J.T. Kalnay's Blog, page 17

CrossFit in the Cold, Dark and Lonely Morning

Cold. 19F cold. Dark. before the dawn dark. And lonely. I trudge to the barn alone, the snow squeaking beneath my feet. I shoulder open the frozen door, and flip on the flourescent lights. They struggle, but only flicker, the way they do on these icy damp mornings. A small drift of snow has worked its way in through a crack in the old clapboards. The breeze whistles through a hole in the soffets that some small bird drilled out untold summers before. There is frost on the kettlebells, frost on my bar. My legs and back remind me of yesterday’s sledding in the snow. A smile briefly crosses my face as I think about the happy children, the fun in the snow, the dogs racing back and forth, excited by all the energy. I have no energy this morning. This WOD is going to suck. Suck bad. Grace (30×135# C&J) and 12.1 (7 minutes, max effort burpees) have fallen out of the hopper. This is going to suck hard. I strip off a layer and try to warm up here in the dark, here in the cold, here all alone. I wonder why I’m here, why I’m doing this. Couldn’t I just take today off? Who would know. It’s just me out here in the barn, with everyone else asleep, with my coaches fifty miles away and my training partners scattered to the winds during this holiday time. No-one would know. I look at the door, it’s just fifty steps from the barn back to the house, to my warm bed, to television and hot cereal and the angelic faces of the kids still sound asleep, recovering from yesterday’s sledding, looking forwards to today’s skating. No-one would know. A long forgotten memory from a different time and a different place creeps in, the memory of that time I quit. No-one knew then. But I know. In these moments, when I least expect, when it’s least wanted, I still know. I load the bar, set the timer, 3-2-1 go. Grace starts to kick my ass. There will be no PR here in the barn where my breath rolls out in clouds of steam that hang in the still air. Sweat starts to run out from under my watch cap, so I rip it off and toss it to the floor. Grace keeps kicking my ass. 25-26-27-28-29-30. The last five go unbroken. I collapse to the thin rubber matt on the concrete, my sweat runs off onto the concrete floor. I watch and realize it has frozen. How long have I been lying here gasping on the floor? Too long. 12.1 is still waiting. I unload the bar, put away the weights, look again at the frozen sweat on the concrete. I have to get this over with. I still have so much to repay for that time I quit. I move my matt a few feet to the side so I won’t slip while doing burpees. I set the timer, 3-2-1 go, down and up, down and up, seven minutes of down and up. Try as I might, I cannot embrace the suck this morning. There’s no coaches egging me on. There’s no whiteboard to write down the numbers and hold me accountable. Worst of all, there’s no training partners suffering alongside. There is no group energy to tap into. This is being done alone. I try to find someone to share this pain. I try to extend my mind, to connect with the others who are cold, and dark, and lonely before this dawn. I start to feel them. Then realize it’s colder, darker, and lonelier in that foxhole in Afghanistan. It’s colder, darker, and lonelier walking that beat in Corryville. It’s colder, darker, and lonelier working that 911 call where the nervous woman stands crying over her husband, suddenly and shockingly alone. And it’s much colder, much darker, and much lonelier than I’ve ever known in that shack in the hills where a passel of kids huddle together under a single blanket with the woodstove burnt out from the night before, wondering if there will be anything for breakfast this morning, wondering if their mother will be back from wherever she went the night before. Down and up, down and up, I start to realize how lucky I am with the kids tucked up in their beds, with my wife sipping that first cup of coffee, and with everything I care for just fifty steps away in a warm, well-stocked house. There are no PRs this morning in the barn, not even close. There’s just the suck. There are no clapping athletes, no-one urging me on. Just a cold, lonely man in the dark, whose heart momemtarily glows warm while he prays for the people who know real cold, who know real darkness, and who know real loneliness. I wonder what tomorrow’s WOD will be.

Dear CrossFit, Does Sledding Count As A WOD?

