Haterade

First off, I'd like to start by thanking you all for the wonderfully positive response to my last post.  The support of friends means more than you know, and I appreciate each and every one of you. :)

And, since I am in writing mode again, I'm going to go ahead and write about a topic that I've been wanting to touch on for weeks but haven't gotten around to.  Don't worry, no more serious stuff for this week.  I think Sunday's post exceeded my annual legal limit of sappiness, so I'll keep this one light.

As most of you know, CrossFit is growing rapidly in popularity worldwide.  It has gone from a relatively unknown sport for the fittest of the fit, to a wide-spread fitness phenomenon accessible to anyone with the desire (and the balls) to try it.  CrossFit boxes are popping up all over the place.  The increase in numbers of affiliates, participants, and Open competitors in 2012/2013 as compared to previous years are pretty staggering:

From Tabata Times

From the CrossFit Games Facebook page

 

 

As with anything else that goes from fairly obscure to relatively mainstream in a short period of time, CrossFit has generated a lot of buzz.  It's all over the media.  ESPN airs the Games reruns fairly regularly.  And the internet has been inundated with more CrossFit talk than anyone could possibly have the time or desire to read.  Even a die-hard like myself.

 

Some of the stuff out there is positive, informative, and accurate.  However, for whatever reason, CrossFit seems to be extremely polarizing.  And for every one of us who have been "drinking the Kool Aid," it seems there are plenty of people out there who are chugging the HATERADE.  Yep... for reasons I can't quite understand, there seem to be an abundance of people out there with an unexplainable and vehement hatred for the sport, the lifestyle, and, apparently, everyone who participates in it.  And unfortunately, bad press always seems to speak louder than positive press.

 

 

 

The result?  A billion anti-CrossFit rants making their way around the World Wide Web, making people who don't know any better think that we are all a bunch of 'roided-up freaks who eat raw dinosaur meat for breakfast and sacrifice chubby virgins at our cult gatherings.

 

There have been some pretty memorable ones floating around lately.  (The Uncle Rhabdo diatribe was a personal favorite of mine.)  Some of them at least make an effort to be legit, citing medical terminology and interviewing doctors and physical therapists who feel that CrossFit does more harm than good.  And while I don't agree with most of the information or the rationales behind it, I have to at least give them credit for keeping it semi-professional.  Some of them are nothing more than rants, based solely on opinion... but some are at least well-written.   But the one that finally drove me to commentary is the magnificently ridiculous piece of garbage that I'm about to share with you... which is neither legit OR well-written.  And I just can't help myself.  It's too easy.

 

I'll be quoting the original piece throughout my response, but if you want to read the full column in all of it's absurd and obnoxious glory, you can do so HERE.  Evidently it has been around for awhile, but I only had the good fortune of reading it recently.  (Thank you Danielle Ripper for sharing this gem!)

 

In case you don't feel like wasting time and brain cells on these shenanigans, I'll give you a quick summary.  This gentleman, who pretty much admits to being a sexist alcoholic frat boy (not in so many words, but the sentiment is there), appears to have tried CrossFit for a period of time in 2011 and hated it, and now has come up with 10 reasons why CrossFit is the worst thing on earth and everyone should stop doing it.  Each "reason" is highlighted with a ridiculous photograph and an explanation of why CrossFit and CrossFitters suck.

 

My first response to this piece of "writing" was to laugh.  Not because of witty writing style or clever wording, but because this guy is so incredibly douchey that you really can't help but laugh at him.  My second reaction was an immediate need to point out exactly how laughable this nonsense really is.  So, I'm going to do just that.  In underlined font, you will find all of the reasons why Sexist Alcoholic Frat Boy (henceforth to be referred to as SAFB) thinks that CrossFit is the devil.  In italics, you will find a directly quoted explanation for each reason, straight from SAFB's column.  And in bold, you will find my rebuttal.  Enjoy.

 

 

The title: #STOPCROSSFIT.

 

Clever, no?

 

The author goes on to describe how, in a post-college effort to get in shape, he allowed a coworker to talk him into joining a CrossFit box.  He then explains that it was the worst experience of his life, that he was lucky if he used one of his prepaid three weekly sessions because it made him so miserable, and that he has determined that CrossFit is a cult.  (How refreshing.  We've never heard that analogy before!)  He then goes on to list "10 terrible things about CrossFit and everything that goes with the cultural phenomenon."

 

SAFB hates the following things about CrossFit and CrossFitters:

 

1) "People who post Facebook statuses about CrossFit."

 

"Facebook asks, “What’s on your mind?” Facebook does not ask, “How was CrossFit today, you yolked badass?” Nobody gives a single fuck that you completed the WOD (workout of the day) in 3 minutes and 34 seconds, or that you finished in sixth place out of the fifteen people in your class. Stop uploading videos of yourself executing the perfect hang clean, or photos of you in the pushup position. You’re scaring us."

 

My response:  Guilty as charged.

 

Yep, I've been known to post a big PR or especially tough WOD on Facebook.  And yep, I know that a solid 90% of the people on my friends list do not, as you so eloquently stated, "give a single fuck" about what I did at the box today.

 

I also know that I'm not particularly interested in looking at the 75 selfies someone posted from their bathroom last night, or how many beverages you pounded over the weekend, or constant laments about fantasy football failures,  or absurd political rants, or play-by-play status updates about the potty training process of my friends' children.  But I certainly do not berate anyone for it.  I simply choose to ignore it.  Freedom of expression, sir.  Just as you have every right to post your biased, uneducated anti-CrossFit rant on the internet for all to see, I have every right to share my accomplishments with a limited audience on Facebook.  Deal with it.

 

 

 

And, by the way... the fact that I can probably back squat more than you can does not make me "scary".  It makes me awesome.  Which brings me to #2...

 

 

2) "Getting destroyed by girls."

 

"You roll into the gym on your first day and notice that there are three small members of the female sex in your class. These chicks can’t weigh more than 120-pounds on a bad day. You’re thinking, “I’m going to destroy these little girls and show them how big my dick is.”

 

Wrong.

The whole thing is set up as a unisexual even playing field. You’ll be powering through 150-pound thruster reps while one of those little girls next to you is doing nothing but the bar and absolutely wrecking your workout time. Either that, or the chick working out next to you will be a freak beast who warms up with more weight than you can lift, which is totally emasculating.

Speaking of which, ladies, CrossFit will not make you sexy. It will make you frightening."

Oh, my.  Where do I even begin?

First of all... the fact that you would think, much less admit to thinking, a phrase like "destroy these little girls and show them how big my dick is"... implies that your dick is not, in fact,  very big at all.  And I'm sorry if it shrinks an inch every time you get out-lifted, out-run, or out-performed by (gasp!) a CHICK.  But the fact of the matter is, there are some pretty badass girls out there.  Badass girls who do not share in your self-admittedly crappy attitude and non-existent work ethic.  And it doesn't surprise me one bit that they kicked your ass in all of the WODs you attempted.

Secondly, the "unisexual even playing field" that you lament doesn't bother real CrossFitters.  Because, as a general rule, sexist pigs who feel the need to out-lift a chick in order to validate their manhood, don't make it very long in this sport.

Thirdly... please show me the WOD where RX thrusters are 150lb for men and 45lb for women.  I'm very curious where you obtained this data.

Fourthly... I'm sorry that you find CrossFit girls to be "emasculating" and "frightening."  Not because I give half a crap what you think, but because you echo a sentiment that has been plaguing our country for years, and that I thought we were finally getting past: the idea that strong women can't be beautiful.  That muscles are "scary".  What a sad commentary on our country (and people like you) that unhealthy and emaciated is perceived as beautiful, when strong and healthy and athletic is considered less attractive.  Garbage.  You know what I think is beautiful?  Confidence.  And I think you'll find that the average scary-muscle-rocking CrossFitter has a lot more confidence than the poor girl who is starving herself in an attempt to obtain the conventional definition of beauty.



3) "Everyone is cheering you on."

"You’ll never feel more insecure about yourself than while you’re pathetically finishing up a workout in last place, hacking up tar and puking up alcohol from last night’s happy hour, as the rest of the class cheers you on.

I remember one specific morning where I yacked up bile outside the gym after a lap around the building, and then ran inside to finish my final round of kipping pull ups. The rest of the class surrounded me, clapping and cheering, urging me on to personal victory. Their enthusiasm caused me to truly hate every single person on earth and everything about myself at the same time."

Ugh..  Totally with you on this one, dude.  A community where people support each other,, share enthusiasm for a mutual passion, want each other to perform well, and do their best to encourage others when they are struggling?  That's the worst.

You know what I find equally offensive to being cheered on through the end of my WOD?

This puppy sleeping between two fluffy bunny rabbits:

YOU BASTARD!

 

Completely unacceptable.

 

 

 

4) "You only care about beach muscles."

 

"If your goal is chiseling out a six-pack and some gnarly biceps to impress bitches at the pool, you’re in the wrong place. These people want to turn you into a fucking monster, not a precisely toned piece of man candy. They’ll have you training to play offensive guard for the New England Patriots, not doing crunches until you look like that Eskimo kid from the Twilight series."

 

I could comment on the abundance of "precisely toned pieces of man candy" in our local CrossFit community.  I could express my condolences for any and all "bitches at the pool" who you are trying to impress, because I can only imagine how your presence could ruin a perfectly good day of sunbathing.  But the main thing I took away from this gem of a paragraph is that you are a full-grown man who just referenced a movie about sparkly vampires.

 

 

 

5) "There is nothing worse than a CrossFit couple."

"Developing a sexual relationship at the gym is just weird. You’re in there getting all sweaty, smelling like ass, and breathing like James Gandolfini, working up hormones to convince yourself that your sex drive hasn’t prematurely faded to that of a 65-year-old retiree, and then in the midst of your post-workout high you spit game to the blonde doing abs in the corner? Yeah, that’s not creepy.

 

This phenomenon is far worse in a CrossFit gym, because you’re in small groups with the same people day after day. There were at least four couples at my location that I’m positive were making zoo noises on top of each other on a nightly basis. They tried to keep it professional in the presence of the other cult members, but masking the fact that they did naked burpees with each other in bed proved impossible.

