Smock Blogs

Kabul, 2021, the Crossfit gym another expat had set up in the secure hotel we lived/worked/drank in at the time. I was attempting to end another period of non-fitness, and the coach there was more than happy to help me.

I forgot what the workout of the day was, but like most WODs, it was just all kinds of suck. I think there were pull ups (assisted), box jumps, and then a run.

Repeat until dead.

Another guy working out with me, about my same age, similar level of fitness, was a few yards ahead of me on the runs.

Coach Satan’s Stepson muttered at me in passing to “catch that guy”.

Mainly because “that guy” was very much “that guy” with a “punch me” face and everything.

“Working on it,” I told him.

His lead was all the more galling because he was half assing the other parts of the workout. Which meant he was fresher on the runs, and getting them done faster than I was.

Still, I caught up to him. Made up the difference. Crossed the finish line before he did. And promptly collapsed, just spent.

That’s kind of the point of Crossfit, and my workouts since then have gotten less intense, mainly because of my age and a desire to be fit as possible as along as possible, and blowing gaskets every time out isn’t a way to do that.

Catching up was a good goal that day, but mostly “catching up” is just an exercise in self-flagellation. Instead of knowing where we are and being OK with that moment, we tell ourselves we should be further ahead. And should/could/would put in more effort.

Except we’re already caught up. In the moment we have now. Whatever it may be. Make the most of that one. The next one’s down the road, and there’s no need to get there faster.