Some of the women I work out with at my CrossFit gym began a 30 day “strict” Paleo challenge on April 1st and they invited me to join them. If you’ve read my previous post about eating Paleo, then you’ll remember that I’ve already been eating this way for the most part. I’ve basically followed the 80/20 rule… 80% Paleo 20% other. Well, this challenge would mean shooting for a percentage a little closer to the 100 mark. But because I wanted to see what kind of results I could get, and because I had put on some winter pounds, and because hockey season was about to begin and I wanted to not DIE on the field, I decided to give it a shot. Really, what did I have to lose? Besides a few inches or pounds?
I have a “bleeding heart”. It seems to run in my family. I am constantly calling my mom a “bleeding heart” because it doesn’t take her more than two minutes talking to a stranger for her to discover that the person is struggling somehow. Immediately, she begins offering emotional support. She becomes overly sympathetic, and it used to drive me crazy growing up. I didn’t get it – Why did she care so much? It had nothing to do with her or her life. Couldn’t she just put it aside so we could continue on with what we were doing?
I started CrossFit sometime in October of last year. I never intended to join… I was happy working out at my local Mommy Bootcamp, despite the fact that I was the only one without toddlers following them around. But when G, who had signed a year contract 6 months prior, hurt his knee and could no longer attend, I figured I had better take his spot if we were going to be paying for the membership. I was quite terrified at first, to be honest. It wasn’t the act of weight lifting that intimidated me… Weight lifting had been one of my favorite classes in high school! But working out in a primarily male-dominant atmosphere did. And I knew enough about it to know that there were strong military ties with CrossFit… and lots of yelling (of the encouraging variety, but yelling all the same) and pain (the good kind, if there is a good kind).
This morning I went to Crossfit and had a moment of nostalgia. I got to race with the big boys just like I used to do when I was a kid. For those that aren’t familiar with Crossfit it’s an exercise methodology that is based around the premise of creating “complete” athletes. It incorporates weight lifting, cross-training, running, gymnastics, and basically every kind of exercise you can imagine, developing strength, skills, and balance. Every day there is a WOD or Work-Out of the Day. Well, today’s WOD involved sprints. And for some unknown reason, any time running is involved, I panic. Even when I was a soccer and field hockey player in high school and could run for 90 minutes during a game, I’d panic before practice if I knew we were doing suicides or “One Lap Ahead”. Today was no different.
Part 1 was posted prior to this and should be read first…
Just a little quick background before I begin to write how football could have POSSIBLY changed my life in the significant ways I was implying in my previous post…
I was born an athlete. Not a very GOOD one, but one all the same. My earliest memories are of challenging my older brothers and their friends to sprints in the backyard, despite being 2 and 3 years younger than them (and quite small). I can remember that desire to beat them and make them think, “WOW! She’s really fast! I almost got beat by a girl!”