I’m guessing the divorce rate for CrossFit couples has to be over ninety percent. Oh, you met in the middle of a WOD when you tripped over each other between stations? That’ll be a cute story for your freakishly muscular offspring.

“Daddy used to creepily stare into the depths of mommy’s ass while she did squats at CF.” "

 

While I very rarely see anyone "spitting game" at TPA (do people really say things like this?  In real life?), I do know of plenty of CrossFit couples at our box.  Most of them are married, and started doing CrossFit together... although I do have it on good authority that there is at least one TPA couple who met through CrossFit. :)  Honestly... what is wrong with having shared interests and mutual passions with one's spouse?  How is this any different than a couple that shares a love for watching football, or traveling, or any other mutual hobby?  And as for the longevity of these couples, I would think that having a shared passion would be a benefit, not a hindrance.  Not to mention that strength, flexibility, and stamina are desirable attributes in a spouse, no?



 

As for couples "making zoo noises on top of each other every night"... what do you care?  Perhaps if you spent a little more time focusing on your workouts instead of worrying about who was doing "naked burpees" together, maybe you would have gotten a little more out of the experience.

And for the record... I can't speak for everyone.  But this particular CrossFitter does not do voluntary burpees.  Ever.  Naked or otherwise.


6) "It's not a fun hobby, or something you look forward to."

"Getting off work and knowing that I still had to go to CrossFit was the most miserable feeling I have encountered post grad.

You might be asking, “Why didn’t you switch to morning workouts, you lazy jackass?”

Going to sleep and knowing that I had to wake up and go straight to CrossFit was the second most miserable feeling I have encountered post grad."

Speak for yourself, dude.  CrossFit is one of my favorite parts of the day.  I look forward to it through all 12 hours of my night shifts.  Is it for everyone?  No.  Do a lot of people enjoy it immensely?  Yep.  So perhaps you should put a little disclaimer on that statement.

Oh, and for someone who has allegedly written a book, you should know better than to end a sentence with a preposition.  BOOM.  Busted by the grammar police, clever guy.


7) "The guy who has no chance of ever actually getting in shape."

"He’s overweight, he’s not athletic, and he probably has a drinking problem. It’s admirable that he’s joined CrossFit in an attempt to turn his life around, but everyone there can see it in his eyes. He’s just not cut out for this. Some people have the inner-drive necessary for success, others don’t.

He halfheartedly laughs about how he fell off the wagon again last night and smoked a few cigs after one too many gin-and-tonics at Chili’s. Then he apathetically goes through the motions during the WOD, impressing no one, including himself. Afterwards, he fakes inspired conversation with the coaches and diehards before heading home to jerk off on his living room couch and fall asleep without showering.

You might hate it there, but at least you know you could be giving 110% if you needed to. This guy’s 110% is your 50%. He’s genetically inferior."

This statement pisses me off more than any other nonsense SAFB has unleashed upon us.  For three reasons.

1) CrossFit is effing HARD.  I don't care how "apathetically" you think someone is going through the motions... just getting through a WOD is pretty badass in and of itself.

2)  One of my favorite thing about CrossFit is that I don't have to compare my 100% to anyone else's 100%.  I do the best I can to play off of my strengths and improve my weaknesses.  That's why all of the WODs can be scaled, modified, etc. to accommodate all levels of fitness and skill.  Which is awesome for me, because I'm nowhere near as badass as some of the amazing athletes at TPA, and probably never will be.  But I'm a hell of a lot better than I used to be.  I choose to focus on that.

3)  "Some people have the inner drive necessary for success, others don't."  Yep.  Exactly.  Because that "genetically inferior" guy is still at it.  Still trying.  Still taking steps to make his life better.  And you are the judgmental, elitist tool who is criticizing him from your couch.  Tell me about this "inner drive" of yours again...?


8) "Eating Paleo is fucking impossible."

"I’m a skinny guy, and I have a mean pair of chicken legs. I’m talking total lack of calf definition. It’s a genetic trait that I inherited from my father, and it’s never going away. I could do leg workouts with Adrian Peterson, and I would still have limbs like a stork. This is never going to change, and I have made peace with that fact.

However, one of the CrossFit coaches was constantly urging me to drink an entire gallon of milk a day in order to bulk up. Are you fucking high, sir? This is Texas. It’s 110 degrees outside during the dark of winter, but I digress.

Paleo, also known as “the caveman diet,” is impossible to maintain. We live in a country where there is delicious fast food available on every corner. How in the name of God am I supposed to eat like a hunter-gatherer?"

Milk isn't Paleo.  Are you fucking high, sir?

Paleo is not, in fact, impossible.  I followed a fairly strict Paleo diet for six months, and didn't seem to have a problem surviving without the McDonalds food group.

Speaking of which... check out the research going around about "unidentifiable fibers" found in Chicken McNuggets.  I've never found anything like this in my spaghetti squash:

Yummy!

 

 

 

 

9) "It's dangerous in there."

 

"Any trainer will tell you that working out with improper form is incredibly unsafe. For this reason, proper form is stressed to no end in a CrossFit gym. This is because you’re doing an absurd amount of different lifts and motions on a totally sporadic basis.

 

The problem is, nobody actually uses proper fucking form. People were dropping like flies in there. Once a week, which was exactly how many times I actually showed up, someone would stroll into the gym with a heating pad wrapped around a part of their body, and sit in the corner with a massive rubber band, rehabbing their injured muscle.

Most of these people will have zero cartilage left in their body by the age of fifty."

 

This is probably the most common argument I've seen out there against CrossFit: that it's DANGEROUS.  That we all throw around too much weight with bad form.  That we are pushed too hard.  That we are perpetually injured.  That we are all going to suffer from rhabdomyolysis because we are doing unreasonable things to our bodies.

This irks me.  Do people get hurt doing CrossFit?  Of course.  We're asking our bodies to do some pretty extreme things, and sometimes we get injured.  Sometimes we have overuse injuries.  We are athletes.  We do work.  And sometimes, we royally eff up our bodies in the process.

But tell me... what sport ISN'T dangerous, in some capacity?  How many kids do we read about in the news with traumatic brain injuries from high school football?  A lot.  I work in an ER.  I've seen injuries from pretty much every kind of physical activity imaginable.  Running.  Biking.  Skiing.  Baseball.  Gymnastics.  Dance.  Basketball.  Wrestling.  Lacrosse.  Field hockey.  I even once had a patient who managed to injure himself in a heated game of ping pong.  Injuries happen.  Any time you push your body to its limits, you run the risk of hurting it.  So why are all of these people raging against the CrossFit machine?  How is it any different from any other sport?

You're right.  Some of use let our form slip.  I am especially guilty of this.  Not denying it.  We are all accountable for our own performance and our own bodies.  The sport is not to blame.  We are.

I have been doing CrossFit for well over a year now, and have NEVER felt like I was being pushed too hard, or pressured to do anything I wasn't capable of doing.  Do our coaches expect 100% effort?  Yes.  But they want our 100%.  And they are incredibly good at knowing what that is.  At knowing where to draw the line.  I've suffered my fair share of injuries.  I once jacked up my back deadlifting with bad form... less than 5 minutes after my coach had tried to correct it.  I got hurt because I didn't listen.  I've been wrestling with a shoulder issue for months now... overuse, probably tendonitis.  NOT because my coaches push me too hard, but because I use poor judgment in taking rest days and I often get overly-ambitious with my lifts.  Both of which my coaches have been trying to get me to change.  And, most recently, I injured my wrist trying for a heavy clean that was outside of my strength and skill level.  My coaches weren't even there when that happened.  I can honestly say that every time I've injured myself at the box, it has been either a result of bad form, bad judgment, or both.  And each time, I can say with great confidence, that I wish I had listened to my coaches.  My injuries are not a CrossFit problem... they are a common sense problem, and I blame no one but my own stupidity for every single one of them.  I'm careless sometimes.  There are careless athletes in every sport.  CrossFit is no different.

That's no reason to hate the sport.


10) "It is a cult."

"I’m not saying all CrossFitters are sociopathic health nuts whose lives revolve around the prospect of daily self-improvement via unnecessarily intense exercise in a military environment, who have nothing else to live for outside work other than the one hour a day where they become master of their domain by throwing kettlebells around. I’m saying most CrossFitters are sociopathic health nuts whose lives revolve around the prospect of daily self-improvement via unnecessarily intense exercise in a military environment, who have nothing else to live for outside work other than the one hour a day where they become master of their domain by throwing kettlebells around."

Followed by this lovely photo:

 

 

 

Oooooh, where to begin?  Shall we start with the irony of the fact that this hyper-critical, foul-mouthed, excessively negative hater just used the word "sociopathic" to describe the most positive group of people I have ever had the pleasure to come across?

 

Nah.  Too easy.

 

"Health nuts"?  Since when does leading a relatively healthy lifestyle and enjoying vigorous exercise qualify one as a "health nut"?  I drink more wine than the average family of alcoholics.  I think cheese should be its own food group.  I am not, by any definition, a "health nut."  But the fact is, being healthy feels better than being unhealthy.  It allows my body to do the things I enjoy, allows me to do my job better, and hopefully will let me live longer so that I can put the smackdown on ignorant column writers for many years to come.

 

 

 

As for "not having anything to live for"... I declare shenanigans.  We all have friends, relationships/marriages, and jobs.  Most of my box mates have kids.  We all lead pretty full lives.  CrossFit is not what I live for.  But it sure makes living more fun.  And I don't care if you like it or not.

 

Yes, we get it.  You think we're a cult.  You think our community and dedication and drive and camaraderie make us freakish and abnormal.  Okay.  Let's move on.  We recognize that CrossFit isn't for everyone.  It takes a certain kind of person to do what we do... to want to do it, and to enjoy doing it.  If you are not one of those people, that's cool.  We're not going to criticize you for not doing something you hate.  So don't criticize us for doing what we love.

 

And finally... that picture.  Ugh.  The implication that CrossFit is pointless.  That, just because there is no ball and no teams and no one keeping score every day, it serves no purpose.  Well, guess what, SAFB?  If you ever come into my ER in cardiac arrest, you'll be thankful that I'm a "sociopathic health nut"... because when my undisputedly awesome chest compressions are the only things keeping your heart beating, I doubt I'll hear anyone complaining about the sport that allows me to do it so well.