I wanted to count this is a WOD, b/c, after all, what do you call walking up a steep hill covered in thigh-deep snow a couple of dozen times, including a few times pulling a four year old? But, it’s sledding, not a WOD, so I’ll call it sledding. I don’t think I could have done this last year. Alright, I’m certain I couldn’t have done this last year. So, I guess all those step ups and walking lunges and squats have had some impact. After sledding, I watched while the kids slurped down a couple gallons of hot chocolate, which, unfortunately, isn’t paleo. Not wanting to feel completely excluded, I put a chocolate protein shake in the microwave. Note to self, do not put chocolate protein shakes in the microwave… Somehow after sledding and hot chocolate, the kids wanted to go out in the barn and play horse and then 21 and then half court basketball. I beat them at horse and 21, but decided to do deadlifts instead of playing hoops (I heard orthopedic surgeon Dr. Peter Brooks raising his eyebrows when the basketball started bouncing) Got in some nice deadlifts with my Christmas present plates. While I wonder what tomorrow’s WOD will be, I suspect it will include more hill repeats, rolling extremely heavy snow balls to make a snowman, and probably some crazy races with the kids. Maybe it isn’t CrossFit, but doing CrossFit has made it possible and even enjoyable. Thanks CrossFit.

Death By Kettlebell

Now I know how this WOD got its name. I’d tried it before RX (53#) and didn’t make it all twenty rounds. So, in true CrossFit style, when it got pulled out of the hopper a few weeks later (e.g., today) I decided to scale it to 35#. Piece of cake right? Oh wait a minute, that’s right, I don’t eat cake anymore. And, as it turned out, this was psycho-zombie cake b/c it decided to eat me! On the first few rounds I’m thinking “Why didn’t I just start at round 5?” On rounds 6-11 I’m thinking “I know I can go farther than last time with the 53 pounder.” On round 15 someone started turning off the oxygen, on round 17 someone started spinning the room, on round 18-19-20 I kept telling myself “It’s good to feel this way, it’s good to feel this way, this is what getting fit feels like!” Anyway, I finished it, or maybe it finished me. That’s both the blessing and the curse of CrossFit: anything can be scaled so that you can finish the WOD. I did notice that being Paleo fueled gives me a slightly lower top end than being sucrose fueled, but that top-end seems to be sustainable for longer and without the sucrose crash. I wonder what tomorrow’s WOD will be…

Dear CrossFit, It’s Pop-Tarts vs. Paleo Day Eight

In this corner: sugar, high-fructose corn syrup, refined flour, the FDA food pyramid, and society. And in this corner: paleo, protein, and some supportive CrossFitters. It’s not a fair fight. Not even close to fair. Television entices us to worship Lord Carbo and the Titan Sucrose. The government says we are supposed to cram carbs down our gaping maws as much as humanly possible. It’s like they want us to have Type II diabetes!?! Which is entirely possible, given the strength of the corn and sugar lobbies and the pharmaceutical lobbies. Only a few brave men and women dare stand up to this nearly unchallenged juggernaut of unhealthy eating. To truly understand the magnitude of this epic battle, and my pride at having (mostly) won out over these last eight days, the photograph shows the island at Gramma’s house where I’ve been spending the holidays. One blender filled with a fresh protein shake stands alone against the cookies, candy, soda, cake, and fudge. That’s my blender. Lean muscle mass resides inside. I wonder what tomorrow’s WOD will be…

Dear CrossFit, See You At The Cert!

Santa left one more thing in my stocking, registration at an L1 Cert in Columbus in February. I’ve been thinking about doing this for a while so that I’d know about why I’m doing what I’m doing. Having been through nearly a year of consistent CrossFit now, I think it’s time to delve more deeply into the theory. Also, being three+ years post hip replacement, and in my “silver” years, it might be time to start working with the Community to develop and provide a CrossFit Silver program, or a CrossFit Wounded Warriors program. The first thing you’d notice about the CrossFit silver program would be the music, it’d be all 70s and 80s music, before mega-thrasher-apocalypse-thug-hop was invented. Can’t you just see Angie being done to Angie Baby, can’t you just see Cindy being done to Cindi Lauper, and can’t you see Fran being done to MegaDeath? Burpees will of course have Kiss as they’re theme band.

