. Then, I just kept running.
I ran a couple of miles each night, after the kids were asleep. From the second I laced up my sneakers, I was
cranky about it. I was cranky for the
first half mile. Then, I’d get into a rhythm,
and just go. The pounds started to melt
away, and the high of the run always left me happy.
Me, last day in Florida (Jeebus, look at those cheeks!)
After a couple of years, and another cross country move, I
reached a plateau. Much thinner and
happier, but nowhere near ideal, I stopped focusing on it, and buried myself
in work. The running happened in spurts,
without any consistency. I wrapped up
some schooling, and needed a PE credit to finish. So, I took a weight lifting
class. Being the perfectionist I so
often am, I couldn’t just pass the class. I needed to ace it. So, I went in, 3
times a week, and gave this hour workout my absolute everything. The days I
lifted ended up being the days I felt best.
Then, one random day, I decided to seek out CrossFit. A number of people I know, and respect, are
hardcore addicts, and had attempted to recruit me on a number of
occasions. It’s crazy expensive, but, as
I often do, I justified it to myself with with the explanation that a personal trainer is far more expensive. So, I gave
it a shot. That first day, my life
changed forever.
CrossFit is my cult.
Although I’ve not been a practicing member for nearly 2 years, I’m an
advocate of the highest degree. The
workout is a killer, there’s no getting around it. It’s painful, and exhausting, and not for the
faint of heart. Seeing triangle shaped,
burly men doubled over outside, heaving away, followed by the sweat-angels
flopped on the mats, I knew I was in for a rude awakening. Every time I walked
into the gym and gazed up at the board for the Workout of the Day (WOD), I
cringed. They’re hard. Like, stupid hard. Every single one pushes you so far past
anything you ever dreamed you could accomplish.
You bitch and moan, you throw up, you collapse in a pile of sweaty
limbs, and you hurt for days on end after it.
So, why do it?
That’s the resounding question. I’m not an exercise fiend. It’s not my drug. Yes, I love the
results. Yes, I love the endorphin rush.
Yes, I love being part of such an amazing, uplifting pseudo family. But, that’s not why *I* do it.
For me, CrossFit was an awakening. I’ve spent so many years thinking I’m not
good enough, I’m not worthy enough, and I can’t accomplish things. I’ve settled for what’s attainable, and done
everything I can to be a rockstar at those things, because my dreams simply
weren’t something *I* was capable of. So, looking up at the ridiculous WOD, day
after day, and thinking “No. Fucking. Way. I absolutely, positively, and undeniably
cannot accomplish that” was daunting, to say the least. Then, against everything
I knew to be true, and held dear to my true self, I knocked down those WODs,
one after another. The high, the amazing
feeling, was no longer the rush of adrenaline; my high is accomplishment. I am
capable. I am strong. I am athletic. I am so much more than I have ever given
myself credit for.
As I sit here typing, I’m wearing my favorite hoodie. It’s grey, it’s got a bleach stain on the
sleeve, and it’s several years old. I live in the damn thing. Across the back reads a quote I strive to
live my life by – “Today I will do what others won’t, so tomorrow I can
accomplish what others can’t.”
So, after all that work, my workouts became my rush. When I
start to slack, I remember how much I am fully able to do, if I put my mind to
it. I love the sore muscles because they
mean I pushed through when I didn’t want to. I love the questions because,
suddenly, people recognize that I am this person. I am healthy, and strong, and
driven, and committed. I have curves
which were made for muscles, and I’m not ashamed of them. I eat right. I exercise. I work hard. And I
love the results, both inside and out.
Me, present day - after a run
CrossFit is my cult. I am an addict. And I am NOT ashamed of
it.
I couldn’t pick just one, so, here you go.
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