After the WOD, I sat in a pool of my own sweat on the rower, wheezing, when another CrossFitter came up and said, “Nice work.” I held out my closed hand, and we did a terrorist fist jab.
I hadn’t really done nice work. Not in the strictest sense. My push-ups were wormy, my kettle bell swings were grunty, and my rowing form would have made Paul hang his head in shame. Watching Ashley, or Anna, or Gabe, or Michael do the WOD—they do nice work. They don’t make it look easy (if the WOD looks easy, you’re doing it wrong); they make it look fierce, and beautiful.
But I did the WOD. I finished. And that, for some of us, is nice work.
The fact that people who lift heavier weights, who don’t use bands, who do things in half the time I do (as did one guy recently, running the 400 meters) stand there and cheer me on, makes me feel like I’m doing nice work.
Why I love CrossFit: People know you’re doing your damnedest and they acknowledge it.