CrossFit – Their Warm-Up Is Your Workout

Anyone who knows my family knows that Brother Bella is a fitness enthusiast and, more specifically, a CrossFit disciple. He just finished 4 months of intense training that culminated in his 38th place finish at the CrossFit Games (check out his blog to hear and read about his training). That’s out of 100 people. He’s that fit. He’s also recruited Momma Bella to join him in his training, and she is now a dedicated CrossFitter and way more fit than I am. It’s a little embarrassing, but that’s a whole different topic.

Daddy Bella and I are the two members of the family that have yet to start drinking the CrossFit Kool-Aid, though not for lack of trying on Brother Bella’s part. He got me to start CrossFit at one point but, due to my shockingly short attention span, addiction to chocolate, and belief that light weights and endless amounts of cardio are the way to workout, I quit CrossFit before I had the chance to really see any results.

Well, it’s clear that my current workout and nutrition regime aren’t doing anything fantastic for my bootylicious (not in a good way) body. And, as the cruise I’m taking with girlfriends in May looms ever closer, I’m dangerously close to resembling a beached whale in my tankini (I will not be donning a bikini unless I’m out of my mind drunk, which will more than likely occur).

I asked Brother Bella to get me training sessions with him for my birthday this year, and he agreed not only to give me a month of unlimited sessions with him, but to give it to me early so that I would be at least a bit fitter on the cruise. Yeah, he’s a pretty good brother.

Turns out, Brother Bella is also a fantastic trainer, and acted nothing like the taunting, teasing brother I have grown up with (us being in our 20s does not mean that we don’t still fight like we’re 5, and though I’m being nice about him because I like him right now, our affection for each other changes with both of us on a daily basis). He’s supportive, fun to work out with, and pushes me in a way that makes me want to go past my limit to really see how far I can push myself. In the CrossFit world, you haven’t worked out hard enough if you’re not dangerously close to throwing up, and throw up I almost did after that first workout since quitting CrossFit about 6 months ago.

That first CrossFit workout in months took place at my gym around the corner. I thank the Lord that I was alone when doing it, because my lack of athleticism and lung capacity that matches a 2 year old’s was embarrassing even to myself. I clearly have a long way to go before I can compete in the CrossFit Games next year and win (which I have no doubt will happen – I will be awesome).

To start my foray into the CrossFit world, Brother Bella has agreed to train me at CrossFit Oshawa so that I can get a feel for a real, honest to God CrossFit environment, which, by the way, is terrifying.

The gym consists of back to basics equipment. There are no treadmills (we have to run outside), no StairMasters, no dumbbells (where the hell are my usual 2 pound weights?!), and no mirrors. It’s like they want you to actually work out.

My fears were dashed, however, when I met the owners and members of CrossFit Oshawa. They’re extremely supportive, incredibly knowledgeable, and always willing to help you out with your workouts. The camaraderie is unlike anything I’ve experienced at a gym before, and I can actually say that I enjoy going there to work out.

Brother Bella put me through a warm-up that resembled a usual workout for me (ok, it was probably more difficult than my usual workouts), and I was sweating and panting by the time we were done our pullups, pushups, dips, squats, rowing, and stretches. Seriously, that’s what a CrossFit warm-up consists of. I could barely hold myself up on the rings without my arms shaking uncontrollably, and I almost fell over backwards when trying to do an overhead squat with a fifteen pound plastic rod. But I feel great when I’m done, and isn’t that what’s important?

Everyone is always looking for that workout that will give them the results they’re looking for. I now honestly believe that CrossFit is the workout that will give anyone the results they want, whether they want to slim down or build muscle. It’s tough, but it’s worth it.

I’ve finally come to the point where I will not go back to my former, out of shape self. CrossFit is now my workout of choice, and my current goal is to compete in the CrossFit Games this time next year. After that, who knows?

Excuse me while I go submerge myself in ice cold water to alleviate the pain in my muscles.

Love,

Bella

Hot Yoga = Hot Body

Okay, so I have yet to actually prove that hot yoga will result in a hot body, but I’m willing to experiment. Plus, if the bodies of the women in the class are any indication of hot yoga’s fitness benefits, then I’m going to be yoga-ing it up every day.

Anyway, today was my first exploration into the world of hot yoga. Seeing as how I start sweating from walking from my desk to my supervisor’s – just across the hall – I was slightly concerned that I would create a puddle around my mat. Nevertheless, I decided to give it a shot. I mean, you’re supposed to sweat. Surely no one can make a comment about it when they sweat, too. Right?

I was intensely annoyed as I stood around waiting for class to begin, perhaps because the waiting room is the size of my bathroom, or rather because the regular “yogi’s” chatted with each other all yoga doer-ish. They literally sounded like this: “oh haw haw haw, yes hot yoga blah blah blah, I know the instructor we are best friends, haw haw haw.” I think it’s a safe best to assume that it was a combination of the two.

