Getting comfortable with discomfort

I'm going to tell you a secret. That may sound a bit clickbaity. But the truth is, I'm not quite ready to shout about the topic of this post yet. Instead I'm giving you a photo clue.

I’ve been trying not to talk about CrossFit. I’ve been trying not to talk about CrossFit for fear of becoming one of those people who always talks about CrossFit. And yet, I find myself thinking about it a lot. Much as I’ve resisted, it’s fair to say that it has become my most pervasive new hobby. If tiring yourself to the point of exhaustion and feeling pretty wobbly when you attempt to walk down the stairs the next morning can be classed as a hobby.

This week I’ve been on a self-prescribed training week. Which means giving priority to daily gym visits. I refuse to call it a box – remember, I’m trying not to be one of those people. Even though I am clearly already one of those people. In all honesty, I haven’t heard anyone refer to it as a box here in Scotland, where a canniness not to embrace anything too enthusiastically is dished out at birth. Along with a cardboard crib, packed with essentials.

After three weeks without working out, due to yet another lurgy, followed by a holiday, then a general wave of can’t be arsed-ness meets fatigue, my schedule was beautifully clear and it felt like a great time to get back on the horse. Except in this case, it’s not a Palomino with a velvety soft nose. It’s an assault bike. Which I can confirm lives up to its reputation as a “seriously savage” piece of equipment. The only thing soft about it is my pedalling strength.

Photo by Julien Dumas on Unsplash

Seven months in (see how long I’ve resisted talking about it for!), and fresh from my most intense week yet, I’m finding some unexpected benefits to CrossFit. First, there are the obvious things – I can farmer carry the groceries with ease and am able to get through a few songs on Just Dance without flopping on the couch now. And then there are the ones that I didn’t see coming.

Not only am I slowly but surely getting fitter and stronger, CrossFit is helping me to get comfortable with discomfort. The  workouts constantly vary and, while movements are repeated, it’s fair to say that there hasn’t been a single session yet where I have thought – Box burpees again? No bother.  There’s a clever combination of challenge, dopamine hits, progression and community that seems to hit the sweet spot for my ADHD brain. Admittedly, while I stand in front of the whiteboard, squinting in concentration as the patient, long-suffering coaches verbally outline the day’s plan, it can feel like trying to follow the plot of Memento. Meanwhile, autistic me quietly endures the blaring music and focuses on getting through the next 60 minutes of sensory overload.

It sounds horrible, doesn’t it? And yet it isn’t. It’s strangely addictive. And while it’s mostly type two fun (the type that feels pretty horrendous at the time but exhilarating afterwards), there are flashes of glee and childlike wonder along the way. Leaping onto boxes sparks joy and attempting a handstand, then crumpling into a messy heap, has landed me in hysterics. There’s also skipping, which reminds me of the wooden handled ropes we used to cart around the playground, their speed suddenly reduced when they’d land in a puddle and shower us with muddy water as we took our turn in the middle.

It also helps that I watched a lot of 80s action film montages as a kid, and am optimistically programmed to expect a major transformation after a winter of lugging logs in Siberia à la Rocky IV, or in this case doing ring rows while watching my breath drift up to the ceiling beams of the huge, impossible to heat warehouse space. As I inch closer to my first pull up with each month that passes, I picture Sarah Connor using her upended bedframe to stay strong while doing time in Terminator 2. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to ‘general badassery’ as a life goal.

You often hear the community aspect of CrossFit being mentioned, and it’s hard to believe just how pivotal a role it plays until you experience it. It seems that being reduced to a sweaty wreck is an instant bonding experience. There’s a camaraderie as you catch the eye of a classmate. You’ve got this! and Holy shit, how much longer do we have to do this for? exchanged in the briefest of glances. And the fist bumps that come afterwards are just the best.

It’s also more inclusive than you might imagine. All of the movements can be modified, and people of all ages and abilities, plus those with disabilities, including wheelchair users, can take part. And it’s been refreshing to hear folks talk openly about their mental health, and how taking up CrossFit has helped them to manage long-term conditions.

One of my favourite things has been seeing the coaches and classmates taking turns to hold a young baby, to let his mum finish her reps. And while I’m usually too busy focusing on my own technique to take much else in, I’ve lost count of the number of times women ten or more years older than me have added more plates to the bar or finished way faster. It’s inspiring to see.  

I suspect it’s a Marmite thing, and people will either love or hate it. But looking back and remembering that I was that one weird kid who enjoyed circuit training at high school, it all starts to make sense. It took me a long time to get here – so long that I’m already well into the ‘Masters’ age category. Not that I’m planning to enter any competitions, I’m not that into CrossFit. (Yet – a small internal voice that I’m choosing to ignore whispers).

But maybe, just maybe it’s okay to start talking about it now.