Bitches.

Friends, I've had a crap week.

I'm not going to go into details, because I want to keep this blog positive, but suffice it to say that it was just an all-around lousy week.  The crappiness was largely of my own doing, but with significant contribution from misplaced trust in some shady individuals.  Perhaps it was just bad timing, but I found out this week that multiple people, from various aspects of my life, have had some less than flattering things to say about me lately.  After last week's epic life milestone, I should have expected them, but they still caught me off guard: shit-talkers.  En mass.  Usually this wouldn't bother me... but some of these folks are people I considered to be good friends, and it was kind of a kick in the ass to find out that people who I thought had my back were actually sticking a knife in it.

I've been so focused on CrossFit, and so immersed in life at the box surrounded by amazingly positive and supportive people, that I somehow lost track of one of the fundamental truths of life outside the box:

Women are bitches.

Obviously, there are exceptions.  But in general, the female race is predisposed to be judgemental, critical, petty, catty, and downright mean.  I've met some truly incredible women this year who have inspired me to be a more positive and less bitchy person... but for every one of those amazing women, I know several less awesome ones who will be your best friend one minute and say horrible things about you the next.  I'd like to think that these evil estrogen-driven tendencies fade with age, but despite being in my 30's, I still sometimes feel like I'm back in high school, surrounded by ridiculous drama and people who would be far better served by minding their own damn business.

This week has been a somewhat depressing reminder of how bitchy women can really be.  Perhaps I was being naive in assuming that all of the people I consider friends would be supportive of my recent life changes.  Perhaps there is some jealousy, or some resentment at my changing priorities, or some negative reactions to all of the positive attention I've been receiving.  Perhaps my passion for my new lifestyle is off-putting to people who don't understand it.  Or perhaps I really have changed so much over the past year that I've somehow become less likable to some people.  Maybe it's easier for women to like insecure people who make them feel better about their own insecurities, and maybe my new-found confidence has rubbed people the wrong way.  I don't know.  But whatever the case, there have been some pretty malicious things said about me recently that I simply didn't see coming.  And it kinda sucks.

So in the midst of a week overrun by bitchiness, it was only fitting that Thursday would bring a run-in with the biggest bitch of all:  FRAN.

For those of you who are not CrossFitters, there are a number of benchmark WODs known as "the girls".  They are named after women, and each one features different skills and strengths.  Some are long and painful, some are quick and brutal.  But they have one thing in common: they are all EVIL.  Angie, Barbara, Cindy, Karen, Nancy... I've had miserable run-ins with all of these bitches over the past 6 months.  But none of those skanks have anything on Fran.

Fran is 21-15-9 reps of thrusters and pull ups, with a prescribed weight of 95 pounds for men/65 pounds for women.  Doesn't sound so bad, you say?  Try it, and and then let's talk.  Fran was one of the first workouts I ever attempted back at the beginning of my CrossFit adventures, and it was an unmitigated disaster.  I was using a whopping 35lbs for my thrusters, had a whole rainbow of bands on my pull up bar, and was absolutely terrified before the timer even started.  As it turned out, I had good reason to be scared.  Fran beat the shit out of me.  My thrusters were embarrassingly ugly, there weren't enough bands in the world to get me through that first round of pull ups, and the crowning moment of mortification came when I exhibited a spectacular wipe-out off of the pull up bar.  I was still finishing my 21-round while Matt was putting his bar away, which made the whole thing even more horrifying.  I'm pretty sure my 15-round was closer to a 10-round because I lost count while focusing on not bursting into tears like a frustrated child, and that last round of 9 was just plain ugly.  14-plus minutes later, I was lying on the ground, gasping for air, arms burning, and bruises already popping up from where I'd impaled my spine and left buttcheek on a wooden box when I wiped out.  And as I deliriously stumbled through the next workout (because Hell will freeze over before TPA athletes get to call it a day after one 10-minute WOD, even if that WOD is a life-sucking bitch), the only good thing I could say about Fran was that I wouldn't have to see her for awhile.  I hated Fran.  Hated her.  I.  Effing.  HATED.  FRAN.  Good riddance, whorebag.

But in the following months, as I worked to improve my form and strength on thrusters and fought through my never-ending (and eternally losing) battle with my nemesis the pull up, that heinous wench was always in the back of my mind, laughing at my struggles and menacingly reminding me that she would someday be back to make my life hell.

So when I walked into the box on Thursday morning, physically and mentally exhausted from three horrendously stressful consecutive night shifts and emotionally drained from all of the nonsense the week had heaped on me, this was not the greeting I'd hoped for:

There she was... the evil whore of my nightmares, wreathed in ironic hearts and mocking my weary soul.  I literally almost cried.  I assessed the situation to see if I could sneak out unnoticed, but Tammy had already spotted me at that point.  Too slow.  I then briefly considered inventing an injury on the spot, but since I am a terrible liar, I knew that would fail epically.  In a moment of desperation, I considered running out to 528 and hurling myself into traffic to sustain a legit injury, but even in my fragile emotional state, that seemed a bit drastic.  There was no way out... I had no choice but to go through with the WOD.  It was time to face Fran: Round 2.

It was a small group that morning: just me, Amy, and Jen.  As I made my way through the warm-up with a steadily increasing sense of foreboding, I thought about Fran, and about why she scared me so much.  Was it the pull ups, and my frustration at not mastering them yet?  Doubtful.  There are pull ups in most of our WODs and it normally doesn't bother me.  Could it be the fear of humiliating myself?  Also doubtful... Amy and Jen are two of my all-time favorite TPA-ers and I know they would never laugh at me (out loud, at least); and besides, nothing could possibly be more mortifying than Fran: Round 1.  Maybe because it's a benchmark WOD and I will forever be comparing my dismal Fran time with every other CrossFitter on the planet?  Maybe, but I pretty much suck at all of the benchmark WODs, and none of them get to me the way Fran does.