This time of year makes us think about how to give back. The CrossFit community has given a lot to me, and I’d like to try to find ways to give back. CrossFit Silver and CrossFit for challenged vets might just be the way to go. I’ll keep you posted. Merry Christmas and Happy New Years everyone, I’ll be the guy at the cert still trying to get his first real overhead squat. It can’t be far off now that I’ve got a real air squat. I wonder what tomorrow’s WOD will be…

Dear CrossFit, Thanks Santa, Sorry Rudolph!

Thanks Santa CrossFit for bringing me the bumper plates, kettlebells, box, and agility ladder. I don’t know how you knew what I wanted, or that I had been particularly naughty. You must be a Rogue. Sorry about Rudolph’s hernia carrying all the extra weight. And thanks for the Twelve Days of Fitness WOD:

On the first day of fitness, my trainer gave to me:

A pullup from the rings above me.

On the second day of fitness, my trainer gave to me:

Two k-b swings, and

A pullup from the rings above me.

On the third day of fitness, my trainer gave to me:

Three k-b snatches,

Two k-b swings, and

A pullup from the rings above me.

On the fourth day of fitness, my trainer gave to me:

Four double unders,

Three k-b snatches,

Two k-b swings, and

A pullup from the rings above me.

On the fifth day of fitness, my trainer gave to me:

Five burr–urr-pees!

Four double unders,

Three k-b snatches,

Two k-b swings, and

A pullup from the rings above me.

On the sixth day of fitness, my trainer gave to me:

Six ladder passes,

Five burr–urr-pees!

Four double unders,

Three k-b snatches,

Two k-b swings, and

A pullup from the rings above me.

On the seventh day of fitness, my trainer gave to me:

Seven super box jumps,

Six ladder passes,

Five burr–urr-pees!

Four double unders,

Three k-b snatches,

Two k-b swings, and

A pullup from the rings above me.

On the eighth day of fitness, my trainer gave to me:

Eight perfect air squats,

Seven super box jumps,

Six ladder passes,

Five burr–urr-pees!

Four double unders,

Three k-b snatches,

Two k-b swings, and

A pullup from the rings above me.

On the ninth day of fitness, my trainer gave to me:

Nine walking lunges,

Eight perfect air squats,

Seven super box jumps,

Six ladder passes,

Five burr–urr-pees!

Four double unders,

Three k-b snatches,

Two k-b swings, and

A pullup from the rings above me.

On the tenth day of fitness, my trainer gave to me:

Ten super sit ups,

Nine walking lunges,

Eight perfect air squats,

Seven super box jumps,

Six ladder passes,

Five burr–urr-pees!

Four double unders,

Three k-b snatches,

Two k-b swings, and

A pullup from the rings above me.

On the eleventh day of fitness, my trainer gave to me:

Eleven hand release push ups,

Ten super sit ups,

Nine walking lunges,

Eight perfect air squats,

Seven super box jumps,

Six ladder passes,

Five burr–urr-pees!

Four double unders,

Three k-b snatches,

Two k-b swings, and

A pullup from the rings above me.

On the twelfth day of fitness, my trainer gave to me:

Twelve heavy deadlifts,

Eleven hand release push ups,

Ten super sit ups,

Nine walking lunges,

Eight perfect air squats,

Seven super box jumps,

Six ladder passes,

Five burr–urr-pees!

Four double unders,

Three k-b snatches,

Two k-b swings, and

A pullup from the rings above me.

Thanks Santa! I wonder what tomorrow’s WOD will be…

Twas The WOD Before Christmas

Twas the WOD before Christmas, and all through the box

All the athletes were stirring, to music that rocks.

The jump ropes were swung by the newbiew with care,

In hopes that St Double Under soon would be there.

