Liftin’ Heavy Objects, Namely *Myself*

Here’s the thing about CrossFit: it makes me feel bad.

I know, I know. I’m getting stronger, and I should feel good about that. And as long as I’m doing the goddamn Workout of the Day, I should be proud of myself.

But I’m just not.

Yesterday’s WOD was three rounds: run 1 km, 10 muscle-ups, and 100 air squats.

Well, of course, I can’t do muscle-ups—listen to how it sounds: it involves muscles taking one in an upward direction…for the record, from a dead-hang to a straight-arms-by-your-sides position on gymnastic rings. I don’t have any muscles that can do that. So I took the modification. Or the modification of the modification.

And air squats, I can do those, though I did only 50 each round. (Honest to god, I blocked the 100 out of my mind. I didn’t realize I was doing half of the prescribed number until the end, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to go back and do the rest.)

And running. Man. I am just not a runner.

You know, my sister and I trained for and walked a marathon, not once but twice, in 2006 and 2007. We also, two years ago, “ran” a half-marathon. Wa got us both commemorative donkey necklace charms, to symbolize how we trotted like burros for 13.1 miles.

She’s kept it up—god love her. She’s into it. But I just hate it. I just hate it so much.

For one thing, I’m not built like a runner. I’m built more like a…shot-putter maybe, or a hooker in rugby.

Or a burro.

Or a gourd.

Anyway, between not muscling-up and modifying everything down and watching everybody disappear into the distance in front of me…well, I just feel bad about myself.

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