“I hate myself while I’m doing it, but I like how I feel after!”
She was motivated to get in as many reps as possible, amassing a twenty-calorie burn on the hamster wheel bike before beginning a set of eight to twelve burpees, again.
By the time she was done, I’d only burned seven calories; I got on the bike three minutes before her.
I came to the CrossFit gym with a cross to bear. I’ve had a vehement dislike for this particular exercise craze; I think it’s crazy, but I had to try it before I could stake my dislike for good.
It turns out it’s not CrossFit I dislike; it’s my attitude that’s the problem. My close minded-ness and ego stood in the way of integrating into the experience.
It was a reminder of how dangerous beliefs are, and how easily they change a positive experience into a negative one, before it even begins.
I walked in to the gym with an arm up and a permeating disdain for the sport; the coach felt it.
She immediately went into defense mode.
Bitch, I thought to myself. She wasn’t the bitch; she was reflecting my bitchiness, rightly so.
I came face-to-face with a fatal flaw of mine: perfectionism.
If I can’t be the best at something right off the bat, I run from it. I don’t like seeing myself weak. I don’t want to fail, or fall, or make a fool of myself, so I stay in my bubble. I play it safe.
I felt excluded; I excluded myself.
No one else in the gym cared if they had perfect form, if they were doing the exercise correctly and safely; they were just doing it.
I had to make sure every breath facilitated every movement. Some call that mindfulness, but on Friday at 5:15PM, I’d call it straight up arrogance.
I walked out before class was over, to get away from the situation I put myself in, but it only made me feel worse.
Wherever you go, there you are.
I’ve lugged that 45 minutes on Friday afternoon all the way to this morning; I’m setting it down now.
The girl on the bike and I shared something in common: I hated myself, too. But–not because I was giving it all I had and was so out of breath I thought my heart might explode.
I hated myself because I wasn’t trying at all, to be in the moment and enjoy the experience for what it was: a chance to try something new and just do the best I could.
Maybe if I had, I would have liked it after all. ~Rebecca