I have "friended" a Facebook page called Women of Crossfit = Strong. In all of the postings the women, of many sizes and fitness levels, wax poetically about the tremendous support they get from other women in their box. When I read that I think "I want to live where they live". They must be living in some fairy tale land where unicorns run wild and gas is 30 cents a gallon. It certainly isn't where I live.
There are very few women in my box who are supportive of this 65 year old - and they are the coaches. I'm not sure why. Is it because I am much older than they are? The women are certainly friendly towards my daughter, who is much closer to their age. A couple of times I was talking with Megan when another woman came up to us and just started talking to her, ignoring me. Is it that Megan is friendlier than I am? Hmmm, I know I can be shy but even when I go up to someone and start talking to them, they get glassy eyed and usually answer with one word, then walk away. It seems that a few of the women have known each other for a while and stay together. That brings me to another thought.
Research has shown that males bully physically but women bully relationally. So, a guy will beat up another guy but women ostracize each other. Girls who bully other girls will comment on how they look, segregate them from activities and suddenly stop being their best friend. Now, I'm not saying that these women at my box are bullies- far from it - but they do segregate themselves from me. I'm not included in their chatter and I don't get "high fives" when I complete a WOD that might be difficult for me. They don't even notice or acknowledge me long enough to notice whether I am have difficulties.
Forty years ago I marched for the Equal Rights Amendment. For women to have equal rights in the job market, in salaries, in the right to control their own bodies. I thought that women had moved past the petty. Certainly women of my generation saw the importance of us supporting each other and we still do. I have a wonderful group of friends who shore each other up. What happened to the next generation? And the next?
I'm thinking of writing the women who comment on the Women of Crossfit = Strong page and ask "Where are these boxes where the women are supportive of other women? Where they cheer for the last one standing? Where it doesn't make any difference what you look like because we are in this together. Is there room for me?"
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
Monday, January 20, 2014
She's Baaaack!
Whoa! A lot of things have happened since I last wrote.
Let's see. I was laid off after saving my boss' agency from being closed down. Humpfh, gratitude!
So it took me a couple of weeks to stop being bitter but I did have a new job before I left. This new job is now soaking up about 50-55 hours a week, causing me to miss Crossfit. I'm hoping things slow down so I can return on a regular basis. Right now I'm managing one visit during the week and one on the weekend.
So, back to the good stuff. On December 14th Megan and I participated in a competition at our box. It was a fundraiser to raise money to provide Crossfit memberships to at risk kids - a worthy cause indeed.
For about a month after I signed up I had major second thoughts. I signed up because I wanted to do something to celebrate my 65th birthday. The WOD looked easy enough and it was AMRAP (as many reps as possible) in 20 minutes. It consisted of 7 burpees (ugh), 14 box jumps and 21 kettlebell swings. Certainly do-able. The problem? I couldn't do more than 3 burpees at a time and I couldn't do box jumps because of my bad knee. OK. I can practice my burpees until I get to 7 (but then I had to do 7 so many times) and I can scale the box jumps to step ups. My confidence started creeping back.
The trick with WODS is that they look really easy until you start. So I got tricked into thinking I was going to be fine.
Weeks leading up to the competition I would go to the box on Sunday specifically to train. Push myself to do those damn burpees and run through the entire set for 20 minutes. One Sunday I did three rounds, the next three and a half and the last one before the competition I did four. Yup, I was an Olympian in training. Then my coach tells me he knows I can do five. Well, I just fell off Mount Olympus.
The day of the competition. Probably about 150 of us. Both Toms (husband and boyfriend - no, not my boyfriend, Megan's) show up to watch. Megan is going to be my coach. She doesn't want me to be hers. Smart woman. I'm in the first heat, she is in the fifth. We warm up. My heart is racing and it isn't from the warm up. I push down the panic. What did I do? Was I crazy to sign up? Well, too late now
I position myself in front of my box with my kettlebell by my side. The count down "3...2...1...Go!" I've practiced this and timed myself. I've paced myself. The best I have done is 4 rounds. The first round goes fine. The second and third round is a little slower with some pauses to catch my breath. The fourth round starts to wear me down. Megan is coaching me and cheering me "Come on Mom. One more burpee. Get up off the floor." The step up (which comes next) is looking like my oasis because I just can't do one more burpee. Megan then SITS on the box and says "No, no box until you do one more burpee." At that moment I am taken back to 28 years ago when I was in labor with her and Tom was telling me to breathe. I wanted to hit him then. I had a moment's urge to hit her so she would get off the damn box and I could step onto it without doing that last burpee. I push through and do it. I'm now working my way through round 4. I finish that and start round 5! Megan is pushing me and I'm pushing myself. I hear someone behind me cheering me on and in a quick glance I see my coach, telling me I'm doing great. I get through my seven burpees and push my way through the 14 step ups. I'm now onto my kettlebell swings. I manage seven before the buzzer goes off. I beat my own time by almost an entire round!!!