 

I'm not training to be the best at exercise.  I'm training to be the best I can be at life.  And when your life is saving other peoples' lives 40 hours a week, you better believe it counts to be good at it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

End rant. :)

 



 

 



 



 

 

Giving Thanks and Taking Steps

Hi, friends!  Once again, I find myself apologizing for being a crappy and inconsistent blogger... but for a very different reason this time.  I'm no longer suffering from lack of inspiration or motivation, and I'm no longer wallowing in sadness or self-pity or doubt.  This time, my lack of blog posts is a good thing.  Because for the first time in a long time (maybe ever), I've been way too busy enjoying life to stop and write about it.  And, let me tell you... that is a glorious feeling. :)  However, I find myself faced with a rainy day, a rare chunk of spare time, a good night's sleep under my belt, and an abundance of inspiration after attending a really beautiful sermon this morning.  So, here I am.

Confession:  I love November.  Always have.  I love the cold weather and the changing leaves, and the promises of snow and skiing and long winter walks in the woods just around the corner.  It's the last month before the two-month period containing my favorite days of the year:  Christmas, New Years, and my birthday.  And it is also the month in which we celebrate Thanksgiving... a holiday that I never really appreciated all that much until recent years.  (Honestly, if you're going to base an entire holiday around a meal that will provide enough calories to feed a small army, that meal should contain a little less cranberry sauce and a lot more cheese.  But, that's just me.)  The older I get, the more I understand that Thanksgiving means more than stuffing one's face, drinking way too much wine with one's family, and falling into a tryptophan coma.  And this year especially, the holiday has a lot of meaning for me.  More than ever before, and more than I could have anticipated.

Back in college, a few friends and I started the tradition of picking one thing every day in November for which we were thankful.  If I remember correctly, this idea started at a bar at approximately 1am on November 1st, and my first declaration of thanks was for Jack Daniels.  Over the years, my "thanks" have gotten a little more mature.  (Last year, I was thankful for dirty martinis, which is clearly a classier thing to be thankful for than good ol' #7.)  Every year, there are the standbys.  My wonderful friends.  My horse.  My completely dysfunctional but strangely appealing family.  The fact that I have a best friend who I have known for most of my life (closing in on the two decade mark!) and who is still one of the most amazing people I know.  (Love you and miss you every day, Ericka Pauline Schaefenafer Caslin!)  Having a job that pays the bills, a roof over my head, plenty of food to eat, and having never had to go without anything that I truly needed.  I've always had a lot for which to be thankful.  However, my "month of thanks" kind of became a mind game over the years.  The more unhappy and unfulfilled I became with my life, the more guilty I felt for feeling that way, and the harder I tried to compensate by coming up with 30 things to be thankful for each year.  I thought if I could come up with enough of these things, that maybe I would be able to see the good in my life and change my crappy perspective, and that maybe then I would stop being ungrateful and unhappy.  But in recent years, it's mostly just made me depressed having to bullshit my way through by mid-month.  (If memory serves, 2011 contained the following gems of thanksgiving by the end of the month: flannel sheets... getting to wear the equivalent of blue pajamas to work every day... the guy at my local gas station who didn't judge me when I showed up every evening for my two giant Red Bulls and my pack of smokes...  and good toilet paper.  And while I still appreciate the merits of a nice, soft roll of two-ply, it always felt like I should be able to come up with something more meaningful in my life than an absence of ass-chafing toilet tissue.)

This year, everything is different.  For the first time, I am overwhelmed with thankfulness for so many things that I wish November contained more days.  Each day, I have trouble narrowing it down to one thing.  Never in my life have I felt luckier, more thankful, more blessed.  Part of it is a change in perspective... finally being able to pull my head out of my ass and truly be grateful for all of the wonderful things I've had in my life all along.  But in addition to changing my perspective, I've also made some pretty epic changes in my life in general this year.  And I couldn't possibly be more thankful for all of the beauty and growth and enormous joy that have come as a result.

As I've gone through the month, choosing something every day for which to be thankful, I started to notice a theme.  They were almost all connected by one common thread.  And that common thread is something for which I am eternally thankful... today, and every day, more than words can possibly express.  Because when I really take a good hard look at the best changes in my life over the past year, they all started from the same place.  The same day.  The same moment, really.

I am so, so thankful for the first day I walked into CrossFit TPA.

I know what some of you are probably thinking... oh, shit.  Here we go again.  Crazy bitch needs to lay off the Kool-Aid, because we've already read more than enough love letters to this TPA place.  And I don't expect everyone to get it.  To truly understand how four walls, a garage door, some mats, and a bunch of bumper plates can change a life in the most epic way, for the absolute better.  But the honest truth is, it can and it has.  And not a day, or a moment, goes by in which I am not enormously thankful for those changes... for those four walls, the gains I've made and the lessons I've learned within them, and the people with whom I share them.

I know it's all been said before, in previous blog posts.  I've written, ad nauseum, about all of the ways my time at TPA has changed me, and helped me grow, and brought enormous and unprecedented happiness to my life.  It all started with wanting to lose weight, because I thought that being thin, looking better, and being more conventionally attractive would automatically make me a happier person.  And yes, being healthy has been a wonderful and much needed change.  The number on the scale has been a nice bonus.  But there are so many other numbers that mean infinitely more to me.

13.1: the distance of the half marathon that I never, in a million years, thought I'd be able to finish.

17: the number of minutes I've shaved off of my 5K time since my first race.

93: the number of pounds I've added to my max clean and jerk since my first attempt.

11/11/13: the day I RXed my first hero WOD.

5:  The number of Open WODs I made it through without scoring a zero.

4:  The number of WODs I survived in one day at the Patriot Games without making a complete fool out of myself or crying like a little bitch.

240/220/335: my max back squat/front squat/dead lift numbers to date... from a girl who used to watch people at the box and think, "I'll never be strong enough to lift that."

One of the things I love most about CrossFit is the ability to see quantifiable progress.  There are few things more satisfying than looking back in my WOD book and seeing that I just took a big chunk of time off of a benchmark WOD, or to see that my overhead squat has more than tripled since the first time I went for a one rep max, or to smash through a WOD doing box jumps on a 24-inch box and remember that it wasn't so long ago that I was scared of the 12-inch "baby box".  The numbers don't lie... concrete evidence of progress.  Improvement.  Getting stronger, faster, better.

And then there are the bigger gains... the ones that don't show up on a clock, or can't be counted by the plates on your bar.  The empowerment that comes from doing things that you once thought were impossible.  The satisfaction that comes with hard work and the resulting accomplishments.  The confidence that comes from letting your guard down and finally being yourself (because who has the energy to try to put on an act after being brutally demolished by Fran or Grace or one of their nasty friends?) and being accepted for who you truly are.  The many different kinds of strength that I've gained from my time at the box... strength of conviction, of faith, of self... all of the things I discussed in my last blog post are more applicable now than ever, proving that my scary-looking quads are not the only things that have grown since I took my first timid steps as a CrossFitter.  I've grown stronger, braver, more self-assured, more optimistic.  I've grown healthier.  I've grown happier.  And while I may be just over half of my former size, I am twice the person I've ever been before.  And that is a truly remarkable gift for which I will never stop being thankful.

If I had to sum up, in one word, what I'm most thankful for about my time at TPA, I'd have to say... courage.  I lived so much of my life as a weak person... physically, yes, but also mentally and emotionally.  I had no faith in myself, or in anyone else.  I was unhappy most of the time, and grew to hate the person I'd become.  I was scared of everything... scared of change, scared of letting people in, scared of being lonely and miserable for the rest of my life.  I was so scared of never going anywhere... but I was more scared to move.  To make changes.  To try anything new.  To fail.  To take steps towards something better.  So I became stagnant; standing still, afraid to make the first move, just waiting for magic to happen.  For some glorious change to fall out of the sky, land in my lap, and make my life everything I'd ever wanted it to be.

If a random whim and a well-timed Google search hadn't brought me to CrossFit TPA, I'd probably still be waiting.

Change doesn't just happen.  I learned that quickly at the box.  You don't get stronger just by wishing for it... you have to work for it.  You don't get good at something without giving it everything you've got.  You never succeed if you're too afraid of failure to try.  You never know what you're capable of until you push the limits.  And you'll never be happy with who you are, if you spend your life trying to be someone else.  Courage is everything.  Courage to try.  Courage to give it your all, even when your all isn't what you'd like it to be.  Courage to move forward.  Courage to change. Courage to be honest... with others, and with yourself.  This is what I have taken away from my 15 months at TPA.

Lifting heavy shit gives me courage.  Attempting a lift at a weight I've already failed at multiple times... takes courage.  The first time you finally nail it at that weight... breeds courage.  Being stronger than I ever thought I could be... increases courage.

Having a passion for something at which I am inherently crappy gives me courage.  It's so easy to do something day after day if you are good at it... if it comes naturally to you.  But to suck at something from day one... to struggle for every skill, every movement, every gain... to fairly consistently finish last in any "for time" WOD even after all these months... to know that I'm never going to be the fastest, or the strongest, or the best CrossFitter, or probably even a semi-good CrossFitter... to know all of this, and to keep going every day, and to love every piece of it none the less... to realize that you don't have to necessarily be good at something in order to enjoy it... finally being able to redefine success, on my own terms... these things have given me courage.

Being surrounded by amazing, inspiring athletes gives me courage.  Watching people fight and succeed every day.  Watching a friend finally master a skill they've been working on for months.  Seeing the smile on someone's face when they finally get to write their time in the "RX'ed" column for the first time.  Watching people do things that seem impossible... lift impossible amounts of weight, put up impossible Fran times, accomplish impossible things with their bodies.  The more I do it, the more I realize that there is no "impossible" in CrossFit.  There's just hard, harder, and really effing hard.  And seeing people do the really effing hard stuff inspires me to try harder myself.  And who knows?  Maybe I'll get there someday.  Or maybe I won't.  But either way, watching people make the impossible, possible... gives me courage.

And being surrounded by amazing, inspiring friends gives me the most courage of all.  Having people in my life who understand me.  Who like me for who I am, rather than for who I think I should be.  Who support me endlessly, whether I'm doing something as small as going for a 5-pound PR, or something as big as making a seriously major life change.  Who have my back, no matter what.  And who make me feel like it's okay to be weird and different and a little bit crazy.  Which I am, and always will be.  Finally being okay with that has given me more courage than anything else.

