When I first saw this picture after Barbells for Boobs this year, I thought "this is what CrossFit is all about." The last person struggling to finish the workout and everyone from the community cheering them on. Supporting every athlete equally until the last rep hits the floor. This is what I had come to expect out of CrossFit - in my moments of struggle I would have the full support of the community around me to keep me going. It's what kept me going in my first few months of CrossFit - that feeling that I wasn't alone and no one was going to let me quit.
The first time this happened to me was the first time I did Nancy. I had to row instead of run and was overhead squatting an empty bar and was still at least a full round behind everyone else in the class. I figured when everyone else finished they would catch their breath, gather their stuff and start getting ready to go home. I would either be told to stop or would just finish my last round at the back of the room and go home too. In the beginning I worked out with blinders on - head down or gaze focused straight ahead - only worried about what I was doing. That day I became aware that I had gathered a crowd. The people that finished didn't just leave, they came over to cheer me on so I didn't have to finish alone. They counted every rep out loud, encouraged me to pick the bar back up when I took breaks, and didn't stop until the barbell settled on the ground for the last time. It was weird. And unexpected. And quite honestly it made me really self-conscious and uncomfortable. I didn't like having everyone stare at me while I lumbered around at 350 pounds struggling to exercise. I wanted to tell them, "you know it's nice of you, but you really don't have to bother. I'm fine." Strangely though, the more I thought about what had just happened, the more warm and fuzzy I felt inside.
I can't remember very many instances in the last two years where I wasn't the last one to finish a WOD, so this scenario played itself out over and over again to the point where, for me, it became normal to work out with a crowd around me, especially at the end. In addition, I started to get feedback outside of the gym about what a great job I was doing, and how inspiring I was, and the more I heard the more I wanted to hear. I started to enjoy the attention and the accolades. I started to feel like I needed it to succeed. I felt that I needed to keep working hard so that others would continue to support me and I wanted to make my coaches proud of me.
I still worked out in a tunnel for the most part, eyes focused straight ahead, but I could always hear the clapping, or someone shouting my name from across the room. When it got really tough, I relied on having someone show up beside me to ask, "how many more do you have?" because it usually always happened. Eventually, especially when I moved back, it got to a point where I no longer had blinders on. I started to look around and see just how far behind I was and how much more everyone else was lifting, and I was really hard on myself. I started to feel bad for having to scale everything and wasn't satisfied that my best was good enough for me. I kept trying to push past what I knew was my limit, to my own detriment, because I wanted to be as good as I felt everyone else was.
The more I struggled the more I felt like I was letting everyone down. I wanted to keep up my role as an "inspiration." I knew that I had been giving up on myself, but for some reason I was upset that it seemed like everyone else had given up on me too. As it became more and more about what everyone else thought and said I began to lose my reason for the journey and I didn't really realize that it was happening.
My first workout back in Roanoke was when I hurt myself. When I was lying on the ground in pain, explaining that I had been snatching too heavy, my coach asked "who were you trying to impress?" I didn't have an answer until a few weeks ago when I finally realized that in truth I had been trying to impress him and the other athletes in the class. I had been away for a year and wanted to show everyone that I was strong and could keep up and that I was good at snatching. I'm not proud of letting my ego and my need for attention get the better of me, and I've spent the last 8 months paying for it, and learning that lesson the hard way.
Over the last several months while I've been injured, I haven't been in group classes. I haven't been in a competitive environment. I haven't had that external support that had been my life force during the first year of my journey. Without it I've felt lost and alone. Even though in the beginning I had no expectation that anyone would cheer me on through my workouts and I didn't really even want anyone to take notice of me, I had let that become my sole motivation. It took me a long time to realize that no one was going to support me if I wasn't going to try.
Five weeks ago I started an individualized rehab program. In the first meeting with my coach, she told me that she needed me to put my blinders on. I needed to focus on the work she was giving me, and not what everyone else was doing. She told me that I was in charge of my health - not her, not the other coaches, not my doctors. Me. I've thought a lot about that and it has helped me to realize that I have to change the way that I've been looking at my workouts.
Right now, and for the unforeseeable future, I can't be a competitive athlete. I can't expect or even try to think about hitting PRs or increasing weight on all my lifts. I can't measure my success on how fast my times are or how heavy my loads are. I can't gauge my effort on being told that I'm doing a good job. I'm working out alone and I can't ever expect that anyone will be there to push me through it - I need to be able to do it alone. I need to know that what I can do, now, is my normal and is good enough - even if no one tells me so. I know that people still care about me and want me to succeed, even if they aren't cheering me on through every workout. I need to get to a place where I don't need anyone else's approval to feel good about my effort. I need to focus on me and what I think of myself and on making myself proud. I need to get healthy and back on track and heal.
Joining CrossFit was never supposed to be about being the center of attention and being an inspiration and working to make anyone else proud of me. I started CrossFit to get healthy and lose weight because I was afraid I was going to die in my 30s. That solitary fear was my driving force. It was never about how much I could snatch or if my workout times compared at all to anyone else, and it shouldn't be about that now because I'm still not at the place where I can shift focus away from my primary goal. Until then, it's blinders back on, head down, moving toward my goals and taking control of my health. Closing my eyes and knowing that the crowd is still around me - even if I don't see or hear them - but not needing it to be there anymore.
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