Well, I’m not the leader.
Scrolling through the leaderboard left me down in the dumps. I was feeling like a poser, with all the right gear and none of the stuff. (the “stuff”: endurance, stamina, strength, flexibility, power, speed, coordination, agility, balance, and accuracy.)
I had worn my Shakespeare shirt
and though she be but little, she is fierce
I had my pink shoes and my shoulder was taped. I’d even worn my LSD liner that makes me feel like a little bit more than I am. I knew I could fight through my sniffles and my coughs (DAMN cold-aka-immune-system-weaksauce). I didn’t even give myself a number to reach, instead prioritizing rest with one simple directive: don’t. So, I approached the WOD with every expectation that I would greet its 10 minute finish line with an exhausted smile, quite unlike my defeat in response to the 10-incredibly-frustrating-minutes-trying-to-get-my-#75-snatch-after-the-first-7-exhausting-minutes-of-13.1.
My 179 reps did not elicit the smile I anticipated. With disappointment, I plopped my rear on the box I had just pounded into oblivion 89 times (gotta work on soft landings) and began my analysis. Was I too quick out of the gate? Should I have done the step-ups even with my hobbit legs? I hadn’t had my coffee this morning; I never work out without coffee; why didn’t have my coffee? If I hadn’t miscounted my deadlifts in the last round I probably would have gotten to 180. Why can’t I bound yet?…
Yes, I let myself fall down the spiral of questions but I reassessed when I started asking Why am I not good enough?
It’s true, I’m not good enough, I never will be (for there would be no reason to get better.) And I always do seem to ask “why” no matter what the subject. But this question too easily leads to dejection and despondence, inhibitors of progress.
So I stopped myself there and enjoyed a couple of hours in front of the “Vitamin C” section at Whole Foods. A sometimes gives me impossible tasks: when you’re at the grocery store could you pick up some Vitamin C? I left sans C but did get a good supply of elderflower syrup. I know, I know…#fail.
Another #fail, this one current: my nose is running onto my shirt. Gross. Time to wrap this baby up so I can tissue-it-out.
All too easily I find cause to berate myself when I scroll through the leaderboard. I must counter by holding firm to moments of particular pride I’ve experienced with respect to my physical performance within CrossFit. Two WODs come to mind: the first, three rounds of an 800m run, kettlebell swings, and abmat situps; the second, a barbell complex of deadlifts, squats, cleans, push presses, cleans, squats, deadlifts. I crushed the first; I merely finished the second. I gave everything I had to both.
The heart and soul of CrossFit isn’t performance, it’s the heart and soul of the athlete.
Rest well bright stars,