Clear Eyes. Full Heart. Can't Lose.

A year ago yesterday, I walked through the garage door of Guerrilla Fitness CrossFit Montclair for a trial class. I was given an extremely simple sample workout that left me physically and mentally broken.

After what I can only refer to as a "top-notch shit show", highlighting my absolute lack of athletic ability, I sprawled out on the gym floor like a beached whale. For what seemed like hours, I remained immobile, staring at the ceiling, gasping for air, and hoping that no one was paying attention to the fluffy girl dying a slow death in the back corner. As soon as I could summon enough strength to use my legs again, I left through the same garage door, disoriented, and confused. I fully expected this walk of shame to be met with glares of disapproval and judgement from all of the super fit and beautiful CrossFitters. Much to my surprise, the very opposite occurred. I was followed out of the gym by a fanatical wild-woman emphatically shouting positive reinforcement at me, including how "sexy" I just made the workout look. I was shocked and bewildered by this random act of encouragement, and convinced that this girl must have been losing her god-damned mind. However, it was that brief encounter with the crazy lady that ultimately encouraged me to sign up. That lunatic of a woman is named Dana, and she continues to encourage and inspire me everyday.
 

It may seem odd that I'm tracking the day I entered into a sadistic relationship with a warehouse full of complete strangers, but walking into the gym for my trial class was the most monumental thing I've done since marrying that tall drink of water I call my husband (who, as an FYI, will be agitated that I can remember this date, but not our wedding date...or his birthday...or almost anyone's birthday for that matter).

When I signed the initial contract, I was pretty sure that I could just as easily throw that money directly into the shitter, betting that I wouldn't be able to stick with CrossFit once the real workouts started. Well, slap my ass and call me Sally, because a year later, I'm still getting wiped out by workouts and living to tell about it. In fact, my mind is warped so bad from pounding the proverbial Kool-Aid, that instead of "cherry picking" my programming, I have started to intentionally sign up for the type of workouts I hate the most. SO, what would be more awful then signing up for the CrossFit Endurance program? I'll tell you...absofuckinglutely nothing!
 

I hate running. I hate running. Oh yeah...I HATE RUNNING. Everytime it shows up in a workout, I fight the urge to fake my own death (see also: burpees). It hurts. It takes a lot of effort. It takes a lot of focus. It takes a lot of breath, which is awful when you have no choice but to pant like a rabid dog while you do it! It's not pretty. It's mentally grueling. It's my worst nightmare. I have avoided doing it my whole life.

When I played softball, I relied on my brute strength (read: fat ass) to hit home runs as often as possible to allow my chubby ass the convenience of getting around all of the bases in a very lazy jog. When it was time to run during practice, I found anyway possible to entertain the coaches into missing the fact that I wasn't running with my teammates. We were supposed to run the mile in gym, twice a week, every week, during high school. Would you believe I had my period almost every single day from 1994 - 1998? My gym teacher did. In a freak coincidence, my period magically disappeared during the classes where we played badminton. [Don't hate! Badminton is a very hardcore game based on optimal athleticism and awesomeness. Additionally, I will never grow tired of screaming "shuttlecock" at the top of my lungs.]

In summary, I would have begged, stolen, and possibly stabbed someone to avoid running as a kid. Now, as an adult, while slightly less dramatic, I wouldn't necessarily say that I have been above groveling while batting my luxurious eyelashes to get out of running, but being dedicated to overall self-improvement, I realized all of the grovelling and eyelash batting had to stop. Running is obviously something that I'm afraid of. Running is something that I've always assumed I'd be horrible at...mostly because I've never tried it. So when the opportunity came up to register for the CrossFit Endurance program, I thought long and hard about whether or not I could dedicate myself to something I hated so much, and then I bit the bullet and signed up. Naturally!

I just completed my first month of Endurance. This last month of training has been reminiscent of my first month with CrossFit, just a year ago. Every Wednesday and Friday, I have to psyche myself into showing up to the track. As soon as the workout starts, I have to fight an all-encompassing and overwhelming urge to quit...but I haven't. As much as I want to stop mid-way, lay down on the track, and admit defeat, there is some secret part of me that kicks in, gets super pissed, and pushes me across the finish line.

After a month of sweat and soreness, I, in no way, shape, or form LOVE running. In fact, I still hate running, but my level of hatred has slowly been subsiding. I hate it less each time I run a little bit further. I hate it less each time I run a little bit faster. I hate it less each time my rest period is up, and I know for sure that I'm not going to die once my feet start moving again. I hate it less each time I get in my car, knowing that I have free will, and could have stopped at any moment, but that I kept running. Of course, it very hard to keep hating something so fervently, when you have two amazingly sweet and supportive coaches, who are so passionate about running, and so genuinely invested in the success of their students.

So, the year has made quite a difference. I don't feel the same. I don't look the same. All in all, I'm really not the same. I still lay on the gym floor or the track grass like a beached whale from time to time, but I don't handle my fears and obstacles in the same way. Instead of ignoring them or hiding from them, I hunt them down and kick them straight in the taint. And hopefully, this time next year, when I hunt those bitches down, I'll be doing so at a sub 8-minute mile pace.