Kettlebells. Bars. Medicine balls. Ripped Hands. Chalk. To some, this may not sound like a pleasant environment. For me, it’s my happy place.
I started CrossFit the summer before my eighth grade year. Walking into a gym with no mirrors was intimidating. The smell of sweat was strong. To the left of the entrance, someone had set up a wall for people to sign after puking. Only making my anxiety worse, there was a large man in the corner cursing at his trainer. How could someone find enjoyment in this torture? I thought. Soon enough, I was proven wrong.
My first year of CrossFit was tough. I had played soccer and volleyball for a few years, but nothing could prepare me for the challenges my muscles would endure. After I completed my first week, I discovered my hatred for arm workouts. Pushups and pull-ups are, to this day, my mortal enemies.
I remember working on a WOD (Workout Of the Day) with my family one Sunday within my first year: 2 rope climbs, 20 pushups. 20 minute AMRAP (As Many Reps As Possible). Sounds easy, right? Wrong. The first round was easy. I finished quickly. My arms felt so strong. Halfway through the second set of pushups, however, my arms were on fire. I’m not talking “good and powerful” fire. This was a bad type of fire — fire that makes you want to cry. Needless to say, I went home in tears, without finishing.
This is an experience that I will remember forever. It was my first real “CrossFit” experience. It’s not uncommon to hear someone yelling while you’re working out. “Stop when you’re dead!” used to be my favorite. While I do not believe working myself to death is necessary, I do find this saying meaningful. CrossFit has taught me that there is always something to work for. Once I finally learned how to do a kipping pull-up, I went straight to practicing my strict pull-ups. My deadlifts, snatches and squats are always increasing. As someone who is, admittedly, an overachiever, my gym humbles me. I am not the strongest. I am not the fastest. I am certainly not the most flexible. This place helps me to forget about all of that. There are no mirrors for me to make sure my hair is still in a perfect top knot 10 minutes into the workout, but I always have a sense of pride after finishing.
Today, I’m 18 and in college. I am proud to be a part of something so amazing. It’s funny to me when people bash it. They call it “barbaric” and “pointless.” I have never felt that. Nor have I ever suffered an injury. In fact, in the past six years, the only injuries I have sustained have been from high school sports. Yes, I have had some bad words come out of my mouth during a workout once or twice, but I enjoy CrossFit. I have met people who never fail to encourage me when I am struggling through the last set of burpees. My family and I work together. I have achieved goals I never thought I could achieve. All of this has been done in an environment where I feel comfort and happiness. Others are free to continue bashing CrossFit. I, however, will keep nursing my sore muscles and returning, ready for more action.
