When it comes to working out and/or regimented exercise, I
can report from both ends of the spectrum. In my natural state, nothing short
of a stern warning from a doctor or the necessity of looking good in a suit for
a formal occasion will get me serious about getting some exercise with any sort
of direction or regularity.
On the other hand, my natural aversion to conflict and
pathological need to impress others had me pulling early mornings and late
nights – without question – to appease angry coaches back in my high school
playing days.
To me, the idea of fitness or healthiness has never been
more than a means to an end. I like baseball and football. In order to be good
at them, a certain amount of wishing death on strength coaches and puking your
way through mid-summer runs is necessary.
Now that I’m done with competitive sports – at least as far
as having a career in them is concerned – there isn’t as much of a prerogative
to hit up the gym. Then again, all those years of busting my ass has also left
me with just the slightest smidge of pride that will send me back to a
treadmill or squat rack when I get to feeling a little too out of shape.
At 28 years old, many leading researchers in the field of
getting paid to say how good people are at sports would have me believe that I
am at my physical peak. According to all of those lab coats, the best all of us
soon-to-be-thirtysomethings can hope for is a degree of health that will at
least allow the doctor to prescribe a generic drug for our maladies instead of
having to resort to expensive name brands. Science, medicine and evolution are
telling us that it’s all downhill from here.
And so I’ve taken the step that millions before me have – I
signed a contract to pay a gym lots of my money every month, regardless of
whether or not I actually go. The experiment has had its ups and downs. The
main contributor to my attendance is that I don’t want to get behind on my
favorite podcasts and sweating my way through a workout is the best way to find
that sort of uninterrupted free time.
I’ve found my solution to a (somewhat) healthier life via a
24-hour gym that lets me do whatever I want so long as my credit card clears
each month and I don’t disturb the group of ladies on the elliptical machines
watching ‘The View’ with the volume on 11,000.
For others, a slightly more intense approach is favored.
Over the last year or two I’ve kept an eye on the rapid rise
and conflicting opinions surrounding the phenomenon that is CrossFit.
For those who have been on the other side of the world for
the last few years, CrossFit (CF) is a very unique, very intense, and – for
many – very effective route to physical fitness.
It is also a widely scrutinized and often disparaged method
of working out that, according to critics, can do much more harm than good due
to the competitive components of the system and the not-always up to snuff
credentials of the coaches running the CF facilities (boxes).
Many critics of CF also chastise the ‘cult atmosphere’
surrounding members that seems to stem from different components of the brand
that include the aforementioned competitiveness of each workout, the quick rise
to popularity of CF, and the perceived outspokenness of CF clients and their
claims of how effective the program is in improving
strength/fitness/athleticism.
FULL DISCLOSURE: I’m friends with many CF members (and even
the owner of one local box). Without exception, I consider all of them to be
great people and can’t substantiate any claims of ‘cultishness’ or elitism that
is often heard from CF detractors. Every one of them is a person that is just
doing their best to be healthy and stay in shape. If any of them take exception
to what I write here, it will be easy to run me down. Thanks to CF, all of them
can run for distance far better than I ever will.
That said, I have started to see a few flare-ups on various
message boards and social media sites I frequent where the friends and foes of
CF are starting to butt heads and let the (verbal) punches fly. Depending on
the extreme you want to believe in, CF could be anything from a total waste of
time and money that sucks people into mindless competition with more potential
for injury than physical benefit to a godsend of a program that trains members
to excel in dozens of disciplines that will help you throughout your life and
advance you towards a truly complete physical fitness.
So where exactly does CF fit in?
It’s tough to say.
On one hand, there is no denying the fitness of any CF
member who regularly visits their box. And those who make it to regional and
national competitions combine the looks of cover models on a men’s or women’s
fitness magazine with strength and endurance that is usually seen only in
cartoons or less-than-believable action movies.
The broad nature of disciplines covered by ardent CF members
is also impressive. I don’t pay as much attention to the Olympics as I should,
but I would imagine that all of the aspects of a decathlon – and then some –
are routinely covered in CF workouts of the day (WODs). From thousands of
readily available articles and videos available for CF, it doesn’t take long to
find an example of just about every conceivable muscle group being taxed by one
of the system’s signature exercises.
Undoubtedly, this kind of all-around competency is hard to
find amongst even the elite of any other sport or training program.
And that’s also where I can find faults in the CF brand.
When I first set foot in a CF box, I was intrigued. I have
been in everything from well-funded corporate setups all the way down to almost
forgotten low-level high school weight room dives. The box I visited was far
more Spartan than any of those venues.
I was filled in on the things that might be a part of a
given WOD. Short runs, long runs, rope climbs, snatches, etc. Placed in the
right order, with the right weight/rep/time constraints, these simple exercises
can – and do – easily turn any willing participant into a workout machine.
But what struck me as odd – given my competitive streak and
the fact that all of these workouts are timed/scored – is that I could have
done any of those programs the day I stepped in the door.
