Evolution

by Jon Gilson

The contention, like most that endure, made perfect sense.   Get too strong, and your endurance will suffer.  Too much endurance, and your strength will drop.  You can’t have everything.

Fortunately, perfect sense and reality do not always occupy the same space, their neat relationship thrown askew by the inexorable march of athletic evolution.

The fact that we missed:  previous feats of athleticism will always be surpassed.  Sprinters will sprint faster, lifters will lift more.  Quarterbacks will throw more accurately, batters will hit more home runs.  CrossFitters will get stronger and faster. 

Perfect sense and reality do not always occupy the same space, their neat relationship thrown askew by the inexorable march of athletic evolution

Once, we said that developing the capacity of a novice across a variety of physical disciplines would create the fittest men and women on the planet.  Unavoidably, we’re being forced to remove the word “novice” from this definition; it no longer applies.  Our fittest are not novices, but legitimate contenders in nearly every arena.

For the first time, we’re seeing the strong, the fast, the enduring, occupying the same space.  The guy with the 5-minute mile is deadlifting 500 pounds.  He’s putting out half a horsepower for ten straight minutes.  He’s jumping four feet in the air.  He’s running eighty miles.  He is world class; his accomplishments are not a compromise.

Simultaneously, we are seeing adaption to imposed demand that does not follow traditional pathways.  Now, the strongest are not the largest, the fastest not the most waiflike.  Strength is achieved through increased neurological efficiency rather than mass.    Speed is achieved by getting stronger, not running more.  Athletes are borne from variety rather than specificity, exhibiting unheard of strength-to-bodyweight ratios.

We are throwing training on its ear, and this is just the beginning.  This discipline is in its infancy, still far from widespread, still the province of few.   There may come a day when our definition of fitness is not a compromise, when we no longer sacrifice mastery in one domain for competency in many, instead choosing mastery in all.

That day has started to dawn.

Josh Wagner fights 485 in Aromas.  Picture courtesy of CrossFit.com.

A Testament to Audacity

by Jon Gilson

Boston’s Back Bay is surprisingly stable.  Row after row of brick homes, built on top of a dirt-filled marsh, every flagstone basement below sea level.  Logic would dictate that this early nineteenth-century engineering should have calved into the Atlantic years ago, yet it stands to this day, a testament to the audacity of those who built it. 

John and I were driving down Beacon Street, the Back Bay’s main artery and canyon of Victorian-era architecture, when he handed me a manila envelope.

“This is my knee.”

Today marked the first time I’d seen John outside of the walls of CrossFit Boston, where he’d been training for six months.  Headed to a Celtics game at the Fleet Center, we were trading the platform for the parquet.

The son of a world-class powerlifter, John looks anything but.  Six foot five with limbs to match, he wasn’t built to move weight, yet a childhood of ignoring anthropometry had left him crazy strong.  Years without coaching had simultaneously eroded his technique, and we spent months bringing him back to the realm of acceptability.

John had seen an end result that was more important than the obstacles in the way, that something beautiful could be built atop something inhospitable.

John’s squat stance was too wide and his depth high, a silent admission to the pain he felt each time he descended.   We worked gradually and steadily until he made bottom, pushing his knees out and his hip backward.  Now, John squatted correctly, fighting his size for every inch.

I opened the envelope and slid out an x-ray film.  Holding it up to the dome light, I saw a blacked out joint, a femur and tibia joined by thin white tentacles and a pile of rubble, the detritus of a destroyed knee.

“This is your knee!  Jesus, why didn’t you tell me?”

My brain cycled wildly between disbelief and regret.  I’d stood beside John, demanding range of motion, demanding bodyweight back squats, the Space Needle built on a pile of marshmallows.   I’d told him to do what no sane man should.

"My ACL is gone, too."

He laughed, and my confusion gave way to understanding.

I hadn’t pushed John down.  He’d pushed himself down, stronger with each descent.  Even more, he’d pushed against decrepitude, reclaiming range of motion that a weaker man would’ve lost forever, and somehow he’d done it in the face of impossibility, a gravel-filled knee with imperfect muscular support.

Like the men who built the land we were crossing, John had seen an end result that was more important than the obstacles in the way, that something beautiful could be built atop something inhospitable, and now he was reaping the benefits, back squatting three hundred and thirty five pounds at thirty nine years of age.

I wouldn’t pretend that we’re all capable of doing what John did, an assertion that would merely belittle his accomplishment.  Nonetheless, I firmly believe that we are capable of more, that we can build something from nothing.

I handed the x-ray back to John.

John overcomes gravity at CrossFit Boston.  Picture by Again Faster.

After the Gun

by Patrick Cummings

His name was Brett and he was the fastest kid I ever knew. He was shorter than I was, and lighter. He never seemed to get tired. He ran the 400-meter race every meet, and that confused me. I didn’t understand anybody who would want to do that. Every time he did, though, I was relieved. If he ran the 400, then it meant he couldn’t run the 200, and that was my race.

