The Soul of a Crossfitter: Part II  By

The Soul of a Crossfitter: Part II

The Moments We Remember... Me (on right) and my best friend of 30 years at the Jersey shore, age 6.

The Moments We Remember… Me (on right) and my best friend of 30 years at the Jersey shore, age 6.

I’m almost 38 years old. I never played sports in my life. I was usually the last one picked for a team and would have done just about anything to avoid playing games like kickball and dodgeball. I think I’m going to die an early death when I run a mere 200 meters and after 3 years of crossfit, I still have to use my fingers to add up weight on the bar. But hey, that’s why I’m a writer and not the person doing your taxes.

Ok, so you must be wondering why someone like me is writing a blog about one of the most competitive and hardcore sports out there. And rightfully so; I’m not elite. I’m not even close. But I’m better than I was yesterday and that’s enough for me.

Call it Crazy. Call it Ego. Call it Addiction. Call it whatever poison you want.

I call it Change and without it, I could never move forward.

Sure, I crossfit because there is NO other form of exercise that will place parts of my anatomy where God intended them to be (so said a very wise and former coach of mine), but that is just icing on the cake that I no longer eat!

I crossfit because it humbles me and brings me to places I normally wouldn’t visit, like that old schoolyard where I felt awkward and insignificant. As much as my body is addicted to all those yummy endorphins, my mind is equally dependent on the flow of positive energy every time I collapse in exhaustion and close my eyes, thankful and amazed that I pushed through yet another WOD.

As I mentioned in Part I, I’ve nursed a few injuries in my 3 and half years and each has taught me a new respect, not only for the integrity of the sport but for my own body and will. When a torn forearm prevented me from lifting any kind of significant weight, that just meant more time to squat. And squat I did. Almost two years later, my jeans still don’t fit the same but that is a whole separate blog. Of course, it was hard to watch my boxmates continuously hit PRs while my own progress was halted, but as time went on and I had to rebuild my strength from scratch, the lesson was clear. There was ALWAYS going to be someone better, faster, stronger than me. It wasn’t about winning or being the strongest, because at this rate, I was probably never going to own either of those titles. And if I wanted to move forward, I had to be ok with that, because the only thing that would ever stand in my way was me.

As I write this, I am reminded of one of my favorite quotes:

Life is not measured by how many breaths we take,

but by the moments that take our breath away.

For the scared, unconfident little girl standing on the sidelines, Crossfit has given me some of my most amazing breaths: the first time I jumped on a box without fear: running a 5K without dying; finally getting a real pull up, and hitting the top of that endless rope.

The soul of a crossfitter isn’t nourished by the numbers on the clock, but by all of the precious moments before.

 

Jersey

 

2 Comments

  1. This is my first time pay a quick visit at here and i am really happy to read all at one place.

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