For little more than a year now, I’ve been all athletic-like, involved in a sport called CrossFit. CrossFit is a workout philosophy, a modality that includes high-intensity interval training, Olympic weightlifting and functional fitness.
Those are expensive words to say we jump, squat, run, row, climb and lift heavy things. Over and over again. For time.
No, really, it’s fun.
For many of us, CrossFit becomes a hobby on steroids — amino acids, rather, as a CrossFitter wouldn’t take steroids — as we come to enjoy the thrill of growing stronger and faster. A “WOD” — what we call our workout of the day — is to us what a golf game is to a golfer, league basketball practice is to a basketball player or a daily run is to a marathon runner.
CrossFit is not your “ugh, I have to exercise” workout. We love it.
We even have official games in which athletes like me can compete against CrossFitters all over the word and the stronger and faster go to regional, national or, even, international competitions. I am, in fact, a “master’s” contestant in the 2014 CrossFit Open and, no doubt, will tell you all about my trials and sure-to-be-had errors. (“Master’s” is because of my advanced age, not my ability.)
CrossFitters love CrossFit and love to talk about it. This often annoys people. We tend to prattle on about “PRs” (personal records); cleans, snatches and deadlifts (weightlifting moves); knee socks (worn to protect shins); and how “killa” that WOD was yesterday.
CrossFit also breeds a bit of a cultish reputation — except this “cult” has no charismatic leader, and there are no weird requirements to be a member. What outside onlookers are seeing, instead, is that CrossFitters form mini communities at their gyms, which we are too cool to call gyms, so we call “boxes,” by the way.