Then it hit me... Fran is the ultimate bitch.  She's the mean girl who made your life miserable in high school.  On the surface, she's welcoming and harmless.  21-15-9?  10 minutes or less?  Awesome.  I can totally handle that.  Then, once she's lured you in with her inviting exterior, she goes for the kill.  She targets your deepest, darkest insecurities (in my case, speed and upper body strength... I don't have them), puts them on display for the world to see, and kicks up her feet with a tall glass of Haterade to watch you suffer.  Fran just can't wait to tell you that you're not strong enough, fast enough, or good enough.  Fran's sole joy in life is watching you fail.  Fran wants you, and the rest of the world, to know just how badly you suck.  Fran, my friends, is a BITCH.

A bitch I was about to face head-on, whether I liked it or not.

(Just to clarify... NOT.)

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized... sometimes in life, you're going to have to deal with bitches.  They're always going to be around, waiting in the wings to smirk at your weaknesses and kick you while you're down.  The sad truth is, for every person in the world who is cheering for you to succeed, there's probably another person out there just dying to see you fail.  It's not a happy thought, but it's life.  People can be nasty.  Not everyone is going to be on your team.  You can try to hide from life's uglier side, but let's face it... it's not always going to be rainbows and unicorns.  Maybe sometimes you just have to man up, square your shoulders, and face the ugliness.  Maybe sometimes you have to stand up for yourself and refuse to back down.  Maybe sometimes, the only way to win against a bitch is to refuse to quit, no matter what they throw at you or how shitty they make you feel.

Maybe the only way to deal with someone who wants to see you fail, is to refuse to give them the satisfaction.  Refuse to fail.  Succeed.

As I finished my warm-up and began setting up for the face-off, I promised myself that today would be the day that I stopped being afraid of Fran.  Today, I would refuse to fail.  I may not succeed, by most standards, but I was not going to give up.  I was not going to let myself be bullied by a snarky bitch with a stupid name.  Not today.

This is the part of the blog post where I'd really like to tell you that I destroyed Fran in epic fashion, magically got my pull ups band-free, clocked a time that would have impressed even the bitchiest of bitches, and received a standing ovation from a crowd of astonished onlookers.  But since this is my life and not a John Hughes movie, that totally didn't happen.  I still needed a green band, my pull ups were still dismal, it still took me more than 10 minutes, and I still came dangerously close to dying afterwards.  But I finished.  I did all 45 thrusters and 45 pull ups... maybe not well, but I did them.  I used the prescribed 65 pounds, and for the most part I think I maintained decent form for my thrusters.  I didn't fall off the pull up bar.  And I didn't quit.  It wasn't good, by any stretch of the imagination.  But it was better.  And in some small way, that was a rather Molly Ringwald-esque victory in and of itself.

Okay, so maybe it wasn't an earth-shattering win worthy of cinematic glory, but I like to think that Fran and I came to a sort of understanding that day.  She still thinks I'm weak and slow, and I still think she's a raging bitch.  But I gained a grudging respect for her despite all of her evil.  And I think I showed her that, while I might not be strong enough or fast enough or good enough yet, I will be, someday.  And I'm not going to stop until I get there.

Despite what most would consider a sub par performance, I left the box on Thursday feeling good about life for the first time all week.  I was finally able to let the hurt and anger from the recent nastiness roll off my back with all of my Fran-induced sweat, and left it on the mats.  There will always be bitter, insecure people out there trying to drag other people down... but it's my choice whether or not I let them.  I can't control how other people treat me, but I can control my reaction to them.  I can surround myself with positive people who understand and support my goals.  When faced with negative energy, I can use it as fuel and motivation.  I can refuse to fail.  And if I can face Fran, the world's most vicious bitch, and come out alive, you better believe that I can handle all of the bitchy Fran wannabes in my life.

With all of the negativity aside, a lot of good things happened this week.  Last Saturday, I ran my first 10K, and was quite happy with a finish time of 1:00:47.  I know it isn't exactly blazing, but it was significantly faster than my average race pace, I had a negative split, and the distance didn't feel as difficult as I thought it would.  Overall, I was quite pleased.  On Monday, I added 20 pounds to my front squat max for a new PR of 185.  Yesterday, I made progress on my push jerks and Rx'ed a killer WOD.  And today, I thoroughly enjoyed a gloriously brutal morning at Primal Mayhem with a badass partner and the most awesome group of people a girl could ever ask for.  I absolutely love Saturday mornings at the box, because I get to work out with all of the people I don't get to see during the week.  It is literally impossible to be in a bad mood when you are surrounded by these folks:

Greatest people on the planet. :-)

Lots of good things (and a few scary ones) are coming up in Emily Land.  Tomorrow, Salt has invited TPA and a few other local boxes to meet at the studio for a hot yoga session.  I'm looking forward to sweating it out in a totally different atmosphere with some of my favorite people.  (Although I imagine Tammy is going to need a day off from me pretty soon... tomorrow, I will have officially seen her more days this week than I saw my husband.)  Next Saturday is the Spring Thaw 10-miler at North Park, which is my official Scared Shitless activity for the month of February.  I have never run 10 miles before, and I'm not entirely sure how that's going to go.  But you never know until you try, right?  I'll keep you all posted.

Until next time... keep it positive, be good to each other, and don't let the bitches bring you down. :-)