My Year of CrossFit

March 11, 2011, I went to CrossFit 305 for my first workout. I was stunned at how unfit I was. I was stunned at how difficult the workout was. The next day I could hardly move. Another day later I was back again for more.

And for whatever reason, I kept coming back. Three days a week.

The trainers here are lovely. They know their stuff; they seem to care; they seem to want me to thrive. They each modify each exercise for me to the point where I can do it. When I begin to do something more easily, they make it harder. They keep asking me for more.

Even though the other people in the class are doing things with their bodies that are way beyond me, even though my knees protest mightily, I keep working.

I do not know where the impetus to do this is coming from. I revel in it.

The trainers encourage me and push me to do better. I begin to log my accomplishments, keep track of my good work, encourage myself to do it longer, faster harder, higher, even heavier.

I do my very best.

When I went to Paris in September I walked miles every day. I ate hugely, greasily, deliciously and still walked off serious weight that week. I could never have pulled it off before CrossFit.

I have experienced subtle changes in my attitude towards food. Eat for my body, not for my taste buds. I experience not so subtle changes in my body. I begin to develop some muscles. I love to touch my new muscles. I am turning into a narcissist, how fun! Three times this year I have needed to buy new, smaller pants; my tops are all loose and baggy now. I expect to continue with workouts and weight loss, so I dress from Target, cheaply. My very expensive French bras are getting loose as well. Damn!

I look forward to gym, to the workout, to the sweat, to the challenge, to the exhaustion, to the accomplishment. I look forward to the people. I kinda love them all, the folks in the classes, and the trainers.

I know what got me started on this and what keeps me going. It’s a fairly magical story, and I’ll tell it later.