Senior year in high school, I only lost the 200 was when he was in it. I couldn’t catch him.

The end of the season came, and our team of athletic misfits gathered in the center of the track for the league championship meet. A few hours later, I was setting my blocks for the 200-meter final. Twenty-two and a half seconds after the gun, I crossed the line ahead of everybody else.

Call it hubris if you like, but there was never any question in my mind as to what the result would be. Over my entire athletic career, the only moments of clear, unquestioned confidence came at the start of that event. They were the kind of moments where nervousness somehow transforms into energy instead of dread. The kind of moments where your body is light and your mind uncluttered. The kind of moments I never felt when Brett lined up beside me.

I lost my competitive fire not because I’ve stopped wanting to be the best, but because I stopped wanting to be disappointed.

No matter how many races I won, I never believed I could beat Brett. And so I never did.

And that’s a hard habit to break.

From the first CrossFit workout I hit, and almost every subsequent one since, I knew where I would finish before the clock ever started.  I never thought I could win, and so I've finished lower far more often than I have higher.

High school track and field long gone, it’s been awhile since I've felt that unquestioning confidence. Years away from organized sports have dulled my desire to win, and my inability to transcend my own muted expectations have left my progress stagnant in the gym.

I never beat Brett because I knew I never could. I didn’t let him make me better. Instead, I felt sorry for myself. I settled for being good rather than the best. And as a result, I never grew as an athlete.

I’ve watched this video fifteen times now, and every time I do, I am amazed at something. Something other than Usain Bolt and his new world record. It comes at the end of the video, while Bolt takes his victory lap.

The camera finds Tyson Gay, second place in the race and amongst the few men on this planet even remotely in the same league as the Jamaican. The race is over and the results are on the board. Bolt runs a 9.58, Gay a 9.71. With a slightly injured groin, Gay sets the American record and runs the third fastest time ever recorded.

The camera finds Gay, and though we can’t see his face, the gesture he makes is familiar to us all. It’s one of disappointment.

Instead of lining up next to the 6’5” Bolt and thinking, “I’m just going to try and beat everybody else,” he went after the top dog. And because he did, he ran faster than he ever had before.

You can’t learn confidence, but you can earn it. Gay may have lost that race, but he knows he can go faster. He knows what it feels like, and it’s that feeling that he’ll be chasing every race, whether Bolt lines up beside him or not.

I never let Brett make me faster, and I haven’t let James Hobart or Stacey Kroon make me faster, even though I line up with them for every WOD. My progress is minimal and slow and I have grown impatient with it.

I lost my competitive fire not because I’ve stopped wanting to be the best, but because I stopped wanting to be disappointed when I was proved anything less. I have forgotten the single most important lesson we learn from CrossFit: Through struggles, to the stars.

I have beaten James at exactly one workout over the past year and change. It’s time I finally went after the big dog.

Picture of Kevin Williams and Jay Swift, battling it out at a recent CrossFit Endurance cert in Milford. They were doing "Death by 10 Meters". Picture courtesy of the author.

Coaching 101: Center of Gravity, Area of Base, and Torque

by Jon Gilson

Successful lifting depends on four elements: area of base, center of gravity, combined center of gravity, and torque. If the aspiring coach understands the relationship between these elements and how they inform technique, the quick identification of faults and their respective remedies becomes automatic.

Area of base is a simple concept. It is the field delineated by the outside of the athlete’s feet and the space between them, length and breadth. It changes in size based on foot position, but is always rectangular.

Center of gravity is the point within any body around which its mass is evenly distributed. For our purposes, we can think of it as the point on which gravity acts. While coaching, we must worry about three separate centers of gravity: that of the athlete, that of the object lifted, and that created when they are joined together (the combined center of gravity).

The simple question: are my centers of gravity as close to the center of the area of base as the movement allows?

At rest, the athlete’s center of gravity lies somewhere on a vertical line between the pelvis and the navel and just dorsal of the frontal plane, its exact location dependent on gender and individual anthropometry. The object’s center of gravity lies in its geometric center, assuming it is of constant shape, i.e. a barbell rather than a sandbag or water-filled keg.

The combined center of gravity of the two lies somewhere on the line between the athlete’s center of gravity and the object’s center of gravity, biased closer to whichever weighs more.

Finally, torque is the tendency for a force to cause rotation around a fixed point. When lifting, our primary concern is torque about the hip caused by gravitational pull on the combined center of gravity.

Our objective in any lift is to move an object exactly opposite gravity and to hold it in its highest position for an acceptable period of time. To do so, we must vertically align our three centers of gravity (athlete, object, and combined) with the center of our area of base, minimizing torque and thereby maximizing efficiency.

