I did it!
You don’t realize yet why that exclamation point is warranted, but I’ll clue you in very shortly and then you’ll probably agree I should have typed, I DID IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I hit probably the weirdest goal I’ve ever set for myself, stranger than my quest to find ukulele chords for “Baby Got Back” (not going so well) and maybe even crazier than trying to see how many days in a row I could go without sugar. But definitely not as insane as that summer I decided I shouldn’t buy any shoes**.
The goal I set for myself: 50 straight days of CrossFit.
Don’t be impressed because I said the “c” word. Or is it the “cf” word? I dunno. All I know is that when my doc asked what I did for exercise and I told him, he raised his eyebrows at me.
“Well, I’m not a REAL CrossFitter,” I quickly explained. “I’m not trying to lift more than everybody else or overdo it and hurt myself.”
No, for me, CrossFit is a means to an end, specifically my back end. I don’t want my tush to slide and widen more than it already has. I’m all about maintaining — my waistline and a lifestyle to which I’ve become accustomed that includes drinks and dessert and eating foods I love.
I’ve been going religiously to CrossFit Cure five days a week for a few years now. But, when I thought that dropping some pounds could help in my quest (read about it here) to delay an impending partial knee replacement (thanks, arthritis!), I decided to, as they say on the Food Network, kick it up a notch. I vowed to cut back on sugar and snacks (and joy), eat more salads (which has resulted in a strong gag reflex at the mere sight of a clear plastic box of organic spring mix) and to go to the box seven days a week. No breaks.
Yes, because CF is all fancy and thinks it’s better than other forms of exercise, it has its own lingo. “Box” is the term you use instead of gym, allegedly because they’re usually shoehorned into unusual, small spaces in strip malls. My guess? They’re called that ‘cuz you feel like you need to be packed into a wooden box, i.e., coffin, and buried after a WOD. (See? There they go again! That’s Workout Of Doom, or, Of the Day, depending on your perspective).
What did I have to lose? Well, ideally it would have been 10 pounds but turns out blood, sweat and tears — even when all lumped together — only account for 1.25 pounds.
After Day 21, I’d still only managed to dispel 4 pounds.
Also, apparently, if you exercise too hard and don’t rest your body, you can land in serious trouble because muscle fibers could die and drift into your bloodstream and cause your kidneys to fail and, in rare cases, result in death. This condition — known as Ragnarök — is a very serious thing. Oh wait, I think it’s actually called rhamalamadingdong. Nope, that’s not right. Let me look it up … rhabdomyolysis! That doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue, which I think also falls right out of your face if you exercise too, too hard. But, this is not my problem. I try and do the best that I can, of course, usually, but I have a lot of limiting factors: my advanced maternal age, my cartilage-free right knee, a janky radial nerve, linguini muscles, allergy-induced asthma, surgically-repaired feet that need to be fixed again, and last but not least, a questionable attitude. People who get rapscallionicity go balls-to-the-walls (an actual CrossFit move, BTW) EVERY SINGLE TIME THEY EXERCISE. This is not me.
Just to be safe, though, I do try to pick a spot close to the AED machine.
I have noticed, however, that I’ve been feeling odd lately, like odd in a good way. Like, I feel kind of strong. Is it from exercising more regularly than I ever have in my whole life or a sense of accomplishment from doing something I didn’t think I could do? Maybe both. Because I don’t want to develop rannygazoo,*** I’ve been exceptionally diligent about taking care of my body by drinking lots of non-alcoholic liquids along with the alcoholic ones every day and making better food choices (a handful of maple kettle corn instead of downing the entire bag), stretching out my sore muscles, and resting as much as possible once I get home from exercising even if it means ignoring the need for mopping and/or toilet cleaning.
Before, when I walked into the, uh, box, I would feel tired and incompetent. I still do, BUT then I end up doing more reps of things than I used to and even lifting heavier weights, which is so not like me. It**** all feels … doable! Weirdest of all: My knee actually might be hurting less than it has.
Either that, or in my case, rigamarole is attacking my brain cells instead of muscle fibers making me delusional. That must be it. Otherwise how else to explain that I was swayed by my sweet, nut-job friend who said, “You did it! What if you went for … 100 days?!” and then two of my peeps offered to hang with me for the final 50.
Wow, I really hope I didn’t just mistake their show of support for a sneaky ploy to get my awesome collection of sneakers if I croak.
*Most definitely NOT to be confused with “12 Days of Christmas” because that is all about useless gifts like leaping lords and milking maids whereas “50 Days of CrossFit” means your true love shows true love by helping you up from the couch each and lifting the fork to your mouth for dinner.
**I quickly revised that to not buying more than three pairs of shoes, a goal I may or may not have met. I’m not telling.
***This is real!!! It’s an old-timey word and means “deceptive story or scheme, pranks, tricks or other irritating or foolish carryings-on.” So basically, nonsense. OK, actually I probably DO have this.