I always used to hear stories about people making enormous transformations in their lives... about people "finding themselves."  And I always thought it was a little bit ridiculous.  How does one "find" their self?  And how does one "lose" their self in the first place?  I always thought, we are who we are.  You have the cards you're dealt.  Your life is what it is.  How pretentious I always thought these people were, with their tales of self-discovery and self-fulfillment.

It wasn't until I woke up one day and realized that I'd somehow become cynical, bitter, unhappy, and a shadow of my former being, that I finally understood what it truly meant to be lost.  To lose one's self in the most crushing way.  To realize that life had lost its joy somewhere along the line, and that I'd stopped trying to find it.  And it wasn't until I found TPA, and the people I've met there, that I started the process of figuring out who I am and what I want.  The process of "finding myself."  Because that process takes a courage that I'd never possessed before.

I have it now.  The courage to figure out myself, my dreams, who I want to be and where I want to go from here.  The courage to get out of my comfort zone.  Which may not seem like that much, to some.  My comfort zone wasn't so bad, really.  There were lots of happy hours and dirty martinis and all of the cheese a girl could ask for.  An endless supply of boxes to hide in.  It felt safe and comfortable and familiar.  At times, I was reasonably happy there, in my comfort zone.  But there comes a time when you have to decide if "reasonably happy" is enough.  And I decided it wasn't enough for me anymore.  And it never truly would be.  So I took my first tentative step out of my comfort zone, and into the four walls of TPA.  The rest, as you know, is history.  And each step I take away from my comfort zone is a step towards the life I want to live, and the person I want to be.

This summer, I took an enormous leap of faith.  I faced the scariest Scared Shitless moment of my entire existence, and instead of turning back, I dove head-first into the terrifying unknown.  I had a choice between standing still and being safe... and turning my entire life upside down in ways that I never even thought possible, for a chance at happiness that I wasn't even sure was possible.  And for the first time in my life, I didn't let the fact that I was scared shitless, and uncertain, and completely unprepared for the consequences, hold me back.  I didn't let the likelihood of failure slow me down... I just jumped.  And while the months that followed were undoubtedly and unequivocally the most difficult and painful and downright terrifying months of my life, I fought through them.  Survived.  Became stronger than ever.  And somewhere, amidst that fight, I found what I'd been looking for.  I found myself.  I found what I wanted.  And I found a happiness that I never knew was possible.  And the past few months have been, just as undoubtedly and just as unequivocally, the happiest, most beautiful, most amazing months of my entire life.  I can't even describe it.  For the first time in so long, maybe ever, I feel like I am exactly where I am meant to be, doing exactly what I'm meant to do, with the person I'm meant to spend my life with.  And I truly feel like I am the best version of myself, in every way.  What an incredible journey it has been... and what an incredible reward I've been given for sticking it out.  I never knew life could be quite this awesome.  And all because of one really, really big leap of faith.

And I can honestly say that I never would have had the courage to take that leap, if it hadn't been for the things I've learned and the people I've met at CrossFit TPA.

So yes, when I say that the box changed my life in a truly epic way, I mean it quite literally.  Yep, four walls, some mats, and some bumper plates have taught me more in 15 months than anything else has in 31 years.  And I am so incredibly, unbelievably, indescribably thankful.  For all of it.

I'm thankful for the journey I've made within those walls.  For the changes I've seen in myself, physically and emotionally, that I never thought possible. 

I'm thankful for the people I've met on that journey.  People who have become family.  People who have supported me every step of the way, through every change and every stumble.  When I was in a terrible place this summer, and the rumor mill was working overtime, and it felt like the whole world was judging me, some truly amazing people at the box were the first to reach out to me.  To tell me that they didn't care what was being said, or if it was true, or what it all meant... that they loved me and had my back no matter what, and just wanted me to be happy.  In addition to everything these people have taught me about kindness and acceptance and unconditional friendship, they also taught me to stand tall no matter what... because quiet courage in the face of hardship speaks so much louder than the petty talk of the small-minded.

I'm thankful that CrossFit has helped me to overcome my fear of failure.  Not only because I've found some success there... but also because it has taught me that you can learn just as much, if not more, from your failures, if you have the right perspective.  It has been so freeing to let go of some of that fear.  I find myself trying new things that I never would have tried before.  Taking chances.  Living life to the fullest.  And, perhaps the most fulfilling result... I'm finally back in the saddle, for the first time in far too long.  Riding horses used to be the biggest, most important, most beloved part of my life.  The one thing at which I excelled, was successful, and truly enjoyed.  When time and financial constraints brought that to a halt for awhile, I felt like I'd lost a huge piece of my identity.  And for so long, I've been afraid to go back, because I was scared that it would be too much to handle if I wasn't good at it anymore.  But, as I've said so many times before, CrossFit and TPA have taught me that you don't have to be great at something to love it and benefit from it.  Getting back in the saddle has been an enormous contributor in rediscovering and redefining myself, and I couldn't be more thankful to have that part of my life and myself back.

I'm thankful for the opportunity to see little pieces of greatness every single day.  Whether it's watching Bova kill a workout in a time that would make Chuck Norris jealous, or watching a newcomer fight through the end of a tough WOD with everything they have, long after everyone is finished... the box is a daily reminder that there is greatness within all of us, if we are willing to dig deep to find it.  Being surrounded by greatness makes me want to be great, too.  So when the opportunity finally arose to do something great... to look fear in the face, take a stand, and fight for who I am and what I believe in... I was ready to seize that opportunity.  It is virtually impossible to be surrounded by these tremendous people, day after day, and not be inspired.  And that inspiration has made all the difference to me.

I'm thankful that, between those four walls, I've never felt like I had to be anyone but myself.  That I was comfortable in my own skin for the first time in my life.  That I could let my crazy, insecure, obsessive-compulsive freak flag fly, and no one thought any less of me for it.  At the box, we are family... immediately and unconditionally.  When you walk in that garage door, you join the family.  And the family that Frans together, stands together. :)  Over the past several months, as I discovered pieces of myself that were unconventional and scary to most of the world, my box family stood behind me.  Made me feel like it was okay to be this person... to be who I am, to love who I love, to live life to the fullest every single day, without worrying about getting approval from anyone but myself.  And while I've realized that no place is truly free of judgment, and that people will always talk, I've been so enormously thankful to find that the vast majority of this family was supportive and open-minded and, in some cases, even proud of me.  And as I begin the slow and often difficult process of exposing my true self and this new life to the outside world, it is such a blessing to have that constant reminder, from the wonderful people at TPA, that it doesn't really matter what anyone else thinks.  That the truly important thing is to be happy.  With the help of my friends, my family, I finally believe that.  I am finally not only okay with who I am... but actually like the person I've become.  For the first time, I find myself living a life of which I can be proud.  Not because of how much I can back squat, or where I find myself on the leaderboard... but because of who I have become.  Because I finally can say that I think I am a decent human being... an honest person, a person with strength of conviction, who stands up for the things in which she believes.  Because I have finally taken control of my life... have stopped waiting for change to come to me, and started making change happen for myself.  Because I know who I am, what I want, and am not willing to settle for anything less than true happiness.  I used to think it was selfish to put happiness above all else; that happiness was supposed to be a byproduct of doing everything else right.  But I'm learning that you can't really make other people happy if you're unhappy yourself.  That you can't truly love another, until you learn to love yourself.  And I'm learning that, in finding happiness, I have also become a better friend.  A better nurse.  A better coworker.  A better daughter and sister and aunt.  A better person, in so many ways.  Yes, I still have doubts and fears and insecurities.  I think we all do.  But I don't let those insecurities run my life anymore, or stop me from doing what I love and being who I am.  There are still days when I leave the box knowing that I could have tried harder, pushed more, been better.  But I'm learning not to let small failures slow down progress in the big picture.  Yes, there is still a small part of me that is scared of all of the changes I'm making, and how they will impact my life in the long run, and the fact that there are people in my life who will never approve or understand.  But I've also learned that fear is a part of life, and we choose whether it holds us back or makes us stronger.  And I'm choosing the latter.

If that's what comes from "drinking the Kool Aid"... I say give me that pitcher and a wall to smash through, because I'll take happiness and strength over doubt and weakness any day.

OOOOH YEAH!

(Please excuse my uncontainable need to reference bad 80's television advertisements.  And if you were too young to catch it... well, shit.  That would just make me feel old.  So don't tell me.)


Yep.  Four walls.  One garage door.  Some mats.  Some bumper plates.  To anyone who doesn't understand, that's all it looks like.  But to me, it's so much more.  Within those walls, I've found strength.  Confidence.  Courage.  True friendship.  Myself.  And love... the kind of epic, life-changing love that makes you fall asleep with a huge smile on your face every night, and wake up every morning glad to be alive.  The kind of love that makes you wonder how you survived without it, because for the first time you feel whole and complete and absolutely fulfilled in every way.  The kind of love that makes you a better person, and makes life so beautiful that you can hardly even believe it's real.  But that, my friends, is a story for another blog post. :)

So much change.  So much growth.  So many gifts.  I couldn't possibly be more thankful for that place, or those people.  And to think, it all started with a step through those garage doors.  One step.  A step I almost didn't take because I was tired, and feeling lazy, and had an episode of Grey's Anatomy DVRed that seemed like a much more enticing way to spend an evening.  But something made me take that step anyways.  And it has changed everything.

It seems like a dream, how content I feel right now.  How amazing it is to finally feel happy.  And it took a huge leap of faith to get me here.  But when I think about it, it wasn't just that one leap.  If the same opportunity had presented itself a year ago, I don't know that I would have even recognized it... and I definitely wouldn't have had the strength or courage to jump in after it.  It took so many steps to get me to the precipice... and each step was just as important, in its own way, as the big leap.