Faults arise when these conditions of vertical alignment are not met.

Let’s look at some examples. In examining the explanations below, note that the combined center of gravity must always remain directly over the center of the area of base or the athlete falls over, so combined center of gravity is never the root cause of an error when the athlete remains standing.

Example 1: Object COG Forward

In the picture above, the barbell’s center of gravity is well forward of the center of area of base, causing the athlete to shoot the butt backward in an effort to keep the combined center of gravity where it belongs, directly over the center of the area of base. This results in a forward inclination of the torso, creating torque at the hip, and making a return to standing unnecessarily difficult.

To minimize torque, this athlete must bring the barbell within the area of base by lifting her chest. Her hips will come forward, resulting in a more favorable alignment of all three centers of gravity (athlete, object, and combined) with the center of the area of base.

Example Two: Object COG Rearward

In our next example, we see that the athlete has pushed the bar behind the area of base. Although we cannot see the area of base, we can infer that it is forward of the barbell, as the athlete has pushed his mass forward to keep the combined center of gravity over the center of the area of base. The torque on his shoulders is clear.

To minimize torque, the athlete would tighten the abdominal muscles and bring the bar forward, resulting in the alignment of all three centers of gravity (athlete, object, and combined) with the center of the area of base.

Example Three: Athlete COG Backward and Object COG Forward

The athlete above presents an interesting situation, in which the bar is forward of the center of the area of base, and the athlete’s center of gravity is backward of the center of the area of base. These faults result in a combined center of gravity directly over the center of the area of base, as predicted. They also create a tremendous angle at the hip, putting torso perpendicular to the direction of gravity and nearly maximizing torque.

To correct this situation, the bar would be pulled against the shins while the hip was simultaneously lowered, bringing the object’s center of gravity and the athlete’s center of gravity over the center of the area of base.

Example Four: Proper Alignment

Here, we see an error-free lift. The athlete’s center of gravity is just behind the center of her area of base, and the object’s center of gravity is just forward of the center of the area of base. Alignment is limited only by the fact that her body is in the way, and torque due to gravity is minimized.

Although the rules of center of gravity, area of base, and torque are not the only ones that inform proper technique, they are very handy in spotting faults. The simple question: are my centers of gravity as close to the center of the area of base as the movement allows? If not, the coach has work to do.

Tanya demonstrates good understanding of our principles, keeping everything vertically aligned at CrossFit Montclair. Pictures courtesy of Patrick Cummings.

Cult

by Jon Gilson

This can’t be a cult; the connotations are all wrong. "Cult" would imply that something foolish or devious is occurring, something motivated by greed or vanity, something to do with stars or demigods, the cosmos or the second coming.

The only motivation here is excellence. Caring too much. Pushing the boundaries. All that stuff you say during a job interview and nobody believes you.

From outside the looking glass, I can see the disbelief. I can believe the disbelief. Thousands of people, swearing up and down this is the best thing since solar power, lawn irrigation, and supermarkets, bundled into a free-if-you-want-it package and available daily, changing lives every time. It sounds like a teenager’s drunken promise, whispered sweetly and mired in mal-intent.

It sounds like a teenager’s drunken promise, whispered sweetly and mired in mal-intent.

Any rational human being would assume that there’s a plot, a cabal at the top, aiming to steal and maim, to prosper at another’s expense.

There’s not. I know, because I’ve sat at the table. I’ve had the conversations, reflecting on the past and predicting the future, wondering at the sheer speed of the rocket ship, the linear progression turning geometric. The discourse isn’t yachts and summer homes; it’s progress.

The driver of this mission is physical superiority; a battle-ready state, general physical fitness spurred by a contrarian philosophy and a general distain for bullshit.

We want our Soldiers, Sailors, Marines, and Airmen to pummel our Nation’s enemies. We want our sons and daughters to reject a sedentary lifestyle. We want our parents out of nursing homes and into society.

We do not want a cult, togas and Nikes ready for the apocalypse, and we couldn’t have one anyway. CrossFitters are too numerous to track, let alone control. They’re recklessly dispersed in America and the Middle East, Peru and Finland, Prague and Canada, arrayed under a thousand coaches, many of whom would just as soon eat horseflesh as agree with each other.

The only motivation here is the higher calling, the moral stance, and the knowledge that kind of good is not good enough, that health and wellbeing are sacrosanct, that the truth is inviolable, that fitness is everything.

Decry the organization, but know that your arguments are false. This is no siren song, no massive conspiracy to suck dollars from the pockets of the credulous. This is a revolution, righteous, transparent, and effective. It is a philosophy couched in generosity and executed unfailingly.  It is a way of life, and it will continue, with or without you. 

Speal attempts 100 consecutive pullups while the CFHQ training staff looks on.  He got 96.  Picture courtesy of CrossFit.com.