A new CrossFit box recently opened in Yreka, and my friend Jayne talked me into going with her Saturday morning. Full disclosure: I avoided CrossFit for a long time because I was pretty afraid of dying/puking/somebody telling me I should stop eating cheese because CAVEMEN. (Calm down, Paleo fans: I’m sure your body is better than mine and you will outlive me by decades. I still choose Brie.)
The good news: I had a ton of fun, and nobody diet-shamed me. The bad news: I’m afraid to go back because I haven’t been able to lift my arms above waist level since Saturday. Seriously, I had to ask Dave to put my pajamas on me like a damn toddler on Saturday night.
Me, every time I move.
I am happy to report that I’m already seeing some positive changes in my health. For example, I thought about drinking a beer Saturday night, but decided it wouldn’t be worth the effort to lift the bottle to my mouth. Maybe this is CrossFit’s secret to success: tiring the arm muscles to the point where they’re physically incapable of lifting anything heavier than a kale leaf.
Hey Ryan, you can start with my triceps.
All joking aside: I can’t wait to go back. I had no idea my upper body was so weak, and I’m determined to do something about it. I also wouldn’t be mad if my butt was a little more Beyonce and a little less Roseanne Barr. I know it can be a good thing to work through sore muscles, but at this point I feel like it might not be wise to lift heavy stuff when the act of fastening my bra feels like summiting Everest. Any CrossFit experts reading? Please advise in the comments.
Confession: The other afternoon I rage-tailgated (rage-gated?) a student driver for like three miles because she pulled out right in front of me on a country highway and almost killed us both. It was like slow motion: she turned into my lane off of a dirt road without even pausing to check traffic, and I was simultaneously scared for my life and slightly amused by the fact that the last thing I was going to see before dying was a middle-aged driving instructor doing this:
SPOILER ALERT, we all lived, but I was really bothered by the fact that the last thing I ate before my near-death experience was a kale salad. I can’t even remember the last time I ate a bagel. I can’t have those kinds of regrets hanging over my head when my time actually comes, you know? So I made myself a motivational poster to remind me of what’s important in life.
On the other hand, I would have zero regrets if I spent my last 10 minutes on Earth Photoshopping a soft glow around a chicken nugget hovering over an ocean sunset.
I promise I’ll stop talking about this soon, but here’s what I don’t get: Don’t those driver’s training cars have special passenger-side brakes for the instructors to use when the dumbass child behind the wheel tries to kill you? Why was that dude freaking out like a little girl instead of pressing the damn brake? Although … if my job was to ride around in cars with 15-year-olds, I’d welcome the opportunity to be broadsided at 65 MPH with open arms. Maybe his foot was hovering over the brake when she was like, “OMG this Bieber song is ON FLEEK” and he was all, this is it. This is all I can take.
Maybe this guy is actually my spirit animal.
Speaking of spirit animals, my friend Sarah introduced me to Matt Bellassai yesterday. Not in real life, which is probably a good thing because sometimes when I get really nervous the mechanism that allows me to swallow stops working and I stand there looking like I’m choking on air for like 30 seconds. Sometimes I wonder how I’ve managed to make actual human friends when my social aptitude is on par with the lady who feeds the feral cats in the creek bed behind Walmart.
Anyway, Sarah tagged me in the comments on one of his Facebook posts yesterday. I then spent hours watching all of his drunken rants while doing that silent laugh where you shake really hard but can’t catch your breath enough to make noise. If you don’t mind colorful language and the soul crushing feeling that nothing you say will ever be as funny as what comes out of somebody else’s mouth, you really need to watch his Whine About It videos. Start with this one. And then when you’re depressed because you’ve watched them all, you can read his blog.
I vaguegrammed recently about celebrating some exciting news, and now that everything is officially in place I can tell you what happened: last Thursday, in the span of about two hours, Dave received a big promotion and I was offered an awesome new job. Fists were pumped, celebratory cupcakes were eaten, and there was much AC Slater-style rejoicing.
You may be wondering why I’m starting a new job when I just changed jobs less than a year ago. Last November, I applied for a job as a social marketer for a behavioral health program out on a local Indian reservation. It turned out that they already had somebody in mind for the marketing role, and so they asked me to become the program director instead. I decided to take a healthy risk and accept the position, and I’ve spent the last eight months learning about program outcomes and evidence-based practices and reducing mental health disparities. All awesome things if the mental health field is your passion. And I discovered that for me, it’s not.
That’s not to say I hated my job. I really enjoyed the youth and families I was working with. I loved my boss. I had lots of fun with my coworkers. I learned so much about Native American communities and the injustice that tribes have suffered at the hands of many generations of Americans. But I didn’t wake up in the morning excited to go to work. The days would go by so slowly, except on the rare occasion that I’d get to design a brochure or build a newspaper ad. Those days would fly by, and then I’d spend the drive home berating myself for taking my career in a different direction and wondering why I was such a giant idiot.
Overreacting. It’s what I do.
But then! A friend dropped my name in a conversation, which set off a sequence of events that culminated in a crazy awesome job offer. I won’t give too many specifics (Internet Boundaries!) but I will say this: I’ll get to design and write and be creative every day. My 35-40 minute daily commute will be reduced to barely five minutes. I’ll be making more money. I know and like the people I’ll be working with. I’m even hoping I’ll have more time to blog!
I made myself a to-do list since it’s been so long since I’ve blogged.
And as for Dave: He’s been named managing editor of the paper where he’s been a reporter the last several years. I think he’s as excited as I am, except instead of going on a celebratory shopping spree and writing a sappy blog post, he bought himself a bottle of 14-year Knappogue Castle Irish whiskey.
So that’s our awesome news. 2015 is shaping up to be kind of great so far.