I think back to all of those steps, and how easy it would have been not to take them.  There was the step I took into Mojo to buy my first good pair of running shoes.  I could have easily used my bad knees as an excuse to continue plodding fruitlessly along on the elliptical machine in my basement until I got bored and went off in search of a nice cheese platter.  But instead I took the step, and was able to start running, which started everything.  There was the step into TPA for the first time... the fateful Google search that almost ended in a big wimp-out and another night in front of the TV (and probably more cheese), but instead turned into one of the best decisions I've ever made.  There was the step into the TPA Christmas Party last year, when I almost didn't go because I was still relatively new and painfully shy and unsure of my place at the box.  But I took that step, and ended up meeting, for the first time, the person who would later go on to change and enrich my life more than anyone else I've ever met.  There was the step I took into the box at 5:45am on the morning of Open WOD 13.1... something that scared the shit out of me, that I almost managed to find an excuse to skip, but which ended up turning into an enormously educational and empowering 5-week adventure with some truly amazing people.  The first step I took onto the turf at RAW for the Patriot Games... knowing I was underprepared and over-faced and was playing the role of the flat tire on an otherwise stacked team that deserved so much better.  But I did it anyways, and did my best, and it ended up changing me in ways that I can't even explain, in such a positive way.  My first step back into the box when my life went haywire this summer, after I found out that everyone was talking and everyone knew my secret... terrified of being judged and whispered about and disapproved of.  But my wonderful friends in the 8:30 crew didn't miss a beat, and treated me just as they always have: with kindness, acceptance, and respect.  And I've never been afraid to step into the box since.

So many steps.  Some seemingly insignificant.  All truly life-changing.

When I say that I have turned my life upside down this year, I am not exaggerating.  When I describe my leap of faith as "epic", I mean it.  And the rewards of that leap have been equally epic.  I'm in the best place I've ever been, and sometimes, it takes an enormous leap to get where you need to be.  But sometimes, you're closer than you think.  Sometimes, greatness is just outside your reach.  Sometimes, all it takes is one small step.

I'm certainly not in any place to be giving anyone advice... God knows, the last 6 months of my life have been a bizarre mix of Jerry-Springer-worthy and Lifetime-movie material, and I'm still trying to catch my breath from the whirlwind of change.  But there is one thing that I have learned, which I think applies to just about everyone.

When faced with the choice between standing still and taking a step forward... take the step.

Choose movement.  Choose progress.  Choose action.  Choose change.

If given the choice to step forward, take it.  If given the opportunity to do something positive for yourself, seize it.  If the world is trying to change you, let it.  Change can be terrifying.  But it can also be beautiful and healthy and exactly what you need.  And no matter how intimidating it may seem to make changes in your life, it is so much scarier to be stagnant... immobilized, frozen by doubt and insecurity, at a dead stand-still.  I believe we are born to learn and grow and change an evolve, and we can't do that if we're stuck in our tracks.

So, take the step.  Even if you don't know where it's leading you... take it anyways.  Even if you're not sure you're going in the right direction... go there anyways.  You'll never know what's out there if you don't step out of your cheese-and-martini comfort zone and take a look around.  You'll never know how far you can go, until you get started.

And you never know which step is going to be the one that changes your life forever.

“There is no passion to be found playing small - in settling for a life that is less than the one you are capable of living.” ~Nelson Mandela

Back in the saddle!  Thank you, TPA, for getting me there!

 

Gratuitous photo of me playing with an elephant.  Just because.

 

The Bigger Picture

I want to start off by apologizing for being a crappy blogger... a fact which has been brought to my attention several times over the past few months.  The fact of the matter is, it's been a crazy roller coaster ride of a summer, and most of the craziness in my life right now isn't really blog appropriate.  It's difficult to get inspired when you feel like your head is constantly spinning.  No major accomplishments or big athletic events to share with you... just a lot of crazy.  But, today is my one-year anniversary with CrossFit TPA, which is a pretty noteworthy occasion in my book, even though I'm miserably sick today and didn't make it to the box.  Boo.  So, I decided it was time to break out the laptop and try to find some inspiration somewhere.  Plus, I promised, when I started this blog, to write about all of the scary shit I face in 2013... and there has been enough scary shit in my life this summer to fill a book.  So, as promised, here it is.

The truth is, I've had some of the scariest Scared Shitless moments imaginable this summer.  But rather than facing physical or athletic fears, these Scared Shitless moments have all been of a highly personal nature.  (Of course, personal things never seem to stay personal for long... but we'll get to that later.)  In the course of the past three months, my entire life has been turned upside down.  I can't go into great detail, but I'll try to explain it as best I can.

When you have chronically low self-esteem, it's easy to see yourself, your true self, as not being good enough.  Not good enough for society, not good enough for your friends and loved ones, and, eventually, not good enough for yourself.  So you quickly learn to play roles.  I call this the "Box Phenomenon."  You become a people pleaser, putting yourself into different boxes for different people to present yourself as a package that will be pleasing or desirable.  Lacking faith that you will be liked or accepted for your true self, you begin to try to figure out what people will like and accept... and you do everything in your power to be those things.  I became the master of this.  So many boxes... a different box for all of the different people in my life.  The hard-working, goal-driven, well-behaved daughter box.  The understanding, ever-supportive, opinionless friend box.  The rowdy, care-free, guaranteed-good-time drinking buddy box.  The dutiful, faithful, perpetually content wife box.  The sarcastic keep-everyone-laughing coworker box.  The caring, compassionate nurse box.  So many different boxes.  I quickly learned that I was good at pretending.  That I could make myself into pretty much anything that I thought someone could want me to be.  That if I could just keep all of my boxes straight and not break character, no one would ever know what a fake I was, or what I was hiding underneath.  I could be accepted, liked, even loved, for who I was able to portray.  For thirty years, that worked out pretty well for me.

Two problems with that.  Number one, it gets exhausting.  Confusing.  Eventually, you have too many boxes to keep track of... too many versions of yourself.  At some point, you find yourself spending so much time figuring out which person to be at any given time, that you aren't left with the time or energy to enjoy life.  Number two... and this one is big... if you spend too much time playing roles for other people, you will inevitably, at some point, lose track of which "you" is the real you.  When you start living for other people, you will eventually lose yourself.  And once you lose sight of who you are, it can be a rocky road to finding yourself again.

I think I reached this point a long time ago.  After decades of playing roles, trying to fit different molds and desperately attempting to be what I thought everyone else wanted me to be, I had completely lost track of what I wanted by the time my 30th birthday rolled around.  Underneath all of my boxes, I had completely lost track of who I was.  And that's a scary place to be.  Lost.

Then I discovered CrossFit, and TPA, and embarked on the crazy journey that has been the basis for this blog.  Finally, a box that I didn't have to squeeze myself into... at this box, nobody had any expectations or judgments or standards that I felt I had to meet.  I was welcomed by complete strangers with open arms and open hearts.  And for the first time, I felt like I could be anyone I wanted to be.  I felt like I could be myself.

Only, I wasn't really sure who that was anymore.

As the months passed and TPA became a bigger and bigger part of my life, and as I began to build confidence and self-assurance, I began to slowly but surely rediscover myself, one piece at a time.  It was a slow process, and tedious at times.  Sometimes I would stumble across a piece I didn't like very much (I could absolutely do without my absurd OCD tendencies and my overly self-critical nature)... but I've learned that part of building self esteem is realizing that you have to accept all of the pieces of yourself, good and bad, before you can hope to make positive changes.  So I picked up those pieces, along with the ones I liked better, and embarked on the long and often challenging process of assembling the pieces into something whole.  Rebuilding my identity, my true self, piece by piece like a jigsaw puzzle.

The stronger and more confident I became, the clearer things began to appear.  The jumbled collection of scattered puzzle pieces were starting to look more and more like a finished product.  But something was still holding me back... I was still tentative.  Still scared to really open myself up to the person underneath the boxes.  What would I uncover there?  What if I didn't like that person?  What if nobody liked her?  What if she's even weirder and crazier and less socially acceptable than I always thought she would be?

It wasn't until after my completely epic experience at the Patriot Games (which I'm sorry I haven't written about... I hope to, someday, because it was a truly amazing day in every way) that I really took the plunge and decided it was time to let go of those fears.  Time to tear away the boxes once and for all, and embrace whatever I found inside.  I felt such intense happiness that day... being part of a team, giving every ounce of everything I had, letting go of my inhibitions and my fear of competition, and putting it all out there.  It took a lot of courage to stand up with my far more badass teammates and perform in front of a crowd... and that courage was repaid with one of the most incredible, emotionally-charged, rewarding experiences of my life.  That person -- the person I was at the Patriot Games -- was someone I liked.  That was a version of myself that I could not only live with, but be proud of.  Who knew what else I could uncover?

So I made a vow to myself that day: no more boxes.  The only box I belong in is CrossFit TPA.

The coolest thing about the Patriot Games was the surprisingly enormous amount of joy I found in that day.  In overcoming a huge fear... in finally not letting my head get the best of me... in doing what I love, with the people I love, and enjoying every brutal, sweaty, painful second of it.  After the last WOD, as I sat under the tent and enjoyed a hard-earned beer with my wonderful teammates and the rest of the TPA athletes, it occurred to me that, in that moment, I felt happier than I could remember feeling in a very long time.

I'll fill you in on another secret about people with chronically low self-esteem: we don't do happy very well.  We constantly question what we could have done better, what everyone else is thinking about us, whether or not we're being judged... because we are constantly judging ourselves, and therefore assume that others are doing the same.  I spent so long not letting myself be happy.  I didn't think I deserved to be happy for the longest time.  So to sit in the sunshine with some of my favorite people, celebrating a near-perfect day and feeling completely and utterly content... that was huge for me.  And for the first time in a long time, I began to think that maybe I do deserve to be happy, after all.  Not just that day... but in general.  To just be a happy person, happy with myself and happy with my life.

Doesn't everyone deserve that?

But in order to be happy with myself, I needed to really know who that was.  Hence, the no-more-boxes vow.  I was feeling more confident than I've ever felt in my life.  Stronger.  More secure.  And I was finally ready to discard the conventional idea of who I was supposed to be and what I was supposed to want... to figure out who I really was, and what I really wanted out of my life.

What I wanted, when I really opened myself up to the possibility, was to feel as fulfilled in every aspect of my life as I was by my fitness journey.  CrossFit, being an athlete, doing something I loved that was just for me... that piece of my life was pretty perfect.  But the more I looked at the other pieces, the more I realized that they weren't as good.  And I began to see what a huge hole I'd dug for myself while I was hiding in my boxes.  Because for all of the years that I spent being who I thought I was supposed to be, and wanting what I thought I was supposed to want, I had actually been settling.  Settling for a life that was ordinary, and monotonous, and mundane.

