The Cruelty of CrossFit

I should’ve known better than to listen to Amelia. Because of her my legs no longer work. And I need them to work. Legs are pretty important in the overall scheme of life. Without them I can’t walk and I have nothing to cross. Okay, technically, I still have my legs, but they’re about as useful as a middle aged appendix. And it’s all Amelia’s fault. I would kick her, but since the whole CrossFit debacle of ’11, (two whole days ago) I can’t.

“Who’s Amelia and what’s CrossFit?” my participatory readers ask. (the rest of you have stopped reading by now). Amelia is my self-appointed personal trainer who, the other morning, stalked me out of bed and made me go to a Spanish Inquisition-style torture session called, you guessed it…CrossFit. How I am still alive is purely an act of God, good survival genes and my GNC women’s multi-vitamin.

Just so you don’t get the wrong idea, CrossFit is an excellent workout. It’s all the rage here in Dublin among the “already fit” crowd, marathon runners, iron men, Hercules, the Incredible Hulk, Xena-Princess Warrior and Captain America. I also have a whole band of non-super hero friends who swear by it. The 24-year old instructor, Aaron, has a cheerful military-style of making you “want” to do things that sane people would laugh at…like jumping up onto a 20 inch box 60 times in a row, run long distances carrying a weight the size of a dead boar hog and repeatedly lifting a 50 pound kettle ball above our heads, while holding our breath, sucking in our abs and singing “Baby Got Back.” It’s all great stuff if you like challenges and consider a good workout something more than hanging laundry on the bedroom treadmill once a day. Unfortunately I don’t. I swear as I limped into bed post-workout, I could hear my treadmill snicker.

“How do you feel? Are your legs okay? You’ll feel great after your next class,” chirped Amelia yesterday. Maybe next time you can run six miles with me when class is over. That’s what I usually do and it’s so refreshing. Just stick with me and I’ll have you in shape in no time.”

I really do like Amelia. You can’t not like her. Or at least it’s highly improbably….like progress under Obama. Even though I think Amelia’s great, at that moment I wanted to spit my gum into her hair, but somehow that takes a little energy and slight muscle use. My energy and muscle meters were both on empty. So I said “yeah, cool.” And then collapsed.

I do feel a tiny bit better than I did yesterday. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be able to walk again…even spit my gum on Amelia when she shows up to pick me up for CrossFit.