Don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t have won any of these
competitions. In all likelihood, I’d finish pretty far down the totem pole. My
point is that anything that anyone ever does at CF – from beginner classes all
the way to the uber-elite competitions now televised on ESPN – could likely be
performed by any athletically competent person, in some form or fashion, on
their first day at the box.
The weights never get too high. The distances never get too
long. The reps never get to be too much. Everything about CF is familiarizing
yourself with the exercises. The more workouts you participate in, the more
familiar you get with approaching each movement and – sticking to CF’s
competitive nature – completing it as fast and efficiently as possible.
Critics of CF might think they’re taking a dig at it when
they call it something along the lines of ‘the sport of exercising’.
Honestly, I see that as a compliment. There are plenty of
people who would be jealous of the many different things CF participants are
able to do. In a contest of being physically fit and healthy, all of the
insults in the world won’t make up ground on the lead CrossFit-ers have on the
vast majority of the population.
But for those who really want a barb to throw at the CF
crowd, I’ll give you this….
To be the most physically fit or to have the broadest
abilities sounds great, but the approach that CF takes to get to that goal is
like running a maze millions of times. The workouts remain the same and the
goal seems to be simply to run through it faster each time. The only real
reward at the end of the maze is a high-five and the challenge to immediately
run through it again, only faster this time.
In most sports, time spent in the weight room or on the
track prepares athletes to adapt and excel at a competition that plays out
differently each time. In CF competitions, it’s the same workouts as always,
only everyone is trying to workout the fastest.
And again, the stuff that is being done – even at the elite
events that are televised nationwide – are things that most anyone could do
right now if they jumped off their couch for a minute.
I can climb a rope, but probably not as well as an elite
member of CF.
I can run a few hundred meters, but probably not as fast as
an elite member of CF.
I can do pull ups, but not as many as an elite member of CF.
I can lift over 100 pounds above my head easily, but not as
fast as an elite member of CF.
Put all of those together, and it becomes that maze. All of
the places where an outsider might have the slightest hiccup or hesitation
serves as exponential growth in the gap created by the competitor who eats,
sleeps, and breathes that specific competition each and every day.
And that’s not a criticism. These WODs and CF competitions
are perfectly formatted and presented to showcase those who excel in them in
the best possible light. That’s what popularizes the system and that’s what
makes the thousands of CF boxes around the country profitable.
The only real problem I see is the tendency of some to
promote the winners of these competitions (or just the best performers at each
local box) as models of athleticism. Relatively simple exercises – even when
done at mind-numbingly high reps or fast speeds – are still just simple
exercises. Elite competition winners can stake a claim to being the best at CF,
but there just isn’t much else that translates to.
It’s a random workout that has been ground down into a niche
in terms of how it is completed and who competes in it. If I took just some
very specific parts of my athletic interests and suddenly made them part of a
competition, I would become elite in a hurry.
Check out my WOD:
-
Put in play 10 pitches thrown at 90 MPH
-
Track and catch 10 fly balls hit over 75 feet in the
air
-
Starting at the 15 yd. line, evade a linebacker to
break the goal line
-
Retain consciousness after being blindsided by a
blitzing linebacker
-
Sink 10 3-pointers
-
DO FOR TIME… REPORT SCORE
Look at that list. It seems daunting, yet any athletically
competent person could – eventually – do all of those things. It’s just much
easier for someone who regularly competes in those sports to check off all the
steps. Being able to do all of these things the fastest doesn’t make you a
baseball player, a football player, or a basketball player. It makes you… I
don’t know… good at that exact workout, I guess. But hey, I can do it fast, so
that must mean something.
In my opinion, that’s what CrossFit is. By promoting itself
as competitive, it’s becoming a sport all of its own, suited only for those who
partake in it while alienating – at least in the competitive aspect – those who
wish to use the program to better themselves in particular traits related to sports
other than CF.
The program reaches out with a promise that anyone and
everyone can partake, yet also goes out of its way to promote itself and its
best members as the best of the best and superior to other methods of being in
shape. The irony is also not lost on me that – despite the aforementioned ‘no
frills’ nature of the boxes and CF’s preference for ropes and tires over
complicated machinery – a membership can easily cost three to four times the
amount that I pay for my 24-hour, air conditioned gym stocked with all the
latest gadgets and flat screen TVs.
It’s a popular model, but a slightly weird one.
CrossFit will undoubtedly be the reason that thousands of
people avoid middle-age issues like high blood pressure or diabetes. Then
again, so will Zumba classes, biking clubs, and overly-competitive men’s league
softball.
We’re all older than we used to be. There’s no denying that.
What we’re all looking for is a way to feel young and maybe not die so quickly.
Competition is fun and can help everyone stay committed to
whatever pursuit keeps them active and healthy.
But let’s stop competing to see which workout hobby is best.
There is no perfect workout or best health plan. Whatever keeps you going is
the right one.
Plus, if I ever have to write a game story on who does the
most burpees, I’ll shoot myself.
