I’ve Been Doing Cross Fit For 3 Weeks And I’d Like To Let Everyone Know How Hot I Am Now


My Cross Fit experience, slash #fitlife, slash being really really hot, began almost a year ago. I first joined Cross Fit in September of 2014, for the sole purpose of being able to tell my friends that I did Cross Fit. And I did, every day.

My routine was simple: In the morning I would sign up for a class, then, just before it began, I’d text each one of my friends, “hey, sorry if you don’t hear from me for the next hour or so, I’m gonna be at Cross Fit and away my phone,” and then I’d go inside the class, and struggle.

I did this every day for five weeks. Then I got hurt, and I had to stop doing Cross Fit for like two months. Then I tried doing Cross Fit again in December of 2014, but then Christmas happened, and after Christmas I stopped making money, so my Cross Fit life ended.

But now I’m back. And it’s so exciting. Because I am so fucking hot.

Before we get into how hot I am, let me walk you through my typical day at Cross Fit. It goes a little something like — hit it, ma! — this!

I arrive. I change into my Cross Fit uniform — Jordan 4s, knee socks, runnings shorts, skin-tight basketball jersey, red white & blue headband, cape (just kidding about the cape). I stretch, statically at first, but then I remember there’s no static stretching in Cross Fit, so I stretch elastically, which is basically just waving your arms around while you jump up and down. Sometimes there’s a small black ball you can rub yourself against, or a large foam roller you can sit on and rock back and forth so your butt feels nice. This lasts five minutes, and is filled with panic about what’s to come.

Class begins. We run around the block or row 500 meters on the erg machine or do some exercises that require a lot of core strength, which, at present, evades me. This lasts 10 minutes. For something labeled ‘warm-ups,’ I sweat decidedly too much. The key to reducing such sweating, and overall physical strain on your body, is to skip a lot of reps. I’m usually pretty successful. This might be the thing I’m best at in Cross Fit. The instructor is always lazy during warm-ups. Sucker.

Next comes the strength/skill portion. We do some sort of lifting activity — push presses, front squats, dead lifts, clean and jerks, etc. — with focus on perfecting technique and ultimately, lifting a shit-ton of weight. This is annoying. Skipping reps is significantly more challenging, because we’re usually only doing like three at a time. The problem is, using less weight than everyone else is not an option because it’s very noticeable and if you let others know Cross Fit is getting too hard for you, you’ve lost. I’ve resolved to standing close to a heavily-plated bar and breathing really, really hard, constantly, to make it always seem like I just finished a tough set. This has proven to be wildly unsuccessful. It might be the thing I’m worst at in Cross Fit. I get caught every time. But I’m not going to give up. You don’t give up in Cross Fit, that’s lesson number one.

Strength/skill ends. It’s time for the WOD. And oh man, the WOD — or, workout of the day, for all you not hot people. There’s no screwing around during the WOD. Not from me, not from anyone. All I can hope is that I’ve screwed around enough already so that my energy has been amply preserved for the finale. Also, there’s scaling. One can always scale. Scaling is embarrassing, yes, but often necessary. Here’s how it goes:

INSTRUCTOR: Okay, today we’re doing five rounds each of handstand push-ups, pull-ups, and muscle ups. 10 reps apiece. You guys ready?

ME: Yep, cool.

INSTRUCTOR: Austin, how are your handstand pushups?

ME: Uhhhh, well.

INSTRUCTOR: Don’t worry, that’s fine! How about your handstands?

ME: Umm. They’re … not … yeah.

INSTRUCTOR: Your push-ups?

ME: Yeah, I can do push-ups.

INSTRUCTOR: Cool. So you’re gonna do push-ups for that part.

ME: Can I use my knees?


ME: Cool.

INSTRUCTOR: Okay, what about your pull-ups?

ME: I should be fine if I … umm … no I can’t do pull-ups.

INSTRUCTOR: Ah, okay. Well, just jump up there and get your chin over the bar. You can jump right?

ME: Hell yeah I can jump!

INSTRUCTOR: Sweet! Now, I’m gonna guess muscle ups will be hard for you?

ME: What are muscle ups?

INSTRUCTOR: Jumping up onto those hanging rings and pulling yourself through like a gymnast.

ME: Oh I can do that.

INSTRUCTOR: Wait, really?

ME: No.

INSTRUCTOR: Oh, haha, okay. Just … just hang from the bar for a while, okay?

ME: Yep.

I do the WOD. I crash onto the floor afterward, remaining there for six minutes, breathing very loudly throughout. I eventually stumble into the shower, where I wash away sweat and tears. I mix 500 grams of protein with water, shake vigorously, drink hastily, and enjoy minimally. I peer into the mirror like I’ve just traversed a 1000-mile desert in 125-degree heat and finally, after days of utter starvation, I’ve spotted civilization. I smile.

Per the limits of the English language, I can’t explain to you how hot I am now. It would be impossible. It’s not worth trying. Instead, I’ll provide an exhaustive list of things that are hotter than me. This is it. I am hotter than everything that is not on this list.

1. Every Cross Fit instructor, because they are always doing Cross Fit, so it’s impossible for me to catch up.

2. Chris Pratt, not in the attractive sense — I don’t think there’s any questioning I’m the more handsome male — but in the popular sense. Pratt is huge right now.

3. Steph Curry, in rhythm, from beyond the arc.

4. My car, in 80+ degree heat, after I’ve been using the air conditioning for too long. You guys have no idea how much this sucks.

5. A Carolina Reaper Pepper, which, according to Wikipedia, reaches peak levels of 2.2 million Scoville Heat Units. What the fuck?

6. The sun, which, according to Wikipedia, has a core temperature of 1.57 * 107 kelvin, which is … to be honest, I don’t know, but definitely hot.

7. My suspicion that my roommate and former friend Griffin is eating my banana chips after I go to bed. (Hot lead, guys. Keep up.)

8. My love for banana chips, a self-evident burning passion.

That’s it. I can admit to those eight things being hotter than me, but I’m number nine.

I was deciding between ‘I’m sore’ and ‘Oh shit, I’m late for class’ as the way to end this. At second glance, both are so, so bad.


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