It’s a long, long story, and I’d rather not get into the particulars, but it’s been nearly a year since I’ve been to a Crossfit, and because of this aforementioned unbearable amount of guilt and shame, I’m not sure I could possibly go back.
It’s the same thing as feeling guilty about not eating CLEAN and organic food.
It really seems counterintuitive–you’d go to a gym to become fitter and achieve those physical goals. But there’s a huge piece of humiliation that goes along with returning to a community that already knows you, and you appear totally different, now looking different and losing lots of strength and stamina.
So even IF my schedule aligned with class schedules, and even IF I could afford a membership, would I return?
I’m not sure.
And that’s kind of sad and scary to admit, but I’ve been thinking a lot about it lately, and I think it’s true.
Would it be easier if I conveniently made it to a place where nobody–not even the coaches–knew me, so I’d literally be starting at Ground Zero? Maybe. But history has shown that my ego has almost always gotten the better of me, and I’d immediately try to impossibly PR lifts, and just as sure injure myself…once again.
What is the answer for me? What to do?
Again, I’m not sure.
It’s a question I’ve been grappling with for some time.
For what seemed like so long, my identity was intrinsically tied into Crossfit. When someone asked me my hobbies, No. 1 was always “Crossfit.” When someone asked me to tell about myself, I always began with, “I Crossfit” or “I’m a Crossfitter.”
So what happens when I really can no longer say that? Who am I without Crossfit? Lost and kind of alone. Secluded even further and confused about my identity.
I know it sounds silly, to be confused about WHO I AM–who YOU are–but it’s absolutely true. Who am I without the label of “Crossfit”? Well, I guess I’m a lady. I’m engaged, and I love my fiancé. I enjoy coffee. I like to snuggle. I love the beach, and I have bunions. I’m a gardener with a very brown thumb. I’m really good at hiding vegetables in food. I’m a friend, a lover, a daughter, a sister, a peacemaker, and I know too much about too many random things. I like whiskey. I love traveling. I like holding hands and laying on The Boy’s chest.
But a Crossfitter? Maybe not. And I’m ready right now to let go of the anxiety and bitterness that has come along with that separation. Time to move on, and take care of myself, not my false sense of identity.
(And in that vein, it was time to change the skin of my blog. I hope you find it easier to read now.)