It was in December 2016, an experience I’ll always remember, a core memory now.
I had been battling a relentless blizzard in my Jeep for what gave the look of an eternity, my body screaming in protest.
My nearly 500-pound frame was uncomfortably wedged right into a seat far too small for my body, leaving me immobilized and in pain.
Upon reaching the hotel, my heart sank as I surveyed the daunting distance from my parking spot to the inviting warmth of the hotel lobby. The journey seemed insurmountable, and tears welled up in my eyes, a testament to my physical and emotional exhaustion.
Twenty grueling minutes later, I finally reached the sanctuary of my room, only to be confronted with an unexpected and deeply humiliating challenge. I discovered myself trapped on the bathroom, my body so sore and fatigued that I couldn’t perform essentially the most basic personal hygiene tasks. Overwhelmed and defeated, I surrendered to my circumstances and spent the night within the cold, sterile confines of the lavatory.
Fast-forward several months, and on March 24, 2017, I discovered myself moving into a CrossFit box for the primary time.
Up until this point, the concept of fitness was alien to me. I had never engaged in any sports growing up, and even PE class in middle and highschool was a chapter I skipped.
That night, I walked into the fifth workout of the 2017 CrossFit Open. I sat in silence, observing the frenzy of activity around me — people were hurling barbells, cheering, and screaming in a chaotic symphony.
Amidst this whirlwind, someone sat beside me, introduced themselves, and gestured toward the spectacle on the ground.
- “This time next 12 months, that’s going to be you,” they said. It was essentially the most absurd thing I had ever heard.
I used to be hobbling around with assistance from two canes and sometimes even a walker. My goal was easy: to do away with the canes and walk independently.
There were no thoughts beyond that.
I didn’t comply with keep coming to this CrossFit box because I saw my future self on a leaderboard or participating within the Open. I stayed because they didn’t laugh or point at me.
And I didn’t have a desire to compete or compare myself to other CrossFitters worldwide after I participated within the Open for the primary time a 12 months later. It was a private challenge, a testament to my courage to face the uncomfortable and enterprise into uncharted territory.
I used to be conscious about my fitness level. I didn’t need the Open to remind me of my morbid obesity or my inability to perform bar muscle-ups.
My rating didn’t dishearten me because, a 12 months prior, I couldn’t even wipe my very own bum. What mattered was my clear understanding of my place to begin. That night within the hotel was my baseline; this was my yardstick for measuring progress on my fitness journey.
- I couldn’t walk unaided from the automobile to the hotel lobby or anywhere else.
- Stairs were an insurmountable obstacle.
- Daily showers were a luxury I couldn’t afford, as even such an earthly task was more exhausting than one could imagine.
- I rarely left my house unless absolutely crucial.
- The mere considered walking to the mailbox filled me with dread.
- Standing in my kitchen to organize a meal was a Herculean task. I’d have to sit down in a chair, drained of energy.
- I used to be taking painkillers, I used to be on a respiration machine, and I could probably add a mile-long list here.
Over that first 12 months of losing 200 kilos, joy and drive got here from changing these bullets. When things got hard, my only thoughts were of that little hotel in the course of an Iowan blizzard.
The Ultimate Goal
My coach and I actually have experienced quite a few misunderstandings, particularly during this Open season. Each one is a painful reminder of our differing perspectives and lenses.
It’s not that I don’t see the worth within the Open — I do.
However, its significance for me during season is different.
During a recent conversation, my coach, Andrew Hiller, likened losing 150 kilos in a 12 months to qualifying for the CrossFit Games.
It was an apt comparison, perfectly capturing the magnitude of the challenge.
But the final word goal isn’t simply to lose 150 kilos — it’s to achieve a complete lack of 300 kilos.
Using Andrew’s analogy, I’ve already made it to the Games once.
Now, I’m pushing myself to do all of it all over again. I knew what this was going to mean.
Let’s be clear: for me, each day of this 12 months is the Open.
There aren’t any days off. To reach that goal, my mind have to be fully engaged each day for three hundred and sixty five days.
The mental challenge is relentless. It never switches off; it never rests. It’s a relentless battle.
This season, though I did the Open and did feel a way of accomplishment, I didn’t feel I needed a rating for the “Ultimate Test of Fitness.” This is primarily because, for me, in three weeks, that rating will change. If I did those Open workouts every month this 12 months, there may be an excellent probability there may very well be a unique result.
No.
This season, for me, is the final word battle in a psychological war.
“Hard” is each day.
This season doesn’t require a scorecard. It requires support, encouraging words, and pats on the back.
A Note on This Article’s Title
Andrew sent me a note earlier within the week letting me know that he’s glad with the progress that I’ve made, but he feels he will not be in a position to be the coach I want at the moment and feels that I deserve someone who will be more available to me than he will be.
Though I’m saddened by the top of our coach/athlete relationship, I would like to thank Andrew for being the catalyst I needed to get this second half of the journey on its way. I appreciate him greater than I can express, and I thank him from the underside of my heart for the whole lot during the last two months.
The journey will proceed with a brand new coach, who I’ll announce soon.