The lifters were nestled all snug in their olys,

While visions of snatches churned up “Oh My Gollys”.

And ma in her ‘wrist wraps, and I in my tights,

Had just settled in for a throw down so bright.

When out on the street there arose such a clatter,

That we sprang from the box to see what was the matter.

Away from the rower I flew like a flash,

Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,

Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But Khalipa, and Fronig, and two Annies so clear.

With a little old rack, and a big pile of weights,

I knew in a moment it must be the date,

For the showdown of Fran,

Tween woman and man!

“Now Jason! now, Rich! now Sakamoto and Thorisdottor!

On 3 you will do, 21-15-9 said the proctor!

To the top of the thruster, then the top of the bar!

Now thrust away! Pull away! Dash away all!”

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.

So up to the barbells the champions they flew,

With weight on their heels, and curved backs too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

3-2-1 GO, and the athletes began.

As I drew in my breath, and reps started to count,

The muscles and tendons caused the movements to mount.

In a blur so fast, I could barely keep up,

With the movements so pure, no-one dared utter “no rep”.

They were bathed all in sweat, from their head to his feet,

But vow they did, their challengers to beat.

Rich pulled ahead, on the thrusters with ease,

But Annie threw back, on the pullups you please.

How their eyes twinkled! their muscles so merry!

Their cheeks were like roses, their noses like cherries!

My droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

As I watched these fire-breathers perform in the snow.

The second round started, and they grritted their teeth,

Khalipa’s breath now encircling his head like a wreath.

I had a broad face and a little round belly,

That shook when I did these things, like a bowlful of jelly!

But these sculpted visions, out there in the street,

Clearly the pop tarts and hagen daz never eat!

With a wink of her eye and a twist of her head,

Iceland Annie’s pink cheeks, began shining red.

She spoke not a word, but went straight to her work,

Finished the Fran, and said “Let’s clean and jerk!”

And laying her finger aside of her nose,

She gripped half a ton, and we watched as it rose!

Impossible it was, no-one lifts that much,

Then high overhead she pushed it, though gravity had no clutch

On the weight in the hands, of this master of grace,

So toss it down she did, then stared Rich in the face,

I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he walked up to the load,

Of your strength, I’ve surely been told.

He bent down to the bar, and breathed in twice,

But the overload bar, he could not make rise.

“Step aside,” Sakamoto said, with her dark eyes aflame,

And lift it she did, while the big boys felt shame.

Twas the WOD before Christmas, and all through the land,

The legend of the Annies, that night it began,

When there on the street, in santa claus hats,

Outside the box, buried deep in the Flats,

The Annies did rock, and then softly alight.

Saying “Merry Christmas to all, and to all 3-2-1-GO!”

PopTarts vs. Paleo, Day Four

It’s the first morning I haven’t woken up with a headache since starting this thing. Maybe the sugar withdrawal is starting to abate. Of course it’s equally as possible that some of those Zombies that attacked the box yesterday actually ate my brains so there’s nothing in there for a headache to attack. These are equally likely scenarios. Anyway, a protein bar, a couple of almonds, and some bits of beef jerky took the place of the usual saturday morning donuts, milky ways, and toast. And, here’s the thing, they were just as convenient. I’m starting to think these habits that have been doing me in can be flipped to habits that will help. We unthinkingly do what we’ve always done, and eat what we’ve always eaten, repeating the same convenient patterns over and over. If you do what you’ve always done, you’ll get what you’ve always got. So this morning was something radically different. Maybe it’s the trauma of having been chased by zombies, having to fight them, and then having to bury them. I wonder what tomorrow’s WOD will be…

