Ok, first of all I need an opinion. Is it CrossFit or Crossfit? Capital F or lowercase f? Let’s settle this.
Great. Moving on.
This weekend is my 2nd anniversary with The Boyfriend. We met 2 years ago in a parking lot in Moab, UT when he helped me tie an inflatable kayak to the top of my car. We were both living in Moab working at rafting companies, and I thought he was cute, so about a week later I came back, quasi-stalked him, and got his number. Maybe a little creepy, but it worked! Now, two years later, we have survived 3 months of Skyping while I lived briefly in NE Vermont, two moves together, adopting and training a border collie mix whose name used to be Chaos, 7 months of unemployment on my end, the first semester of 5-6 years of being back in school on his end, a few (but not enough) powder days, at least 50 hours on I-70, and exactly one rafting trip together. And now, CrossFit.
Doing WODs with your boyfriend can be a funny thing. Yesterday, The BF asked how much weight I had used for my power cleans. I told him 65 lbs, but that it felt too light, and he said “You’re huge!” I’m pretty sure that CrossFit is the only place where someone can tell their girlfriend that they’re huge and not get slapped.
The BF is a lot stronger and way more flexible than I am, has way more endurance, and is the fastest runner at our gym. All signs point to him being better at CrossFit. But my hands don’t tear as easily, and I get perverse satisfaction from knowing that when we run, I work twice as hard as he does, which clearly makes me tougher. So it evens out.
A few weekends ago, The BF competed in a local competition for beginners. I made signs, brought snacks (and a cowbell), and stood inches away from him yelling very helpful things like “PICK IT UP!” and “KEEP MOVING!” as he burned his way through thrusters and box jumps. I had flashes of the moms in Toddlers in Tiaras and was struck by the oddness of being a “CrossFit girlfriend,” and somehow wanted to tell everyone, “Hey, I do CrossFit, too! I’m legit, I swear!” Similarly, yesterday we were working on muscle-ups. I am not even close, so my “muscle-up” really just comprises of jumping up and down between two waist-high rings. The BF is a lot closer, so he was standing on a box in the middle of the gym working on rings suspended 8 feet or so in the air. I am so far from a muscle-up that I have no idea how this would happen, but he somehow ended up scraping up his triceps during our warm-up, and wanted to cover them before the WOD started. As we went over some final guidelines for power cleans, I noticed him sitting on a box in the corner, struggling to cover the back of his own arm with tape, so I put down my bar and helped him with the last few layers. After the WOD our trainer said, “Hey thanks for jumping in on that, I thought about going over to help him but I was trying to get everyone set up for the cleans.” “Hey, you don’t bring your girlfriend to CrossFit with you for nothing,” I said.
But it’s possible to be a CrossFit Boyfriend, too. First of all, if it wasn’t for him I would literally never make it to the 6:30AM WODs. I would turn off my alarm and roll back over because I am the antithesis of a morning person. I’m also not a night person. I am a sleep person. But he gets up and lets the dog out and fills up our water and shaker bottles and puts a banana in my hand as I shuffle half-awake towards the door. And last week after finishing Kelly, I was exhausted and actually vomited just a little bit outside in the grass. He came out with water bottle in hand, and when we went back inside he picked up my box and stacked it for me.
And then I got a big, sweat-dripping-off-my-nose, forgot-to-wear-deoderant, literally-just-vomited smooch. That’s love right there, folks.