And when I really thought about what I wanted my life to be... it wasn't any of those things.

I'd spent so many years of my life checking things off of some imaginary list, hoping that, if I could just obtain the things that "normal" people want, maybe it would be less obvious or less detrimental that I was weird and different and a little bit crazy.  If I could create a life for myself that looked like everyone else's, maybe I would finally fit in.  So I made my list, and pursued the items on it one by one.  Degree from a good school: check.  Respectable career that pays the bills: check.  Husband who loves me and would do anything for me: check.  Home ownership: check.  At the age of 30, I had everything I thought I wanted.  When I found a hobby and a passion in CrossFit, I thought my life would be complete.  I thought I would finally have it all, and achieve that elusive goal of happiness.

So why, almost a year later, did I still not feel whole?

It wasn't until I finally tore down my boxes, let go of the conventional idea of success, and opened myself up to my truest, deepest desires, that I came to a shocking and painful realization: I finally discovered who I am, and what I want out of life.  And it is a completely different life than the one on my checklist.

Let me assure you that there is no more terrifying moment, than the moment when you realize that the life you want does not even remotely resemble the life you've spent three decades building for yourself.  The moment when you realize that you will never find true happiness in your life as it stands.  The moment when you realize that you have a choice: continue leading a safe, comfortable life that is essentially a lie, or take a leap of faith and chase your happiness, without the first damn clue where the chase might lead you.

I took the leap.

That leap of faith has completely turned my life upside down.  Everything is changing so quickly that it makes my head spin.  I've made so many mistakes in my past... mistakes that have hurt people who I never meant to hurt, mistakes that ultimately trapped me in a life that didn't feel like my own.  And now I know why.  When faced with the choice between living with my mistakes (and the consequent regrets) or getting out of them, there really was no choice.  I have to be true to myself.  So, I've essentially ripped life as I know it into a million tiny shreds, and am now faced with the daunting task of putting them back together into something that makes sense.  It feels impossible at times.  Scary as hell.  More terrifying than all of the Scared Shitless moments from this blog combined. 

It's just so much.  Trying to find myself, find my happiness, do damage control on the people I've hurt unintentionally along the way, and figure out where the hell I go from here... it's a lot to deal with.  Overwhelming.  Painful.  So when some very private details of my personal life suddenly became very, very public... well, you can imagine how much that intensified those feelings.  People started talking.  A lot.  As it turns out, judgment and criticism and hurtful gossip have a way of finding you even in the seemingly safest of places, even among the people you always thought you could trust.  And before I knew it, my deepest secrets were everywhere.  Trying to figure out some very personal, very scary, very unfamiliar parts of yourself is hard enough on your own.  Infinitely more difficult with an audience.

It's been a pretty rocky summer.

In addition to the rest of my life spiraling out of control, I was struggling with the one aspect of my life that usually helps me hold everything else together:  CrossFit.  I've been dealing with a recurring left shoulder injury since shortly after the Patriot Games, which has had a very adverse affect on my progress at the box.  What started as an occasional twinge rapidly turned into constant pain.  Soon, I was failing at lifts that I'd done easily weeks before.  My pull up deteriorated into thin air and has not been seen since.  My Olympic lifts, which I'd been working so hard to master, went down the shitter.  My numbers were going down instead of up, I wasn't able to do the prescribed weight on most of the WODs for the first time in months, and I found myself stagnant, or even moving backwards, while everyone around me was PRing and getting stronger and faster and better.  When I was planning to try for a split jerk PR but couldn't manage to get 80% of my previous one rep max over my head, I felt completely defeated.  In addition to the rest of my life being a mess, I was now sucking at the only thing that was keeping my sanity intact.  For the first time in a long time, I felt weak.  And for someone who has spent the better part of the past year focused solely on getting strong, that is an unspeakably shitty feeling.

That was a real gut-check day for me.  I went home and cried.  A lot.  I wallowed for awhile.  Thought about throwing in the towel on this whole life reconstruction and going back to my old, safe, ordinary existence.  But then I got to thinking about CrossFit... about why I love it so much, and why such a seemingly arbitrary hobby has completely changed the way I see the world and myself.  Thought about what it really is that I take away from the box every day.  And it occurred to me, in the midst of my wallowing and pondering, that there are many different kinds of strength.  Physical strength is just one of them.  Oddly enough, in a sport that focuses primarily on becoming physically stronger, that is really only the tip of the iceberg of what I've taken away from my time as a TPA athlete.  And while the ability to do a pull up, or rock Angie like a boss, or put up huge numbers on the PR board can only take you so far outside of the confines of the box, the other kinds of strength that CrossFit teaches can impact every single aspect of your existence.  So while my physical strength has seen better days, I'm choosing to focus on the other ways that my time at the box makes me stronger every single day.  And those other kinds of strengths are what I really wanted to write about today. So, here we go.


Strength of Conviction

Everyone wants something different out of their CrossFit experience.  Some people want to be fast... thrive off of finishing first, getting the most rounds, posting the best time.  Other people want to put up big weight... Rx the WOD, nail big PRs, and focus on getting stronger.  Still others choose to focus more on technique... executing the perfect power clean, banging out a set of textbook-worthy overhead squats, or exhibiting a flawless snatch.  (Yeah.  I said it.)  And then there are people who just want to get in a good workout, burn off last night's dinner, and challenge themselves in a way that other forms of exercise just don't demand.  No two people have the same goals or expectations when they walk through those garage doors.  We all want different things.  And while the idea is to improve in all of these areas, very few people excel at everything.  There comes a time, in your CrossFit career, when you have to ask yourself the question:  What do I want out of this?  Personally, I want to lift heavy shit.  It's what I love.  And while I respect the importance of improving my met-con and gymnastics to be a well-rounded athlete, my true love is lifting.  So, if given the choice between loading up my bar and having a crap time/fewer rounds, or scaling on weight and finishing quickly or getting in more reps, I'm going to choose to add weight every time.  As a result of this, I almost religiously finish last in all of the WODs.  But that doesn't bother me anymore.  I know what I want, and I'm willing to sacrifice things like times and rounds to achieve it.

Strength of conviction, in a nutshell.  Knowing what you want, and being willing to do whatever it takes to get there.

This kind of strength applies to life outside the box, as well.  I've learned that this summer.  I've learned that, in order to be truly happy, you have to figure out what you want out of life.  And then you have to go after it... ferociously.  Relentlessly.  Unapologetically.  You have to be willing to fight.  Willing to struggle.  Willing to sacrifice.  Willing to fail, again and again, sometimes, before you finally reach your goal.  Willing to be questioned, criticized, and judged, sometimes harshly, by people who don't understand or want the same things... willingness to ignore the questions and judgments, and to forgive the people dispensing them.  Willing to persevere, no matter how hard things get, knowing that anything truly worth having, is worth fighting for.  Knowing that the best things in life rarely come easily.  Knowing that you deserve to be happy, that you owe it to yourself to strive for that happiness.  Knowing that you will make mistakes... that there will be wrong turns and dead ends and road blocks of every imaginable kind... that it will hurt sometimes.  Because life hurts sometimes.  Knowing that it is going to be a bumpy ride... but that the destination will be beautiful enough to make every second of it worthwhile.  And knowing the harsh reality: you can't always get everything you want in life.  There are some things that just aren't feasible, no matter how desperately you want it or how hard you're willing to fight for it.  We don't always get to choose what our hearts want, and sometimes, they lead us to impossible situations.  But true strength sometimes lies in knowing, along with that reality, that you owe it to yourself to try anyways.  Because you never know what's possible, what you're capable of achieving, until you give it everything you have.

Life is all about goals.  Whether it's a back squat PR you're chasing, or something bigger: a promotion, a fresh start, the love of your life... strength of conviction is essential.  Both inside and outside the box.  And every time I try for that big PR and nail it, I get a little stronger.  A little more sure.  And a little more willing to fight for the bigger goals in life.


Strength of Perspective

When I first hurt my shoulder, I tried working through it for a few weeks.  When it kept getting worse, I took a week off, thinking that rest and Prednisone would do the trick.  Came back, felt great for about three days, and then jacked it up again doing heavy squat cleans.  Not wanting to take any more time off, I started modifying my WODs to protect my shoulder... subbing in sit ups for pull ups, front squats for thrusters, avoiding anything overhead or involving hanging from the bar, because those things destroyed my shoulder.  Unfortunately, those are also all of the things at which I already suck miserably, and should be practicing as much as possible.  I was so frustrated, watching helplessly as what little progress I'd made in upper body strength (my perpetual weakness) rapidly disappeared. 

One day, after a particularly crappy WOD in which I had to modify pretty much everything on the board, I was complaining to a friend/fellow CrossFitter over cocktails, lamenting my inability to practice the things that really needed work and the loss of what little strength I'd managed to build in those areas.  I made it through my whole rant without interruption, and then awaited a response.  After thinking it over for a moment, my friend just shrugged, sipped her drink, and said nonchalantly, "Oh well.  Just think how strong your legs will be when this is all over!"

At first, this response to my lament infuriated me.  How dare she try to be positive when the proper response was clearly to graciously accept her invitation to my pity party and join in on the whining?!  Unacceptable!  But I bit my tongue.  And over the course of the evening, time and thought (and a few dirty martinis) softened me up a bit, allowing me to give her perky point of view a trial run.  Maybe I was looking at it all wrong.  Maybe this was my chance to work on other things.  Shoot for the front squat, back squat, and dead lift PR goals (200#, 220# and 300#, respectively) that had been eluding me for some time.  Work on my pistols.  Focus on technique in my oly lifts without the internal pressure I always put on myself to pile on the weight.  There were so many things I could work on that didn't involve further shredding of my rotator cuff.  That's the beautiful thing about CrossFit: if you find yourself stuck on one thing, unable to practice one skill... there are a hundred other things you can work on instead.  Always room for improvement somewhere.

