Not So Smoothie: My Grueling Search for a New Crossfit Gym, Part 2
The second Crossfit gym I visited was just a few blocks away from the first - a ten-minute drive from my apartment, at most. I made an appointment to go in at 7:30 a.m. on a Thursday.
I knew it was attached to a globo gym ("World Gym"), so parking and walking in, I wasn't surprised at the sight of the giant cement structure. No, the shock came when I walked up to the front desk and spied the giant menu hanging on the wall. A smoothie bar? My inner monologue was incredulous. They still have those? I was in line behind a woman who was grumbling to the clerk about the towel shortage of late. Impressive amenities, suddenly not so impressive. I filled out the liability waiver and followed the clerk to the back, where the Crossfit area is located. He pointed out the heavy black door at the end of the hall that served as a second entrance to the Crossfit room. I laughed to myself and wondered if it was borne out of necessity - Crossfitters not wanting to use the front door.
About six athletes of different ages and fitness levels were in various degrees of exertion all around the room, which was even smaller than my gym in D.C. I introduced myself to the coaches who were sitting along the wall. One reminded me of a former Olympic lifter who has been in retirement for about 15 years: The frame was there, but it hadn't been used in a while. He told me Nick, the other coach, was going to lead me through a test WOD, but I should warm up on my own. I sped through a warmup of mountain climbers and air squats, grumbling to myself the whole time. Sure, I'll just warm up on my own. No, I don't need any coaching. In fact, why don't you go get a smoothie? You look parched.
Nick (who looked as if he might actually use the workout facilities) asked me to demonstrate for him the basic lifts: deadlift, sumo deadlift high pull, clean, jerk, and some presses. He seemed impressed, which improved the whole experience immediately.
"So now I'm going to have you do an AMRAP, shouldn't be too bad," he said. I envisioned a five-minute WOD in which I could dazzle him with whatever athleticism that hadn't atrophied since I'd left D.C. "Do as many rounds of 10 medicine ball cleans, 10 hand-release pushups and 10 air squats in 12 minutes."
Twelve minutes. It sounded doable ... kinda. I didn't have much time to freak out, though, before he took out his stopwatch. "Go!"
I tried to remember how easy a WOD like this would have been, back when I had lung capacity. For his part, Nick wasn't a bad coach. He pushed me when I needed a boost. And he really did seem impressed by my abilities, at one point saying to the other coach: "Wow, look at those pushups." It made me question the level of pushups they see on a daily basis, but it was still nice to hear.
After 12 minutes I got six rounds and four air squats: not my best, but an OK showing. I didn't die or anything. As I stood there panting (and hoping not to throw up), Nick explained the setup. They don't do traditional WODs. Instead, from 7am to 7pm there is always a coach present, so anyone can come in and do the WOD. In my haze, I couldn't really wrap my mind around it. So, like, open gym? We just come in when we want, do the workout and leave? Basically, he said.
I'm not looking for a place to just sweat it out on my own and take off. I'm in search of a community here. I need to work out, yes. But I also need to make friends and have a place to go every day that isn't my office. I need familiar faces.
As I made my way back up to the smoothie bar and out the door, I passed a room full of spin bikes. On my left, a guy in an oversized tank top was assembling his water bottle on an elliptical machine. I thought back to my days at Evanston Athletic Club and Washington Sports Club, where I spent hours and hours on treadmills and spin bikes, chasing an elusive goal, hating it the entire time.
I couldn't get out of there fast enough.
I knew it was attached to a globo gym ("World Gym"), so parking and walking in, I wasn't surprised at the sight of the giant cement structure. No, the shock came when I walked up to the front desk and spied the giant menu hanging on the wall. A smoothie bar? My inner monologue was incredulous. They still have those? I was in line behind a woman who was grumbling to the clerk about the towel shortage of late. Impressive amenities, suddenly not so impressive. I filled out the liability waiver and followed the clerk to the back, where the Crossfit area is located. He pointed out the heavy black door at the end of the hall that served as a second entrance to the Crossfit room. I laughed to myself and wondered if it was borne out of necessity - Crossfitters not wanting to use the front door.
About six athletes of different ages and fitness levels were in various degrees of exertion all around the room, which was even smaller than my gym in D.C. I introduced myself to the coaches who were sitting along the wall. One reminded me of a former Olympic lifter who has been in retirement for about 15 years: The frame was there, but it hadn't been used in a while. He told me Nick, the other coach, was going to lead me through a test WOD, but I should warm up on my own. I sped through a warmup of mountain climbers and air squats, grumbling to myself the whole time. Sure, I'll just warm up on my own. No, I don't need any coaching. In fact, why don't you go get a smoothie? You look parched.
Nick (who looked as if he might actually use the workout facilities) asked me to demonstrate for him the basic lifts: deadlift, sumo deadlift high pull, clean, jerk, and some presses. He seemed impressed, which improved the whole experience immediately.
"So now I'm going to have you do an AMRAP, shouldn't be too bad," he said. I envisioned a five-minute WOD in which I could dazzle him with whatever athleticism that hadn't atrophied since I'd left D.C. "Do as many rounds of 10 medicine ball cleans, 10 hand-release pushups and 10 air squats in 12 minutes."
Twelve minutes. It sounded doable ... kinda. I didn't have much time to freak out, though, before he took out his stopwatch. "Go!"
I tried to remember how easy a WOD like this would have been, back when I had lung capacity. For his part, Nick wasn't a bad coach. He pushed me when I needed a boost. And he really did seem impressed by my abilities, at one point saying to the other coach: "Wow, look at those pushups." It made me question the level of pushups they see on a daily basis, but it was still nice to hear.
After 12 minutes I got six rounds and four air squats: not my best, but an OK showing. I didn't die or anything. As I stood there panting (and hoping not to throw up), Nick explained the setup. They don't do traditional WODs. Instead, from 7am to 7pm there is always a coach present, so anyone can come in and do the WOD. In my haze, I couldn't really wrap my mind around it. So, like, open gym? We just come in when we want, do the workout and leave? Basically, he said.
I'm not looking for a place to just sweat it out on my own and take off. I'm in search of a community here. I need to work out, yes. But I also need to make friends and have a place to go every day that isn't my office. I need familiar faces.
As I made my way back up to the smoothie bar and out the door, I passed a room full of spin bikes. On my left, a guy in an oversized tank top was assembling his water bottle on an elliptical machine. I thought back to my days at Evanston Athletic Club and Washington Sports Club, where I spent hours and hours on treadmills and spin bikes, chasing an elusive goal, hating it the entire time.
I couldn't get out of there fast enough.