blog journal thing: crossfit.

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By Bill Dixon

“God, my glutes feel tight today,” he says as he holds a cup of coffee in one hand, placing his other hand against the wall and stretching his legs. “CrossFit is kickin’ my ass, but it’s worth it man. You should come with me sometime.” 

“Yeah, I go to 24 Hour Fitness. It’s pretty cheap so—”

“I threw up yesterday,” the coffee splashes in his cup as he crosses his right arm across his body, clasping it with the left and stretching his back, “That’s how hard they work you. But the results are worth it.”

This scenario is the framework to every discussion I’ve ever had with anyone who does CrossFit, the hottest new trend in personal fitness. It’s impressive, actually. I don’t think I would have the stamina to work CrossFit into every conversation I ever had forever. 

I’m sure it’s a perfectly invigorating exercise thing, but there are elements of CrossFit that smack of cultiness. For example, the aforementioned evangelizing byway of working CrossFit into every conversation. I don’t trust anyone with that much enthusiasm for pain (the same reason I find Catholicism suspect). 

Also, CrossFitters have their own diet—the Paleo diet. This is characterized by only eating things that people ate during the Paleolithic Era. So essentially, it’s a caveman diet. It’s worth noting that cavemen topped out at like three feet tall and died of old age at like 17. It was a brief brutal existence rife with disease and malnourishment. Probably gives you killer abs, but I think I’ll stick to my post-industrial revolution diet and die of congestive heart failure at 67, thank you very much.

Also, the fucking juicing. Was the guy who invented juicing just doing yard work when he decided, “You know, I would hate to just throw away all these leaves and grass clippings. I know! I’ll turn them into a fluid and drink them.” There’s an inherent paradox in drinking vegetable juice: drinking it will make you live longer, but drinking it will also make you not want to live.

CrossFit feels like Scientology. It makes me uneasy, everyone involved is beautiful, and it’s wildly overpriced. My gym feels more like Christianity—everyone says they belong to it but really only go one time around the holidays, making promises to return weekly but never do. Also, it smells weird. Those are my people.