Sure enough, in the weeks that followed, I made huge gains in some areas while resting and protecting others.  Tammy helped me work on my dead lift form, and my numbers went up.  I subbed in heavy squats for overhead lifts in most of the WODs, and my front and back squat numbers went up. All the while, my shoulder was starting to heal, and I could slowly start incorporating upper body work back into my WODs.  All was right with the world again. (The CrossFit world, at least...)  And a few weeks ago, I finally found myself back in PR city: 215 front squat, 225 back squat, and, to my astonishment, 305 dead lift.  BOOM!  Just like that... I'd made big gains, while still allowing myself to rest and heal where I needed it.

This was a major light bulb moment for me.  My friend, while not giving me the response I wanted at the time, gave me exactly what I needed: perspective.  We can't always control the things that happen to us, but we can control how we react to them.  Instead of seeing my injury as a detrimental setback, she helped me to see it as an opportunity for growth.  So simple... but so brilliant.  It's all about how we look at things.  I saw a shoulder injury, and she saw a chance to get stronger legs.  I saw an occasion for a pity party, where she saw an opportunity to reevaluate and regroup.  Every situation has a positive side and a shitty side.  CrossFit has taught me that my ability to succeed (or, at least, to perceive success) depends heavily on which side I choose to embrace.

Perspective.

Outside of the box, it's even more important.  Especially when the road gets rough and life isn't everything you might like it to be.  When we come across setbacks in CrossFit, and in life, we have a choice.  We can view it as a reason to throw in the towel... or we can embrace it as an opportunity to rise above and overcome.  We choose whether the hard stuff defeats us or strengthens us; breaks us or makes us.  Our choice.  I despise clichés, and this one in particular, but I'm going to throw it out there anyways for lack of a better way to make my point: as the saying goes, when God closes a door, he opens a window.  I don't know about all of that, but the door analogy fits my situation well, so I'm rolling with it.  With the many drastic (and admittedly scary) changes happening in my life right now, a lot of doors seem to be closing for me every day.  Some of them, I've closed myself, voluntarily, by my own choice.  Others have slammed shut unceremoniously and unexpectedly in my face as part of the aftermath of the aforementioned choices.  There has been loss, and hurt, and bitterness.  By letting the truth in, I seem to have ushered a lot of people out, leaving them to slam doors behind them as they go.  But, on the other hand, there is also a window of opportunity (you see what I did there?  Okay, nevermind) opening for me.  Opportunity to finally be honest with myself and those around me.  Opportunity to see who is going to judge and condemn and walk away, and who will stay by my side through it all... because the latter are the people who I want to keep in my life for the long haul, and the former probably didn't deserve their spot there to begin with.  Opportunity to set the record straight, and give myself a fresh start and a clean slate.

Perspective.  It's the difference between a horribly painful ending, and a chance for a beautiful new beginning.  Between suffering a crushing loss, and making room for the next great find.  Between defeat, and a second chance at victory. Between failure and room for improvement.  Between despair and hope.  And as difficult and painful and scary as this whole process has been, a part of me is enormously relieved to be taking steps towards my ultimate happiness.  I'm choosing to celebrate the good that will come in the long run, rather than dwelling on the pain of the immediate.  Because, yes, I'm hurting in a lot of places.  But I'm also healing in others.  And when all is said and done, I have faith that I'll walk away from this mess stronger than ever.

Which brings me to my next point...


Strength of Faith

If you think about it, CrossFit is all about faith.  We have faith in our coaches... faith that they'll guide us, teach us proper mechanics, tell us if they think we're overfaced.  We have faith that they will keep us safe as we attempt to do crazy things.  Faith that they're not lying to us when they say that the God-awful workout on the whiteboard will not, in fact, kill us.

Faith in our bodies.  Faith that they will hold up as we put them through things that no totally sane person would ever have any desire to do.  Faith that they can handle whatever we throw at them.  Every time we go for a PR, or attempt a new skill, or ask our bodies to try something they have never done before, we're taking a little leap of faith... because honestly, we have no idea whether we are capable of that one-handed handstand, or that big overhead squat, until we take a deep breath and just go for it.  We just have to have faith that our bodies will pull through for us.

Faith in ourselves.  Faith that we are stronger than we were yesterday.  That we are strong enough to face whatever horrors appear in the WOD on any given day.  That we will survive that last round, those last few reps, that final run, no matter how loudly our brains are screaming to the contrary, if we can just push through.

Faith makes all the difference in CrossFit.  In a sport that is often largely mental, I've learned not to underestimate the power of faith.  When I'm going for a big lift, if I don't believe in my heart that I can make it, it's pretty much a given that I won't.  If I get focused on numbers and PRs and competing with myself, I usually psych myself out and fail.  So I've learned the best method for me:  I don't count how much weight is on my bar until after I complete the lift.  I just throw some plates on, take a deep breath, and tell myself, "You've got this."  And you know what?  With that faith guiding me, I usually do get it.

Faith has been an essential part of my CrossFit journey, which, in turn, has taught me the importance of faith in the rest of my life as well.  Faith in God, or whatever higher power you believe in.  Faith that we are all part of a bigger plan, and that everything happens for a reason, even if we can't identify that reason at the time.  Faith that, while there are many things in life that we can't control, everything will work out in the end if we can just have patience.  (That part is scary for an OCD control freak like myself... surrendering control.  But the fact of the matter is, I'm not running this show.  It's all part of the big picture.  And the more I learn to let go, the more peace I find.)  Faith that people come into (and go out of) our lives for a reason.  Faith that the future holds beautiful things for us.  Faith that even the shittiest of times will eventually come to an end, and faith that something better awaits us on the other side.

Faith that, no matter what, we will be okay.

A blind leap.  Believing without proof or probable cause or any other concrete evidence.  Choosing to believe, to hope, to trust.  I trust that, no matter how difficult and painful and lonely and confusing things become, those feelings won't last forever.  That eventually, with time and patience and a lot of blind faith, things will get better.  That this crappy period is just one part of a bigger journey towards my happiness... and that my journey is just a tiny part of a much bigger plan.  That, in the grand scheme of things, this is far from being the end of the world, even though it feels that way at times.  That this, too, shall pass.

Everything happens for a reason.  I truly believe that it was no coincidence that I found CrossFit and TPA at the time in my life when I felt the most lost.  Not coincidence that the people there came into my life, changed it, and helped me to find myself.  At the time, it seemed like such an arbitrary whim, walking through that garage door for the first time to try something new and scary.  But I realize now, that it was so much more.  It was meant to be.  I was looking for so much more than a workout.  I was looking for a change... for a catalyst to start my new life.  And that's exactly what I found.  Definitely not a coincidence.  Part of a bigger plan.  And I have to believe that everything I'm experiencing now, all of the learning and the changes and the fear, are part of the same plan.

The decision to make changes in my life, to let the truth in and try to find real happiness... not unlike going for a huge PR.  Starting out completely unsure if it will work... if I'm strong enough.  But knowing that I won't be able to live with myself if I don't at least give it a shot.  There's fear, doubt, apprehension.  It's heavy... heavier than anything I've ever attempted before.  No way of knowing whether or not I can handle the load.  No way of knowing for sure if this is the right move, or if I'm taking on too much and risking getting hurt.  No way of knowing if I will succeed or fail.  But, just like a big lift, the trick here is to not overthink.  To close my eyes, get the perfect set-up, and let faith take me from there.

Deep breath.  You've got this.


Strength of Judgment

This is one that I'm still working on, and with which I still tend to struggle.  But I'm getting there.

One of the hardest things about CrossFit, for me, has been knowing how to make good decisions.  Knowing when to take rest days.  Knowing (or acknowledging, rather) the difference between soreness that I can work through, and pain that I can't work through.  The difference between hurt and injury.  When to push through, and when to protect.  When I discovered my passion and drive, I wanted to go all out, all the time.  Every day.  I took the "go hard or go home" mentality very seriously.  Seeing the changes in my body, the rapid increase of my strength, and all of the progress I was making just made me want it more... made me want to push harder, go farther.  But with time and experience (and a few verbal smackdowns from people wiser than myself), I'm learning that pushing too hard can be detrimental.  That the body works better, and progress happens faster, when you give yourself the necessary time to recover.  That injuries don't heal if you don't give them time to do so.  That you can have too much of a good thing.  That part of being an athlete is knowing when to stop.

I've always been the kind of person who is driven by emotion rather than logic.  I tend to follow my impulses, go with my gut... and by the time my brain catches up, sometimes the damage is already done.  Hence why my "lift first and ask questions later" mindset at the box came as no surprise to me.  Taming those impulses, learning to listen to my body and give it what it needs... learning to silence the little voice that tells me to keep going no matter what... a constant struggle for me.  But I'm learning.  And I'm a better athlete for it.

I'm learning the same lesson in life.  I've never been one to look before I leap.  Which is how I've ended up in this mess in the first place.  Mistakes I've made in the past, things I convinced myself I wanted at the time because it seemed like the "right" thing to want... all impulse decisions.  And sometimes, the impulses are good.  The impulse to be honest at last, despite making a mess of my life and causing myself and others a lot of heartache, was a good impulse.  But not all of them lead me to positive things.  Sound judgment.  Good decisions.  Moderation.  Patience.  These are the things I'm trying to learn.

Just like in CrossFit, I need to learn when to push and when to protect.  Not just my body, but also my head and my heart.  I need to learn when to fight, and when to give in.  When to hold on, and when to let go.  This applies to everything.  Especially to relationships.  Friendship, and love.  Because the sad truth is, not everyone that comes into our lives are meant to stay there for the long haul.  People come and go.  They fall into and out of love.  Relationships change, and evolve, and sometimes they end.  But the important thing, I think, is knowing which ones to let go when the time comes... and which ones to hold onto as tightly as you can.  Which ones are worth fighting for.


Strength of Self

The really cool thing about CrossFit is, you get to choose who you are every time you walk into the box.  No matter what's happening outside, no matter how you're feeling or what's on your mind, CrossFit gives you the opportunity, for an hour a day, to let go of it all and be who you want to be.  You can walk into the box, clear your mind, and declare to yourself, "Today, I am the person who doesn't give up."  Or, "Today, I am the person who is going to rock the shit out of this WOD."  Or, "Today, I'm going to be the best that I can be, whatever that is.  Today, I am the person who gives my all."  CrossFit allows us to be the best versions of ourselves.  Instead of being the person who gives up when things get hard, you can be the person who perseveres, pushes through, overcomes.  You can let go of any doubt, self-consciousness, and fear that you may be holding onto, and let your inner badass shine through.  That is a wonderful, empowering feeling.  Whoever you want to be for that hour of the day... as long as you believe it, you can be it.

