I was six months into a seemingly normal relationship when my boyfriend signed up for CrossFit. I stuck with him through three months of calloused palms, brag-complaining, and shirtless selfies. I used to laugh at the stereotypes, but now that I’ve dated the Charles Manson of CrossFit, it’s no longer cute.
- He basically talked in a language that I didn’t understand. Muscle-ups, double-unders, kipping pull-ups, and WODs? Oh, and they work out in “boxes,” not gyms. Like, what are you even talking about? It reminded me of that time my best friend and I made up a secret language so that we could make fun of our teachers. We were in fourth grade, though.
- It’s ALL he talked about. If he went 20 minutes without casually slipping CrossFit into the conversation, I would’ve been shocked. Maybe things could have turned out differently if he had a fraction of that passion for his career or, I don’t know, ME? Believe me, I want to be supportive of my significant other’s hobbies, but if I had him take a brain scan, doctors would find nothing but images of barbells and medicine balls.
- CrossFit is super expensive, yet he got extra cheap when he took me out. “Oh, honey… that bottle of wine you picked out is a little pricey. Maybe we should stick to draft beer tonight.” Meanwhile, he was spending $200 a month to work out in what looked like a dungeon that hadn’t been cleaned since the 1800s. For that price, you’d better give me eucalyptus towels and Kiehl’s products. You’re more likely to get tetanus than a clean towel. They do get free chalk for their hands, though, so I guess there’s that.
- The other girls in his CrossFit group texted him NON-STOP. CrossFit is a very social activity, which is cool, but after a workout is over, they act like they just fought by each other’s side in a battle against the ancient army. Every time a text would come in from one of his lady CrossFit friends, he’d smile or giggle like a school girl. If I asked him what was funny, he’d tell me that I wouldn’t get it. How can I explain to him that it’s not astrophysics? It’s just a workout.
- I couldn’t handle the brag-complaining. At first, it sounded like an innocent post-workout complaint. I was even tricked into feeling sympathetic towards his aching muscles and he got a massage or two out of me. Then I realized that his complaint always ended in a brag. Like, “My arms are killing me today” followed by, “That’s what I get for leading the group in push-up reps. I was trying to break the box record and I guess it was worth it when I did.” You fooled me once, brag-complainer. Never again.
- Every vacation destination had to have a CrossFit gym in town. When I suggested a vacation spot, he would immediately pick up his phone to check if there was a CrossFit gym there. I’m fairly certain that it was for the sole purpose of bringing home the t-shirt to show his CrossFit friends. Can you seriously not go a weekend without flipping over a giant tire?
- I wasn’t allowed to watch “The Open” with his friends because I wasn’t in his little CrossFit cult. In case you don’t know (because you have a life that doesn’t revolve around getting “swoll”), The Open is an annual five-week global competition where cult members—oops, I mean CrossFitters—will perform five workouts and submit their score online. It’s an exclusive party where its members become more obsessed with each other. They’d watch re-runs of the best performances while drinking protein smoothies and complimenting each other’s muscle growth. I’d be happier staying home and staring at a blank wall.
- If I ever called it a “cult,” he would get so defensive. This is why I’ve happily referred to it as a cult as much as possible throughout the duration of this article. If you know someone in CrossFit (which you likely do) then you know that they have a pretty hostile response to criticism. I could see the veins popping out of his forehead at the mention of the poor form of his people.
- He had more accessories than I did. From wrist wraps and high socks to weightlifting gloves and an entire drawer of CrossFit t-shirts, I never thought I would see the day when my boyfriend would out-accessorize me. Yet there we were. Nothing says, “I’m comfortable and secure” like a guy with a collection of headbands. What are elbow sleeves even for? Boy, bye.