So, my friend and I hit the nearest CrossFit early on Friday morning before I raced to the airport to fly to San Diego for a Gaelic Football 7’s tournament. Have I mentioned that I’m not real bright? Really? I’m feeling old, fat and desperate, so I run to the crazy-ass cult gym so I won’t chicken out, just before I take my old, fat, out of shape ass all the way to San Diego to play a really intense sport with NO SUBS. Back to my original question; is it bad if you suspect that it might really be a cult, but you choose to jump in (jiggly midsection and all) with both feet?
I might as well say it loud and proud, “I am not a morning person.” Maybe I’m not quite that old yet. (Oh no! Now I’ve guaranteed that I will be that old early-riser. DAMN, I know I can’t just delete it because I’ve already put it out there to the universe… sigh). L and I showed up, signed waivers and stood nervously watching a class that was already in session. They were all young, and all fit looking. As they did their warm up, I couldn’t help but think, “Just let me get through the warm up… please. I’m sorry for the amusement I’ve ever felt watching old people, ever, especially old, out of shape ones.” God really does have a sense of humor, I believe that. Any thought I’ve ever had in the general realm of, “Wow, why is that so hard for her” or “step away from the cookie” …” is biting me, hard. I’ve learned so much from my youthful and fairly innocent judgemental days, because, well, here I stand.
Scott introduced himself and to my great relief mixed himself an Advocare Spark drink. Woohoo, Hallalujah and thank the powers that be, I finally relate to something in that gym. I had already had my Spark. I’m pretty damned cool after all, and they’re not gonna make me stop my morning energy drink. Whew. Maybe this isn’t gonna be so bad?
We went through question and answers and my relief that L and I were the only newbies that day came crashing down when a young man showed up and introduced himself as a new guy and then mentioned that he is a personal trainer at a gym in town. Comfort level, now back to about zero. Even the fact that I was the only one out of the three of us that played sports currently, brought me no comfort. L had been training with a trainer for several weeks and dude boy IS a trainer. My friend asked the question that was dancing in both our heads, “Are there any other people our age at this box?” I’ll give him credit, he didn’t lie, or even soften the answer too much when he said bluntly, “Not many.” Ah, here goes nothing.
Scott took us through the proper form on squats, dips, snatch and dead lifts. We learned that Cross Fitters are known for their crazy knee socks because the dead lifts rub their shins. That made me smile because I totally rock some silly socks. We were an hour in and well, I was ready to go snag my plane when suddenly I realized that we hadn’t done the “work out” he’d promised. But, we just… well, we’ve been picking things up and standing around for an hour and … shit.
We did a wee workout that involved 2 rounds of running, squatting, sit ups and push ups. My sore Achilles screamed at me on the jog, my cookie dough middle got in my way on the sit ups and the push ups and squats just pissed me off because I kept getting distracted and losing count. Then we were done. That was it. The second round of regulars came in and there was one person our age. Yep, she even had some gray hairs, a runner’s phsique and a rock hard body. It was her first session. (SCREAM).
I raced home, grabbed a shower, my cleats and my husband and we hurried to the airport. Well, he hurried. I hobbled and as I started to lower myself to my seat, I realized that my legs were shaky. I had three games to play the next day. Three. Not wise. I survived, but my Achilles injury forced me to play Goalie for the last half of the last game. What a great sport, great group of gals and a bunch of fun Irish people to drink, uh, hang out with. The whole experience really brought home my desire to be back in shape and run those young’ns into the ground.
When we got home, we hit the ground running / hobbling and I never got back to the Cross Fit thing. Honestly, it still scares me a bit, which absolutely makes me angry at the world. I’m an athlete, and rarely in my entire life have I been intimidated by anything physical. Another humorous moment for the guy upstairs?
Thank goodness my friend has such a sparkly disposition. I got a text today saying, “So, we gonna do it? I need an excuse to buy some cool knee socks!” How can I say no to that? We’re walking right into this thing with our eyes open, and we’re doing it for the socks. Is that so bad?