That's why CrossFit has been my favorite part of the day, for as long as I've been doing it.  But over time, I've realized... why does any of that have to change when I walk out of the box?  Why can't I be that fearless, self-assured, confident person for the other 23 hours of the day?  When I'm at the box, I know who I am.  I know what I want.  I don't worry about being judged or laughed at for being who I am or how I perform.  So why do I let that worry and fear catch up with me the minute I step out of the box?

I know exactly why.  Because I've never been secure enough with myself, with who I am, to let go of those feelings and just be me.  I've never had that strength.  But you know what?  I'm getting there.  I'm realizing, slowly but surely, that it doesn't really matter what the rest of the world sees, or what people think of me, or whether or not people understand me.  All that really matters, in the long run, is what I think of myself.

Strength of self.  Knowing who you are.  Being who you are... unquestioningly, unapologetically, fearlessly.  Recognizing and embracing your strengths; identifying and accepting your weaknesses while trying to strengthen them.  Being proud of your accomplishments.  Knowing that you've made mistakes, will continue to make mistakes, because we are all human and none of us are perfect... but also knowing that you must be able to forgive yourself for those mistakes.  Knowing that forgiveness is key to forward progress and self-improvement.  Knowing that, at times, you will struggle and suffer and hurt, because that is an inevitable part of life... but knowing that you are strong enough to overcome these things.  Learning to love yourself... not just accept who you are, but to truly love the person you have become, and the journey that led you there.  Because if you don't love yourself, who you are inside, how are you ever going to truly love your life?  And isn't that what happiness is, loving life?

This might be the hardest kind of strength to achieve.  To let go of your inhibitions, to let yourself off the hook for your mistakes and shortcomings, to let your true, best self shine through every day... this takes a level of confidence and self-assurance that I haven't quite reached yet.  But I get closer every day.  And as much as the avalanche of changes in my life recently have thrown me for a loop, I know that these changes are necessary to get me where I'm going.  Necessary to the process of finding myself, forgiving myself, and loving myself.  This is my mid-life crisis WOD, and no matter how much it feels like I'll never make it through to the end in one piece, I just have to push through, keep fighting, keep believing.  Be the badass who never gives up.  Just another WOD.

And the good news is... it can't possibly be any uglier than Fran.  And I survived that evil whore just fine.


Strength of Patience

This statement will come as no surprise to anyone who knows me... I am not a natural athlete.  Not even close.  There are people who can walk into a box, learn things quickly, improve rapidly, and become badass awesome CrossFitters in no time at all.  Well, I'm not one of those people.  Nothing at the box has come easily for me.  It all has felt foreign and awkward and hard from day one.  I'm uncoordinated, I struggle with even the simplest movements, and I'm 99% convinced that I will never, ever manage a proper squat clean.  I've had to fight and work and practice my ass of for every single little thing I've learned at the box... and I still suck at most of it.  Getting better at some things, frustratingly stagnant on others.  I'm lucky in that my legs seem to be naturally strong... but that's about all I have going for me.  Given anything involving technique, or upper body strength, or endurance, or pretty much anything that does not involve squatting, it's a pretty safe bet that I'll struggle with it.  I am not, by any means, a natural athlete.

I want so badly to be good at this sport.  So badly.  I want to improve, to compete, to be a total badass.  But, let's face it.  Today marks my one-year anniversary with CrossFit TPA, and the list of things I can't do is still longer than the list of things I can.  I still finish last fairly consistently.  Still have to scale on weight in more WODs than I'd like.  Progress is slow... definitely slower than I'd like it to be.  And sometimes I get incredibly frustrated with myself for not being able to perform at the level I feel I should have reached by now.

But... slow progress is still progress.  I am definitely not the same athlete, or person, I was a year ago.  Or a month ago.  Or a week ago.  Because no matter how obnoxiously slow my progress seems to be, I know that every day, with every WOD, I get a little bit stronger.  A little bit better.  A little bit tougher.  And even on days when I feel like I'm standing still, or even moving backwards, I know that, in the bigger picture, I'm moving in the right direction.  Slowly, steadily... but surely.

Patience.

This process has taught me so much about patience.  You can't lose 100 pounds overnight.  You can't perfect a skill the first time you try it.  You can't just will yourself to a big PR or a great time on a benchmark WOD... you have to be patient.  You have to put in the time, and the work, and slowly chip away at smaller goals.  Because those are what add up to the big things.  And eventually, in time, the big things will come, too.

I'm doing my best to apply this concept to my life outside the box as well.  Right now, it's pretty much a jumbled mess.  One chapter has ended, but it feels like the next one hasn't quite started yet... leaving me staring at a blank page... a little confused, a little scared, and thoroughly anxious to see what's in store in the next installation.  Because this one's a hell of a cliffhanger.  It's this completely bizarre sensation of being in limbo; of floating between the past and the future in a present that doesn't quite make sense yet.  And a big part of me is just incredibly frustrated and wants to get this show on the road.  I've finally figured out what I want out of life... now when do I get to find out whether or not I can have it?  When do I get the happy ending?  Or do I get something else entirely?  What the hell is going to happen with the mess I've made?  I just want to know.  NOW.

Patience.  I've never had much of it.

But I'm trying.  Because I know that, just like in CrossFit, you can't rush progress.  You can't hurry through half-assed and expect big things to happen.  The best things in life take time to develop.  The biggest decisions in life take time to properly analyze.  All good things take time. 

So, I wait.  As patiently as I can.  Waiting to turn this blank page that separates the "What I Had" chapter from the "What I Want" chapter.  Waiting to see what comes next.

I wait with strength of conviction, knowing what it is that I want out of life (finally), knowing that it won't be an easy road, but it will be worth it.

I wait with strength of perspective.  Knowing that, no matter how difficult or scary it is to close this chapter of my life and embark on a journey into the unknown, this ending is opening up a world of new beginnings.  And the possibilities are endless.

I wait with strength of faith, knowing that whatever is meant to happen, will happen.  Knowing that I can't always control the outcome, but that with faith, I will be okay in the end, no matter what that outcome may be.  No matter where this road takes me, I will be okay. Knowing that someday, it will all work out as it should... and that someday will be beautiful.

I wait with strength of judgment, knowing the difference between the time to fight and the time to surrender.  Knowing that what I've found is worth fighting for.

And above all, I wait with strength of self.  Knowing that it's okay to be different, to be unconventional, to love whoever or whatever your heart leads you to, to change your mind, to make mistakes and not always get things right on the first try.  Knowing that, while I've done some things that might seem terrible, I am not a terrible person.  That I deserve to be happy.  That I will face judgment and criticism, and that not everyone will understand... but that it isn't really about them anyways.  Knowing that the people who belong in my life will be there no matter what.  Knowing that I'm never alone.  And knowing, beyond a shadow of a doubt, who I am and what I want.  Refusing to lose sight of that, no matter how ugly it gets along the way.

I can't help but go back to one of my favorite quotes.  I think I've referenced it in previous blog posts, but it's too perfectly appropriate not to use it here:

"For what it's worth, it's never too late... to be whoever you want to be.  There's no time limit, stop whenever you want.  You can change or stay the same, there are no rules to this thing.  We can make the best or the worst of it.  I hope you make the best of it.  And I hope you see things that startle you.  I hope you feel things you never felt before.  I hope you meet people with different points of view.  I hope you live a life you're proud of.  If you find that you're not, I hope you have the courage to start all over again."

So, here I go.  Starting all over again.

If you've been reading all this way in hopes of some epic, detailed public confession, I'm sorry to disappoint.  Someday, I hope to write about all of this for real.  But first, I'm waiting to see how things play out.  There are some very difficult truths that need to come to the surface.  But that will come with time, faith, and patience.  Now is not the time for me to be making any internet announcements for the whole world to read.  (Although the way rumors are flying, I can't help but wonder if someone has already beat me to it...)  The truth is, I really don't owe anyone an explanation.  When the time is right, when everything is less up in the air and more resolved, I hope to be able to share my story.  Because if it works out how I hope it does, it's a pretty damn beautiful story.  In the meantime, here's a thought... if you want to know what's going on in my life, try asking me.  It's a much more kind and effective method than starting or perpetuating hurtful rumors.  I don't have anything to hide anymore.  I'm not ashamed of what I'm going through, or who I am.  People will either understand and be supportive, or they won't.  And that's something I'm going to have to deal with as it comes.

Things are going to get harder before they get easier.  I know this.  Honesty is always the best policy, but certainly not always the easiest course of action.  Shit's going to get pretty heavy for awhile.  But you know what?  It can't possibly be as heavy as all of the boxes I've spent my life carrying around.  In fact, I already feel lighter.  More free.  More myself than I have in a long time... possibly ever.  Because I truly believe that the pain, the heartbreaks, and the struggles will eventually fade, and I'll find my happiness.  The life I was meant to lead.  It's out there, somewhere.  As long as I have the courage to keep fighting for it.

Summer is almost over.  I've never been more ready for fall... for changing leaves and changing weather and a fresh start.  But first, more fears to face.  Tomorrow, I'm running the Tough Mudder.  This absolutely scares the shit out of me, especially since I'm currently sick as hell and can't really breathe.  The following day, I'm finally crossing another item off of my bucket list: I'm jumping out of an airplane.  Also terrifying.  The chances of me dying this weekend seem a little too high for comfort.  I'm definitely scared shitless.  But in all honesty, neither of those things can possibly be scarier than what I've ben through this summer.  Can't possibly be scarier than writing this blog post.  So, I say... bring it.

Bring it all.  Bring on the fear.  The struggle.  The unknown.  I'm ready for it.  CrossFit, and this journey, have prepared me well.  Made me a fighter.  And I'm ready to fight.  I'm ready to start over, embrace a new beginning, and let go of the past.  Whatever's next, I'm ready.  I'm waiting.  With conviction, perspective, faith, good judgment, patience, and strength of self, I can face whatever is coming my way.  I feel like the timer is running, and any second now, I'm going to have to close my eyes, take a deep breath, and just go for it.  All out.  Wanting every piece.

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