I used to wait until my husband left for work to sneak out to Crossfit.
I would give him a few minutes head start, if I could spare them, and pray he wouldn’t forget something and come back, which, awkwardly happened a couple of times: gym bag slung over my arm, minimal shoes on my feet, keys in hand, I stood there, poised for the door while he grabbed whatever he had forgotten and asked, “Are you going somewhere?”
“I thought I’d take the morning class today. It’s been too muddy for running, and I need to work out.”
That would go one of two ways, but it always ended with me going to Crossfit.
I knew I needed it.
I often joke about Crossfit being my addiction. I crave it more than chocolate, and without it, I start to have withdrawal. But when I was compared to an alcoholic in one unseemly tirade, I wondered if it was true: did I have a problem?
Addictions are as much a part of my family makeup as our distinguished upper lips and ample posteriors, so it was entirely possible I had slipped into some kind of dependent behavior unawares.
Naturally, because this bothered me so much, I turned to our trusted friend Wikipedia, who told me:
“Classic hallmarks of addiction include impaired control over substances or behavior, preoccupation with substance or behavior, continued use despite consequences, and denial.”
That’s cutting a little too close to my kettle bells.
However, an addiction is clearly something that has adverse consequences, and Crossfit, like a good lover, has only been kind to me.
Crossfit challenges me, makes me stronger both physically and mentally, and keeps me from curling up in the fetal position while uncontrollably weeping.
That sounds more like therapy to me, which WiKi defines as: therapeutic interaction or treatment contracted between a trained professional and a client, patient, family, couple, or group.
Can someone be addicted to therapy?
Of course, I could be in denial about my alleged addiction, but I don’t really care. I would NOT want to go back to the person I was before Crossfit, and nobody wants to see me OFF Crossfit.
I’d be in nice clinic somewhere trying to cut my lunch with a plastic spoon.
I had wondered, however, if Crossfit was a home wrecker. I mean, things seemed pretty smooth before I started making trouble.
But there’s really no such thing as a home wrecker. If the foundation is weak, the slightest weight will cause the whole thing to collapse, while a strong foundation can weather anything.
For now, my life is about getting stronger and finding out what I’m really made of. I need to be strong and stable for this family I love so much. And if that means Mommy goes to Crossfit (again. and again. and yet again.) that’s what HAS to be done, for everyone’s own good.
Crossfit is my therapy, not my addiction.
And right now, Crossfit is better than any drug a doctor could prescribe.
It’s even better than chocolate.
I guess that’s something else to work out in therapy.