Crossfit anyone?

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It’s my new thing. I’m semi-obsessed with it. I’m not sure why. It’s extremely tough, opens the floodgates of every pore in your body and increase your cursing vocabulary.  Halfway through a workout you look like a wet, wild, panting, deranged lunatic who will probably kill anyone who dares to strike up a conversation.  Only to end up feeling like a million bucks afterwards.  The “thing” is called crossfit and I consider myself to be a cross-fit wannabe as I still don’t have a body that looks good in a vest nor do I consider myself an expert of this training regime.  But there are three things I know, (1) I feel stronger (2) I feel fitter and (3) I love it.

I’ve been battling to throw off a couple of pounds that’s stubbornly sticking to the mid section like a sloth to a tree.  I’ve weighed my options and concluded that weight training alone might not be sufficient anymore.  I’ve reached an age where my metabolism has given up on life.  It’s apparent that I have to include some form of eating plan and cardio in my daily routine, if only to combat the consumption of wine.

I consider myself to be a mild sufferer from Adult ADHD.  It’s one of those things that makes me appealing.  I also have grey hair, stand 6″4′ in my shoes and have an amazing sense of humour due to the fact that I’ve seen my own reflection. I’m not just claiming to have a mental condition because I hate doing arbitrary stuff (if arbitrary stuff is defined as anything) around the house, I actually get bored very quickly.  Therefore I am in desperate need of diversity, action, excitement, change and chaos in my life.  Coincidentally it’s the same reasons for loving my teenage kids and also why I cannot imagine myself spending 40 minutes on a treadmill.

Before I discovered Crossfit, I did consider a few other cardio related options like:

  • Running – but who really wants to do it, if you own a car?
  • Cycling – but who really wants to wear pants that reveals whether I’m Jewish or not? (sorry Chris!)
  • Aerobics – but what man really looks good in neon coloured ski-pants and/or headbands?
  • Kickboxing – but who really wants to do air-karate to music?
  • Spinning – but who really wants to sit in a cramped space and smell body-odour of 10 other random strangers?

After finding enough excuses, it was settled, I will never have a six-pack. Then I found a crossfit workout (the lingo is WOD for those who are uninformed) in some men’s health magazine.  It might have been the actual Men’s Health Magazine.  I was intrigued, captivated.  If only for the female model squatting in the spread. I understand that crossfit is nothing new and it’s probably been around much longer than that thing that used to be a sandwich in my drawer.  But seriously, this is what caught my eye:

  • A lot of the WOD’s are based on twenty minute workouts.
  • You don’t need to be a specific level of fitness to start.
  • You can do it on your own.
  • You can challenge yourself constantly by setting your own goals.
  • If you’re really good you can compete internationally.
  • You may eventually end up with a body that’s a better version of the one you have now.
  • All the benchmark WOD’s are named after girls, like Angie, Cindy, Fran, Isabel and Nancy.  (Why do these sound like the names of drag queens?)

I’ve been doing Crossfit for a month now and as stated before, I’m hooked. Line and sinker.  I have to admit that I hate myself whilst I’m doing it and I regret any normal activity because of it (including but not limited too walking, sitting, typing and talking), but I still can’t stop.  It might be because I’m stubborn.  Or stupid.  Or both.  I reckon my recent visit to the department of Home Affairs are partly to blame, as I’ve never fully recovered from the trauma of that experience.  (I will proceed in blaming that event for every bad decision I make for the rest of my life.)

There is one thing about the whole crossfit subculture that boggles my mind a bit and that would be the fetish of naming WOD’s after girls.  As always, I’ve opted to give you my own reasons for this weirdness:

  • It only takes a man twenty minutes with the right girl to know he’s whipped.
  • Most men have little or no energy after fighting with a girl for twenty minutes.
  • Anything that makes you sweat for twenty minutes and leaves you satisfied with a smile on your face deserves to have woman’s name.
  • Only a woman have the power of leaving a man utterly exhausted after a focused twenty minute interaction of any kind.

No, it's ME against ME

No, it’s ME against ME

So how about it…Crossfit anyone?