I finally tried Crossfit – and it’s not quite the nightmare I’d imagined

January 14, 2017 Ashley 0 Comments

I hate strength training.

I hate it because I’m terrible at it.

And I hate it because I’d rather spend my energy running outside – on a trail.

Thus, begrudgingly do I give into doing a strengthening routine – because I know it’s good for me.

I know it’s needed for both weight loss and overall health. That it helps keep everything stable and strong and your posture on point. That it burns more calories when you’ve got more muscle. And (mostly importantly), that it’ll help prevent injury during my first love – running. The only issue with all’ve that? As implied above, I kinda dunno what I’m doing half the time. Running’s simple – I don’t need advice on how to do it right. But when it comes to stuff like squatting or pushups, I can’t really tell if my form’s fabulous or a laughable fail. I could really use some help. Instead of getting that help, though, I’ve been doing more running. Both literally – and from the thing I’m not so good at doing. Strength training.

But, in the spirit of trying new stuff this month, I opted to hit up…. my local CrossFit.

(Which I used to think was called that ’cause they crucify you ’til you’ve got better abs than Jesus.)

Now, this is the point where my readers split in half.

Half’ve you are issuing me a digital fist bump. The other half? Y’all are already recoiling in fear, grabbing your popcorn, and waiting for me to detail a Rob Zombie level horror show in literary form. Knowing this ahead of time, I legitimately didn’t know what to expect. I’ve heard the rabdo rumors and seen the epic results. Stories of people seriously hurting themselves sit side by side with ones about weight loss transformations, brawn building, and massive caloric blasting in short stretches of time.

(Oh, and this 65 year old grandma who does it):

So, I tried to forget both, and simply step onto the premises – open to whatever they threw at me.

And, when I went it, I was surprised to learn that the workout itself wasn’t really that long. It’s intense – but it’s brief – compared to my usual hour long bouts of cardio. (And even less time than that for first timers like myself, rocking an intro trial.) And, preceding all that, the dude (or lady trainer – for P.C.’s sake) showing you around performs an extensive, detective-with-an-interrogation-light level verbal questionnaire. I genuinely appreciated the thorough nature of that – ’cause that way I knew they were going to help me work around whatever setbacks I have.

Aside from that sedentary chat, though, I dug the personal touch during the actual workout. That – and the otherworldly attention to detail these guys have. I’m not just talking about form here. (Although, granted, I didn’t realize I’d been doing my squats wrong all along ’til he taught me how to stop being awful at ’em.) No. These guys have got next level perception. He could detect the second my breathing got off track and tell I was about to hit muscle failure (before even I could). And, while that may not sound like much, that kind’ve attention is exactly what someone as oblivious to strength training as I am needs in order to get better.

But, possibly my favorite facet of ‘fit was the modifications of whatever moves you can’t do (yet).

You wanna know one of the biggest things that kept me from stepping into a CF gym?

Upper body stuff… Namely: pull ups.

See, pull ups terrify me. I’ve got a whole complex about ’em. I’m one of those chicks who went through all of formative school doing the “flex arm hang” when we had those fitness tests in P.E. class. Never once did I nail a pull up. That is – until the gracious trainer who was giving me the grand tour, pulled out this magical band that eradicates about 10 pounds of your weight (or more- depending one what level you use) so that it’s easier to hoist your flesh-husk above the bar. (That bar. That damned bar that’s been the bane of my existence since the day we met.) For the first time in my life, I finally felt that much coveted sensation of the cool metal rod under my chin. That unattainable trophy that taunted me through all my youth. And, granted, it took a bit of assistance to get me there – but knowing that I could progress through the other bands until I get there on my own, was enough for me. Yes, finally feeling what it was like to do a pullup, was enough for me to finally wanna try. (Ya know – instead’ve shying away from it like I usually do.) All along, I thought they’d just make you keep attempting stuff like this the tough way – ’til you finally got it.

(Possibly employing tactics like these along the way…)

I love that I was wrong.

And that’s how it went for the other upper body stuff at which I decidedly suck, too. Like pushups. “Do twenty with your knees,” he suggested, “…and the other ten the regular way.” That’s actually how it goes for everything there. The idea’s not to chronically commit muscle-cide and depart the gym, sporting a toe tag. It’s not about trying to match your Spartan god wrestler owner of the gym, who can backward roll into a handstand and subsequently sprint on his palms across a gym. No, sirs and madams. It’s about getting to where you’re going – by starting where you are ATM. (And, of course, making the sweaty upgrade as soon as you master that level.) In fact, without me even having to bring up any of those previously mentioned horror stories I’ve heard, my trainer-to-be volunteered the info without flinching: “That’s actually how you hear of these guys hurting themselves. They go headfirst into something they’re not ready for yet.”

That openness was a genuine selling point for me. Especially when there were heaps of reasons for me avoiding a Crossfit for the longest time. I mean, to be fair, it’s always described as being so hardcore. So I had this abstract nightmare idea of it before yesterday. I’d imagined a gestapo of sweaty sadists. Wielding battle ropes at you like whips. Throwing you into the deep end of your own sweat pool. Waiting for you to either drown in it, or arise like a Phoenix from the ashes – looking like someone had shoved an air pump into your biceps and pecs and put it on full blast. And, while the latter’s an apt physical description of the dude who gave me my tour yesterday, I couldn’t’ve been farther from the facts on the former.

In the end, I’m glad I didn’t just settle for hearsay when it came to this place. While I get that the actual classes will be more intense and a bit different (more trainees), I at least got a chance to see CrossFit for what it is (versus what I’ve heard). Sure, it’s hardcore. Sure, they’ll push you. But they don’t throw anything on you straight away that you’re not ready to take on. They aren’t afraid to pop some training wheels on you ’til you’re ready for a level up.

And knowing I’ve got that kinda guidance?

Yeah, that’s enough for me to finally lace up my kicks and quit running from strength training.