Photo: Anthony Topper (flickr)
Lately, I feel like a number of my friends have fallen victim to a cult. They talk obsessively about their group, use specialized language and berate themselves for missing meetings. I fear that if I can’t find a way to bring them back to society at large, they will forever be slaves to CrossFit.
Their leader, Greg Glassman, makes them perform bizarre rituals. Every day, I see evidence on social media of members flipping tractor tires, pulling indoor sleds and collapsing in heaps on the floor. What kind of hold does this Glassman have over his flock? Followers worship at the CrossFit altar with devotion so rapt, it induces vomiting!
Devotees speak in tongues about “the box” and “WOD” and “AMRAP”. I feel excluded, and yet they entice me to join them. I’m afraid that if I look into their sweaty faces and listen to their loud encouragement, I too may fall victim.
Please send help and make the madness of scaling your workout stop! If members can’t be convinced to return to gentle jogs in the park and non-competitive games of beer league softball, this movement will surely turn the population into a seething mass of bulging muscles and blown out Achilles tendons. I beg of you, do not let one more box jump go unnoticed!
A Concerned Couch Potato