Megan is hugging me and I'm gasping for breath. I look up and Tom (mine) is staring at me. I walk over to him on shaky legs and he tells me "You were great!" Well, I'm not sure about "great" but I survived.
Two hours later it's Megan's turn. Of course, she is a champ and the three of us are cheering her on,
Two days later the results come out. Megan finished half way down the list of those in her category. I finished dead last of all 150. At first I'm surprised and saddened that I was last but then I start to really process it. I have been doing crossfit for four months. I am older than everyone else by probably 25 - 30 years. I beat my time. I did better than I have during my practices. A sense of pride starts to rush through me. I'm 65 years old and competed. None of my friends even come close to performing like this. I look in the mirror at my grinning face and a crossfit saying comes out of my mouth "YOU ARE A BEAST"!
Let's see. I was laid off after saving my boss' agency from being closed down. Humpfh, gratitude!
So it took me a couple of weeks to stop being bitter but I did have a new job before I left. This new job is now soaking up about 50-55 hours a week, causing me to miss Crossfit. I'm hoping things slow down so I can return on a regular basis. Right now I'm managing one visit during the week and one on the weekend.
So, back to the good stuff. On December 14th Megan and I participated in a competition at our box. It was a fundraiser to raise money to provide Crossfit memberships to at risk kids - a worthy cause indeed.
For about a month after I signed up I had major second thoughts. I signed up because I wanted to do something to celebrate my 65th birthday. The WOD looked easy enough and it was AMRAP (as many reps as possible) in 20 minutes. It consisted of 7 burpees (ugh), 14 box jumps and 21 kettlebell swings. Certainly do-able. The problem? I couldn't do more than 3 burpees at a time and I couldn't do box jumps because of my bad knee. OK. I can practice my burpees until I get to 7 (but then I had to do 7 so many times) and I can scale the box jumps to step ups. My confidence started creeping back.
The trick with WODS is that they look really easy until you start. So I got tricked into thinking I was going to be fine.
Weeks leading up to the competition I would go to the box on Sunday specifically to train. Push myself to do those damn burpees and run through the entire set for 20 minutes. One Sunday I did three rounds, the next three and a half and the last one before the competition I did four. Yup, I was an Olympian in training. Then my coach tells me he knows I can do five. Well, I just fell off Mount Olympus.
The day of the competition. Probably about 150 of us. Both Toms (husband and boyfriend - no, not my boyfriend, Megan's) show up to watch. Megan is going to be my coach. She doesn't want me to be hers. Smart woman. I'm in the first heat, she is in the fifth. We warm up. My heart is racing and it isn't from the warm up. I push down the panic. What did I do? Was I crazy to sign up? Well, too late now
I position myself in front of my box with my kettlebell by my side. The count down "3...2...1...Go!" I've practiced this and timed myself. I've paced myself. The best I have done is 4 rounds. The first round goes fine. The second and third round is a little slower with some pauses to catch my breath. The fourth round starts to wear me down. Megan is coaching me and cheering me "Come on Mom. One more burpee. Get up off the floor." The step up (which comes next) is looking like my oasis because I just can't do one more burpee. Megan then SITS on the box and says "No, no box until you do one more burpee." At that moment I am taken back to 28 years ago when I was in labor with her and Tom was telling me to breathe. I wanted to hit him then. I had a moment's urge to hit her so she would get off the damn box and I could step onto it without doing that last burpee. I push through and do it. I'm now working my way through round 4. I finish that and start round 5! Megan is pushing me and I'm pushing myself. I hear someone behind me cheering me on and in a quick glance I see my coach, telling me I'm doing great. I get through my seven burpees and push my way through the 14 step ups. I'm now onto my kettlebell swings. I manage seven before the buzzer goes off. I beat my own time by almost an entire round!!!
Yup, that's me in the turquoise shirt ready to drop
Megan is hugging me and I'm gasping for breath. I look up and Tom (mine) is staring at me. I walk over to him on shaky legs and he tells me "You were great!" Well, I'm not sure about "great" but I survived.
Two hours later it's Megan's turn. Of course, she is a champ and the three of us are cheering her on,
Two days later the results come out. Megan finished half way down the list of those in her category. I finished dead last of all 150. At first I'm surprised and saddened that I was last but then I start to really process it. I have been doing crossfit for four months. I am older than everyone else by probably 25 - 30 years. I beat my time. I did better than I have during my practices. A sense of pride starts to rush through me. I'm 65 years old and competed. None of my friends even come close to performing like this. I look in the mirror at my grinning face and a crossfit saying comes out of my mouth "YOU ARE A BEAST"!
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