Why did I start this? It was sheer folly. There was nothing I could do, nothing I could manage. Nothing I could master. So why would I start this.

My son has been lifting weights and working at fitness since he was in high school. This year is his 20 year reunion if he chose to participate. I don’t remember if he was a freshman or sophomore when he started, but he has been lifting for over two decades. Back when he started this path, I was playing racquetball and was a pretty good player. I was strong and muscled and I could place the ball where I aimed. I didn’t win all my games, but I won many of them.

We moved away from there and my new home didn’t have a place to play. My weightlifting son went off to college and I went to work full time. All in all, I just lived my life instead of making a life to live in. I turned old in a matter of months and stopped all my athletic endeavors.

Amazingly enough, after years and years passed, I was fatter than I wanted to be, weaker than I needed to be, and dissatisfied with the life I had created. By this time, my son was on his third or fourth iteration of fitness regimes and had actually opened his own fitness business. He owned and operated CrossFit Hilton Head (and still does). I looked at his box and dreamed of being able to do the stuff his athletes did. I watched videos of people achieving things I only dreamed of.

I got tired of dreaming. When Craig first started CrossFit there wasn’t a box near me. He pointed out that there was one now and I went to CrossFit Summerville for the free Saturday class. It was awful. I could do nothing. I couldn’t run, I couldn’t lunge, I couldn’t do a push-up, I couldn’t do a pull-up, I couldn’t do a burpee, I couldn’t finish the hour. I signed up.

My goals were to lose some weight and to be able to open my own jars. That was all I was brave enough to admit at the time or perhaps my view was so narrow, that’s all I thought I needed or perhaps even sadder, that was all I thought I could achieve.

I’ve lost some weight but would like to lose five more pounds. I promised myself I would never weigh more than 130 pounds and I would like to get back under that number. I still would have a proper BMI and all that other nonsense. But I would finally be where I told my younger self I would stay forever. I used to weigh under 130 and was full of muscle and energy. I was also much younger, but that’s a different story.

I can get the lids off jars – most of the time. I still have to whack the lid with a knife sometimes to break the vacuum, but I can then get the lid off.

So I have achieved my stated goals and I could, at least in theory, quit. But I can’t. I have come to love the fear. You see, I am still consistent in only one area. I am always afraid. I look at a WOD and I say to myself, “I can’t do that.” Then I worry and obsess and live in fear until I get to the box and do whatever it said, although in a scaled version. I would love it if my box posted different versions of the WODs so I could see what I might achieve. I would love to see it written down so I could know I wasn’t cheating myself by scaling back too much or killing myself by not scaling back enough. I worry about the latter before the WOD and the former after the WOD.

I still can’t run very far, but I run farther than when I started, I can lunge without falling over and actually held a small plate overhead and managed to not kill myself or hurt my knees (form before function), I can do push-ups by the boatload now and not just girl ones but the real boy ones, I can do band assisted pull-ups without slingshot after effects, I can do burpees and I still think they suck just like everyone else in the world. I finish my hours day after day after day.

I want to deadlift my own weight next time we max effort. I should be able to get that since I can deadlift a Monica already. I want to get the pull-ups done with smaller bands and I know I can do that. Someday, I’m going to walk into Joe’s garage and grab that plumping pipe he put up and just do a couple pull-ups to shock him. I’m going to box jump on a 20″ box instead of my current 16″ contraption.

I’m going to do all this because I’m going to keep being afraid. I’ve learned to accept the fear, work through it. I said last week that I come to the box each day as a failure but I leave each day as a hero. I’ve thought about that statement a few times and perhaps I was a bit too harsh. I come to the box four times a week, quaking with fear and groaning at the mention of something difficult to do. And then, most amazingly of all, I do it.

I’m not the fittest or the fastest. I am the oldest, at least at my box. I am also a repeat offender. I keep killing my WODs.