After taking a long and meticulous gander at myself in the mirror, depression sank in. The once chiseled 6th grade physique I once had, was replaced with flabby torso complimented with bitch tits. Due to treating my liver and arteries like a punching bag soaked in acid the past 5 years, this came as no surprise. A buddy of mine was in a similar situation and we decided to strike while the iron was hot. In hopes to beat obesity and early diabetes, we walked into a gym, a CrossFit gym. If you don’t know what CrossFit is, check your Facebook feed. The first rule of CrossFit is, tell everyone you know about CrossFit.
As we strolled into the 6:00 a.m. class wearing our baggy K-mart tees in hopes to hide our obtuse bellies, the entire class glares in disapproval as evidently we were two minutes late. In CrossFit life, every minute you’re late, 10 push ups are in store for your disobedience. Off to a great start. By the time I finish my 20 push-ups which mostly consisted of my stomach propelling itself off the floor, the rest of the class is already half way through the next exercise throwing dung bells sky f****ng high. Things are happening fast and I am beyond baffled, tired and petrified. Why is everyone moving so fast? Why do they all have spandex on and most impotently, why is everyone so excited to be here? So many questions and zero time to catch my breath. WALL BALLS the instructor yells! Like I’m supposed to know what that means?
The passage of time during this quest of fitness is non-existent as the hour-long class feels like decades. Time is a flat circle. The class finally reaches its climax which was capped off with myself finishing dead last meanwhile the remainder of the class aggressively hovers over me in a circle clapping their hands like I actually accomplished something. As I collapsed to the floor with my heart beating out of my chest, one thing was on my mind. I singed a 3-month non negotiable contract. Might as well been a blood oath. For 3 months I drank the Kool-Aid and went through the Jonestown cult that is CrossFit. I went into this dark tunnel to accomplish one thing: Lose weight and get cut up. Un-f****ng-fortunately, CrossFit doesn’t train you to get trim, it trains you to be a defensive tackle for the Crimson Tide. I gained 8 pounds, my upper torso became so puffy and huge I looked like the Michelin man. In the end, CrossFit wasn’t my cup of tea because it didn’t taste like tea… it tasted like a cup of cyanide.