(Today we rushed home, changed, and headed down for more front squats than I care to remember + 5 min AMRAP squat clean and jerkss. On a much happier note, TODAY I DID MY PULLUPS WITH NO BAND. NBD.)
Taking the classes with My Man is an amazing bonding experience…take it from someone who doesn’t even like running with other people.
We’ve always shared vested interests in health and fitness (after a month of dating we ran a half marathon together on Valentines’ Day…awww!), but since coming home off deployment The Man and I have become more involved in our own and each other’s health, nutritional habits, and fitness levels. When I was gone and he was holding down the fort back here, both of us suffered the emotional and physical consequences of increased stress and less accountability from one another.
The first thing I did when I got home was put us both on a Whole 30. (Well, I gave us a two-week grace period…the very first thing we did after The Man picked me up at the airfield was go to McDonald’s so I could get an Oreo McFlurry).
The Man was a pretty healthy eater when I met him but never really bought into the whole Paleo schtick until I really pushed it about six months in. During our first “Whole 30,” (notice the quotes) he came along for the ride but insisted we make allowances for beer, potatoes, and Pam…and oh-by-the-way be able to eat whatever we wanted on weekends. When I came home and insisted we would both benefit a great deal from a 30-day detox from the last year (it was a LONG, HARD year), he says to me, “You know, I’ll do it, but I really think I’m more tolerant than most people of gluten and all that other stuff.” I’ll never let him live that one down. After we finished the 30 days, the first beer he had left his lymph nodes swollen and his bowels…unhappy (sorry, Sweetie…I had to tell them!)
I, on the other hand, have been an endurance athlete most of my life and like many women, I avoided lifting weights like the plague. I generally preferred my daily 6-mile run because “it kept me thin.” I’d occasionally step in the weight room, but as soon as my thighs grew a quarter of an inch or my jeans felt just a little tighter or the scale inched up a whole half pound, I balked. It was a vicious cycle…everyone and their Mom would tell me how important it was to lift heavy things, I’d be all about it until I got scared off by the scale, and then be right back to hour-long sessions on the elliptical and wondering why the hell I had a muffin-top.
The Man, like many other men, is very familiar with the weight room and has always been a huge fan of Crossfit. When I came home and made a point to get back into shape, he insisted we actually join a Crossfit gym to hold ourselves accountable and make sure we got the best coaching and training possible. I went along with it because it was something new and got us out together during what was a pretty tough time. (Yes, coming home is hard, too).
If you haven’t already noticed, I’m loving it and what is happening to my body and level of strength. But most of all, I love what it’s doing for us. Twice a week, we make the drive down I-35, check our egos at the door, and leave sweaty, sore, and…smiling. We’re usually recapping the workout for a couple of hours on the drive home and over dinner. We critique each other, we learn from each other, and we inspire and motivate each other. We’re both looking FANTASTIC. We’re both feeling FANTASTIC.
In a world where we don’t always get all the time we want together, or when life sometimes gets in the way of the “perfect” life, The Man and I have found a way to disconnect from everything else and bond in a genuine, loving, and yet mischievously competitive way.
Maybe we’re having a bad day. Maybe we’re bitching at each other all the way to and from class about who did or didn’t do the dishes all week or forgot to book a DJ for the wedding (true story). Maybe we’re both so dog-tired we can;t even look at each other.
But for a whole hour those few days a week, we’re more than fiance and fiancee…we’re friends, teammates, adversaries, teachers, and role models. We laugh, we cry, we massage each other’s aching muscles.
Crossfit is for lovers.