Dear CrossFit, A Long Day In The Box On The Shortest Day Of The Year

Winter arrived today in Cleveland. The Mayans may have missed the mark everywhere else, but they were spot on here. Snow and rain are blowing sideways, hard, coming off Lake Erie and blowing between the buildings. Maybe driving to the box would have been a good idea today. Our Coach is a zombie-freak. So today we had an End of Days WOD, or should I say four WODs. First there was endurance (e.g., run a mile to get away from the zombies that are chasing you), then we had picking up heavy stuff (e.g., get your stuff so the zombies don’t get it), then we had burying your dead (lift more heavy stuff in shovel like movements), and then we had ritualistic dancing to the Gods (e.g., Fran, Karen). When I saw this on the board I thought the coach was joking. He wasn’t. When I got to the box I was the only one there. I thought I’d be the only one to show up for this suffer-fest. I wasn’t. High noon approached, though there was not even a hint of sun leaking over the southern horizon to indicate this fact, and the box filled up. Athletes girded their loins, sucked it up, and started to suffer. I really wanted to whine, really wanted to complain. But the business-like “let’s get this over with” attitude of the other athletes, and the “don’t even think of dogging it” demeanor of the coach stopped the whining before it started. I think this was the longest WOD in the box yet, and it was held on the shortest day of the year, and on what was supposed to be the end of the world. Although my thighs are certain the world ended, or at least are wishing that the world would end soon, apparently the world, life, and WODding will go on. The most amazing thing today was watching a guy cut his Fran time from 12:38 (which he did on his first day at the box a few months ago) to 6:09. He did Fran in less than half as long as he did that first day. I knew if he came back after doing Fran the first day he’d be good at this. He came back, and he’s kept coming back, and today he kicked some Zombie *ss. So, in fact, it was the end of days, for the zombies, who better think twice before approaching CTown CrossFit ever again. I wonder what tomorrow’s WOD will be…

Dear CrossFit, It’s Paleo Vs. Pop-Tarts Day Two

It’s been more than 24 hours since I’ve had a pop-tart. In fact it’s been nearly 36 hours. My left eye is twitching and both hands are shaking. But, it appears that after just 36 hours the Hagen Daz to red blood cell count ratio is changing in my favor. Thanks to some excellent advice I had a protein shake pre-blended and ready in the fridge this morning. And thanks to a real show of support from the CrossFit Community, especially my fellow-athletes at CTown CrossFit, I had the willpower this morning to eschew the pop-tarts and embrace the protein. No they’re not up here in my apartment cheering me through a WOD, but I can feel their support as I stare down the processed non-food foods to which we’ve all become so accustomed. Day after day we push ourselves through brutal workouts at the box. Then night after night we sabotage or undo that hard work with pop-tarts, Hagen Daz, and, as it turns out, all those breakfast cereals we love, all those sandwiches we love, and all those pastas we love. It turns out those things aren’t actually food. They’re candy. They’re drugs. They’re crutches. Food is food. Food is fuel. But food can also be a narcotic, or a blanket, or any of a dozen other things that will impair or even destroy performance. The Games are just around the corner, but in the much larger picture, decades of obesity are lurking in the shadows, hiding behind the pop-tarts, the kraft dinner, the apple jacks, the subway sandwiches, and the frozen pizzas. All those things that seem to make our lives so convenient, actually make life very inconvenient when they produce obesity, type two diabetes, and the inability to do an air squat. I recently did some research and saw that one quarter of the entire Medicaire budget goes to treating Adult Onset Diabetes. It appears the main factor in producing Adult Onset Diabetes may be over-indulging in processed non-foods and sugar. So these convenient foods may actually make our lives very inconvenient when we can’t walk a mile, or shovel the snow, or play tag with the kids. Those convenient breakfast cereals, that leave me hungry by ten, have helped make me fat. Yes I’m responsible because I shovelled them down and chased them down with pop-tarts and Hagen Daz. I’ll own it. I ate it. I ate it all. “I didn’t know” is no excuse, especially because that scale and mirror and measuring tape were undeniable proof. We’ve all heard our coaches scream “GET LOW” when we’re squatting. The second part of that sentence needs to be, “GET LOW, and put down the processed sh*t that is going to kill you…” I wonder what tomorrow’s WOD will be.