Part-Time Poet

Three and a half years ago, on a dark February night, my husband and I drove to a neighboring town to start our first night of CrossFit 101 classes. Even though I had been an avid home-exerciser and serious walk-taker since college, I knew I was going to be in for a rude awakening. Nervous and scared, we introduced ourselves to our fellow classmates and coach, gaping at the bars and weights around the room. It was a brand new gym and no one there was an expert by any stretch of the imagination, but I was intimidated as hell.

We did a short warm up, learned some basic movements, and then started our first workout: a 200 meter run followed by descending reps (15-12-9) of push ups, ring-rows, and squats, followed by another 200 meter run. Depending on your level of fitness, this should take anywhere between four and eight minutes. It took me almost twelve. 

(Specifically, it took me 11:41. The time is forever burned in to my brain.)

Wobbling through my last round of push ups, I felt tears welling in my eyes. “What, exactly am I doing here?” I thought, “I’m not a fucking athlete. I can’t do this.” That last 200 meters felt like a mile (or more). I was the last one to finish in a class of ten.

In the car on the way home, spaghetti-armed and defeated, I cried and cried to my husband, “I can’t believe I thought I could do this. I’m so stupid. I’m not an athlete! I can’t do this.”

He was sympathetic, but firm: We had paid and signed up for a month, we’re both going back. 

Small win: I went back the next night. 

And the next.

And the next.

And three and a half years later I’m still going back every day, albeit at five in the morning. 

In that little green room with the ‘fit-fam’ who surrounded us, we set goals, we worked hard, and sometimes we didn’t win, but more often than not, we achieved what we had set out to. Limitations seemed irrelevant. You could do basically anything if you wanted to work and accept help. Increase your deadlift by thirty pounds? Come in Saturday, we’ll work on it. Complete strict pull-ups? Here’s a plan I found in a magazine, we’ll do it together after class. Want to run a mile without stopping? Let’s run together this weekend.

Small win: Showing up.

Small win: Setting a goal.

Small win: Asking for help.

When I think back on that time, I’m extraordinarily grateful because I could have never gone back and never met those people and done the things I’ve done in the last three and a half years. My husband and I carry that with us. Shortly before we moved from Arkansas, we knew it’d be hard to find a new gym and stay fit, so my husband decided he’d run not just an ultramarathon, but a 50 mile race. When he told our friends there, they congratulated him. “You can totally do that. How long will that take? How will you train? Can I do it, too?”

Not satisfied watching from the sidelines, I picked a goal, too: A half marathon. “That’s reasonable, right?” I asked my friends at the gym. “Totally, if you train right.” So I trained and I did it. I ran a half marathon. From a terrible, floppy 200 meters that fateful, cold night in a bank parking lot to a half marathon in two years. The culmination of a million small wins.

Last winter, approaching our third year anniversary practicing CrossFit and just over a year after moving to California, our friends came to us, “We’re going to run a marathon in Arkansas. Want in?” How do you say no to that?

After I finished, I remember looking at my husband, my friends and thinking, “Thankyouthankyouthankyou for not telling me this was a silly goal, that I had to do more half marathons first, for not sucking in your breath and asking if I was sure. Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou.” 

I cried a lot again, but for different reasons. Happy, happy tears.

No one hesitated to remind me of that terrible 200 meters, of all the days I complained about running, about always being last and making jokes, about shin splints and then pointing to my medal because I JUST FINISHED A FUCKING MARATHON. 

I look back on this journey, this long, ridiculous journey of a non-athlete, non-runner and what she’s done and I’m filled with silly, corny, rainbows-and-sunshine joy. 

A few weeks ago I applied to be a regional leader in the women’s running group I became a part of this Spring. (Two small wins right there.) When I told my fit-fam friend about it, she told me that was rad and how could they NOT pick me? Yesterday I got a welcome email saying that I had been picked. ME. Who cried after two 200 meter repeats with some body weight movements thrown in between. ME.

In the next month, Heath and I are going to focus our training on his next big adventure: a 100 mile race in Arizona (Javelina Jundred). After a weird performance at AR50, I wasn’t sure he would want to do it. Several times I told him he didn’t have to, but he’s insisting. It’s going to be a great day out in the desert. 

After I complete a race at the end of July (BSB, 10.5 miles), I’ll be focusing on supporting him through this goal. The plan is to crew in the beginning and pace through two 18-mile laps. The beautiful thing about this race is that the crew never has to drive anywhere, the runners pass by on a big loop. Hooray! So I’ll spend the day checking in with him, stealing cat naps, and staying hydrated before pacing him through the night. Marriage! We do crazy shit.

It’s tough to make your dinner When you don’t know what’s left to eat I heard mayonnaise can kill you Don’t get me started on ground beef. They say too much fruit will make you fat So I’d better not have any OK, I’ll eat a walnut or two, but three is way too many. I ran this morning, a real long way Just so I could have some kale Last night I gave in to almond butter, Talk about an epic fail. Every morning I have a spinach omelet Hold the seasoning and the yolks. A magazine said fat might be good for you? But I think that was a hoax. I’ll eat chocolate again when my thighs don’t touch I want to be skinny more. Not everyone can have curves like Beyonce And live life like it’s one big dance floor. One day I know this stress will end But I have to be skinny first. Why do we have to eat anyway? Food is just the worst.

Some of the best advice I’ve ever received Came from a friend who imparted to me (It’s so simple, you’ll think that it’s dumb) She said, “Always remember to always have fun!” Just a few simple words, nothing too crazy But I was young at the time and thought nothing could phase me. Her words and her tone are burned into my brain So much so that I saw nothing the same. Every minute, every hour could be improved If one could make a little change in one’s attitude. Add a skip to your step, or color to your day, Make a little effort and find a kazoo to play. Just remember what’s important and have fun, OK?

Let’s forgo all our obligations Play up both our boss’ patience And stay in bed all day.

Forget all the implications Don’t care about confrontations Let’s stay in bet all day.

They can have their consultations, Inboxes and complications, But we have bed all day.

There’s time tomorrow for corporations I’m making this a declaration, Let’s stay in bed all day.

We can have our conversations, Plan our future destinations While we’re in bed all day.

I have many aspirations For bed sheet exploration And staying in bed all day.

Thinking about this gives me palpitations Our bedroom has the best decorations For staying in bed all day.

Ignore any limitations This is your engraved invitation  To stay in bed all day.

I think this is a love revelation I’m not worried about explanations For staying in bed all day.

They’ll talk of this for generations Here’s to many incarnations And staying in bed all day.

Call around to make preparations I’ve got our reservations To stay in bed all day.

My love, you are my medication We have our own congregation In our bed all day.