You did it. You made it through your first year of CrossFit.
Twelve months of WODs, of bruises and DOMS, of blood, sweat and probably some tears.
Your non-CrossFit friends and family have now accepted that this isn't a phase, isn't another diet plan or exercise fad that you're going to get bored of and sack off.
Skills and lifts are starting to happen.
Double unders are finally, FINALLY starting to be consistent.
You've gone from jumping pullups, to banded pullups, to ALMOST being able to do one Rx.
You can do a ring dip, and you're coming for that muscle up.
You can handstand. Time to handstand walk.
Your power clean weight is your deadlift from a year ago.
Suddenly, the list of things you never thought you would be able to do is now your list of goals.
You do your 2nd Open. And now it means something.
Now you understand why your Coach and everyone in the box talks of nothing else in the beginning of February.
You stay up late for five Thursdays in a row, praying for your strengths to come up.
They do. But so do your weaknesses.
You curse the CrossFit gods and Dave Castro, but you turn up just the same, give it absolutely everything, and marvel at how many places up the leaderboard you climbed since last year.
The atmosphere for those 5 weeks is like nothing you've experienced before, as you watch your friends and boxmates get 1sts, PBs and maybe pay a visit to the pain cave during the inevitable thruster WOD.
In fact, if you are a competitor, Year Two is when it all starts kicking off.
Maybe you get your name chosen for Rainhill, or you put your name in for bigger comps.
You start having to video qualifiers. ("So, how are we going to get the clock AND the rig AND the rower AND the wallballs in the same shot?")
You become an obsessive checker of WODcast.
Maybe you hope to get picked for Tribal Clash.
Maybe you do.
All you want is to represent your box, to make them proud, and to be proud yourself.
By the time you get to the end of Year 2, the odds are on that you will have experienced an interruption to your training.
You are revising for exams.
You get a chest infection.
You get married.
Work sends you away for a month on a project.
Life gets in the way, sometimes.
Nothing is more frustrating than being kept from the box. You're tearing your hair out, snapping at your partner, and panicking about all the gains that you are losing.
When you do get back, your first WOD puts you on the floor.
I'M BACK TO SQUARE ONE, you think in a moment of insanity.
I MIGHT AS WELL JUST QUIT AND EAT MY BODYWEIGHT IN KRISPY KREMES.
But you're not. And you don't.
Your Coach is always saying "Trust the Process".
A few weeks of regular WODing later, you're back up to your pre-break level, and making progress again.
The new members will ask you stuff, because you are friendly and you seem to know what you're doing (Ha! If only they knew, you think).
Maybe your Coach will ask you to look after someone who is nervous on their first Pairs WOD. Maybe you stay back to help with a big group Induction/Fundamentals Course. You like helping the newbies and showing them the ropes.
And then one day you see an Level 1 course is being offered next month near your box and in a moment of madness, you book it.
You are terrified that you are going to turn up and be the unfittest person there, when in truth the room is full of people of all shapes and sizes and backgrounds. You learn about cueing the fundamental movements, about The Zone, and about programming.
But mostly you learn that you already knew more than you thought you did.
You write the test. You are convinced that you've failed.
You come to the box the next day in your L1 shirt.
Two years down, maybe a few comps or certs under your belt.
Year Three is going to be even better, right?
Part 5, coming soon.
Sound familiar? Did I miss something? Add it in the comments! :)