The minute you tell me to relax, center my energy, find peace in some fucking place in my body that is currently itching and maybe even has a rash, I will want to cut you, and that is not relaxing. (Seriously, don’t tell me how to feel, okay?) I am happy to try and contort myself into any position you want, because playing with bodies is pretty much my favorite thing in the world, and it feels good, which is probably why I tried yoga yet again, but why are you telling me how I should feel about it?
I feel about most yoga classes the same way I feel about Fitspo propaganda: it’s guilt inducing bullshit designed to trap you in a slow slink to idealized conformity that is soul-crushing and body-harming and fuck you very much.
There seems to be this myth in the yoga world that “centered” looks like one thing, and is the goal. Or that “peace” is a thing you can achieve while licking your navel, or that “stillness” is where all the magic is, or… And while I honestly believe that for some people, that’s the way it works, to approach a class of people and assume that same goal for everyone is no better than me approaching a class of CrossFitters and saying “if you work hard enough, you too can have a bikini body some day.”
My daughter, who is a certified coach twice over, is learning to coach. (No, being certified is not the same thing as knowing what you’re doing.) She was shadowing me the other night, and pointed out an athlete who could be “doing so much more.” She asked, as a good student would, how she should approach it.
“Don’t,” I told her. “It doesn’t matter.”
I am not someone who believes in pushing people to do things they don’t want to do. Even our beloved members at Rocket.
I mean, I’ll push them a little. I’ll nudge them to show up. I’ll tell them to keep going when they look like they want to stop. But why would I care if one of them is only back-squatting 80 pounds when I know they could totally be doing 120?
I don’t care. Because they don’t care.
I have a gym full of people who could be doing more. They could try harder, they could get more weight or more reps or more whatever. Read more…
My husband and I own a CrossFit gym. We squeeze more than 200 members into a 1,500 s/f gym, 14 at a time. Rocket CrossFit is not a fancy gym, though we’re well-equipped. We don’t send members to The CrossFit Games, nor do we care to. We keep our prices as low as we possibly can, because our goal is to increase community, not just make money (though this is our livelihood.) As a result, we know many of our neighbors, run into them everywhere, and they know each other. Many friendships have been formed over the years. We are a classic small, neighborhood business, with a classic impact on community.
When we opened, our mission statement never included the words “money” and “profit.” We wanted to empower people and create community. We looked at the financial models, and knew that would come, but we didn’t put that first. IF, we believed, we could build a thriving community, the numbers would serve us and our business would thrive. We were right. Read more…
I spent the last two days doing the CrossFit Level 2 training, which was chock full of nonstop learning. But, being a very shy introvert with ADHD, it also left me with a lot of time to think about things that happen in my gym, and probably every other gym out there. In one of my very few moments of speaking out loud, I said something about wanting to ban sick people from working out and getting everyone else sick, which garnered a quick “don’t even get me started,” from Nadia, our inimitable cruise director with a relentless smile who has, surely, seen it all. And germy students is certainly an issue we all know well…… Read more…
I got the letter in January. I made the call in March. Why? Because when I got the letter in January, I read it as saying “your breasts are trying to kill you, and they’re going to win this time, so say good-bye to everyone you love because you’ll be dead by the weekend, sucka.” What it really said was, “You are due for your routine mammogram. Please call at your convenience to make an appointment.”
Seeing as I don’t find impending doom to be convenient at all, I waited 3 months. Read more…
The small handful of us who spend time on the Facebook page of Columbia City, Seattle know that the wonderful TV show Portlandia has nothing on Columbia City. I have started – and probably need to pursue for the sheer irony of it now – a sitcom based on this page. A page where people can fight over anything. Dog poop in someone else’s trash can. (Neatly wrapped, mind you, in a biodegradable poop bag.) Someone’s neighbor sunbathing naked in their own backyard, where the neighbor kids could see boobies from a second story window. (BOOBIES!) The various pros and cons of speed-limits, bikes, Air Bnb, you name it. The sanctimony can swirl over any condescending kerfuffle. It’s really quite delicious.
I own a gym in the neighborhood. I have a member who isn’t on Facebook (yes, they exist,) but whenever I see her she asks me to retell the antics of the page (I do the voices and everything,) as if it were a Soap Opera. Which it is.
It is absurd.
But the other day, there was a thread so steeped in elitist arrogance that I couldn’t just stalk. And now I can’t let it go. Read more…
It is with no shortage of fear (and crow) that I need to apologize to all you Nader supporters. You know the ones, the ones who gave us Bush as a president. I’ve been pissed at you for years, because if you hadn’t thrown your vote away, and voted for a Democrat like you should have, we wouldn’t have been fucked by a Bush, something we’re still sore from. I’m not kidding. I was pissed at you.
But now? I think I get it. And it terrifies me. Because I may be about to do it too.
Which is why I need to apologize. Read more…
11 Questions To Ask Your Partner If You Want A Slow and Agonizing Way Out Of Your Relationship
- If I didn’t exist, which one of your co-workers / friends / clients would you want to hook up with?
- If you could change anything about my body, what would it be?
- If you met me now, instead of when we met, would you still want to go out with me?
- What’s the one thing that you know I’ll never do sexually that you think about and really wish I would do?
- How am I different from the person you always thought you’d wind up with?
- What’s the most important thing that you gave up to be with me?
- If I gain – or lose – a ton of weight, would you still want to fuck me?
- What drives you the most crazy, in the bad way, about me?
- Besides me, what was the best sex you ever had?
- Which one of my friends would you hook up with if I didn’t exist?
- What do you miss most about your life before we got together?
Almost every day, it occurs to me that I should probably deal with my laundry. Not because I don’t love my obvious system of “clean pile,” “dirty pile,” and “not so dirty that others would notice” pile. It’s worked well for me for more than 40 years now. But because I am married to a neat freak. And in my heart, I want to give him everything in the world that brings him joy, including a tidy house. But it simply isn’t going to happen. I am a slob, it is one of my defining characteristics. And I know it. Read more…