I walked into the studio that is kept at a steamy 100 degrees Fahrenheit, and was promptly enveloped in the practice of meditation. I’ve never been good at meditation. I have the attention span of a small bug and I really don’t want to go that far into my mind. Sometimes its dark in there, and then I get scared.

Anyway, hot yoga practice equipment is comprised of the following – a yoga mat and a large towel to prevent soakage of the mat. A great idea, and one of which I was unaware until I entered the studio with my very orange yoga mat and a small hand towel to dab at the lady-like streams of sweat that were already starting their way into my eyes. First mistake #1 – never assume that I will not excrete 50% more sweat than the average person. I also discovered that I am not the quietest person in the world, having slapped my mat onto the floor, which resulted in a rather gunshot-like noise. Meditation over, everyone! No senses of humour, these people. No one even smiled encouragingly as I giggled and express my apologies quite sincerely and with astounding wit and intellect.

The class may have started off uncomfortably; however, it was clear, as I manoeuvred my body into a pretzel, that I am awesome at hot yoga. I could do every pose gracefully, balanced and with little to no exertion.

You weren’t there – I can say whatever I want.

With the amount of heavy breathing and sweating going on in that room, it honestly sounded like we were in a giant orgy. Perhaps not the thing to be thinking during the meditative practice of asana yoga (don’t look that term up – I am fairly confident that it has nothing to do with hot yoga and I’d rather not be called out on it) but I can’t help where my thoughts go. They have a mind of their own.

Ha ha. Get it?

As it turned out, hot yoga is actually really good. I sweated out of every pore, but felt cleansed, energized, and so healthy – that is, after I left early and had to sit down for a good 5 minutes before the overwhelming urge to faint passed.

I’m going back next week.

Love,

Bella

Monday Work Woes

Another Monday already? Come ON. I was so enjoying my makeup-less, yoga panted, wine and chocolate infused, doesn’t-matter-if-I-shower weekend.

Mind you, I have a job that is usually done by middle-aged, overweight, bitter family men who have to make money for their 4 kids in University, so it’s not very enjoyable. I make reports (with numbers, no less) so that management can make super important decisions about whatever the data reflects. I have two problems with this (well, okay, I have 100 problems with my job, but I picked these as the top 2):

1) I am an English major. This means that I spent four years reading classic and modern literature, writing essays on what the flower in the pot represents in a Keats poem, and analyzing conversations between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennett in Pride and Prejudice. Numbers are not my thing. I still add things up on my fingers. True story.

2) My mental stability is questionable. The amount of tension that these people carry with them is shocking. They stress out, which in turn stresses me out, and then mistakes are made. The fact that mistakes would probably have been made on my part regardless of the stress level is neither here nor there. I never said I was good at my job. The amount of responsibility put on me and the Senior Data Analyst is suffocating. Like, everything depends on the numbers that are presented in our reports. That is WAY too much on my shoulders at my young age of 22. I can barely send an email to higher level management without sweating a questionable amount. Make me generate a report that decides someone's livelihood and I'm ready to assume the fetal position and cry for my Mommy.

The project is about to make a huge turn that will affect a lot of people and the data has to be absolutely correct. Therefore, my nerves are really high, interfering with my regular eating habits (I only ate one chocolate bar today – if it goes down to none, I’m going to have to quit) and my trips to the bathroom become more and more frequent.

I’m terrified of my boss right now. Seriously, I hear people walk near my cubicle and freeze, hoping to God that it isn’t my manager wanting more data or asking me questions to which I most likely won’t know the answer. You’d think I’d be a lot skinnier with the stress that comes from avoiding my manager and supervisor on a regular basis, but no – my metabolism sure is a trooper.

I mean, I know I’m awesome and everything, but what makes people think that a 22 year old English major can handle the responsibilities of an important data job? I had a hard enough time writing my own essays on time in University.

4:19 pm: As you, my dear readers, get the pleasure of me writing this post while at work, you also get the pleasure of reading what happens to me on a minute to minute basis. A prime example? I was called into my manager’s office with my supervisor to talk data, a mistake I made (it’s the stress, I tell you!), and the fact that another manager here says that my friend and I spend too much time chatting in my cubicle. This is the same manager who acts like she loves us and are the best people in the world (we are, though). If you’re going to bitch me out, Manager Who Looks Way Older Than She Is, then say something to me first. Despite my maturity level being far below what it should be, I would appreciate being treated like an adult. Add to the fact that Colleague Bella and I don’t actually talk as much as some people here (I know because I eavesdrop all the time), and she’s just being a PMSing, power hungry bitch.

If nothing else, this job does show me what I don’t want for my career. No desk job. No boss. No numbers.

I’m going to be poor.

Love,

Bella