CrossFit Allows Ordinary People to be Extraordinary

The event was in an agriculture showcase pavilion. The walls were covered by blue and gold panels, centering a slightly off center banner with a faded Tennessee Tech golden eagle. A carpet of artificial turf covered the uneven ground, leaving mounds and valleys like a fourth grade geography project. There was a cold draft running through the building in a way that’s probably perfect for showcasing livestock. A sign over the normal concessions area reminded me of a the concessions at my little league games. Suckers for a quarter. Hotdogs and Cokes for a dollar. “Popcrn” was fifty cents.

Everything about the facility was very functional, outdated, and ordinary. This was hardly the place where one could expect to see the greatest athlete in the brief history of competitive CrossFit, but everyone in the audience at the Hyder Burks Pavilion for the Iron Eagle Challenge was there to see someone extraordinary. Whether he was there to legitimately compete or he wanted to do his hometown a solid, Rich Froning was there as a competitor.

Now I didn’t expect him to ride in on a winged lion holding a scepter. But to my surprise, he was surprisingly ordinary. 

Not his competing, of course. He was a marvel to watch. But he, himself, Rich Froning, was someone I could easily pass on the street and not notice. He hung around waiting for his turn on the bumpy surface, chatting with other competitors. A couple of my friends snapped pictures with him. He occasionally hung around in the back to look at his phone.

This didn't seem right. I’d seen this man dominate the fittest on Earth. He did it almost effortlessly. Why didn’t he seem… different?

This is the secret of CrossFit. This is why it’s become a national phenomenon. CrossFit is about ordinary people doing extraordinary things. 

The major sports in America are all inaccessible to 99 percent of us. I can play basketball, but I’ll never play with Kevin Durant. I can go to a football game, but I’ll never have access to talk to Peyton Manning. The stars and their abilities are separated from us because they are elite and we’re not. There are a lot of factors that contribute to this divide (namely money), but it doesn't change the fact that my inability to run a 4.2 second 40 yard time or dribble past LeBron James prevents me from having access to that world.

In CrossFit, however, this is a real possibility. My friends, who are everyday normal people, competed against the best. Literally. The best. They got smoked, but it was awesome.

This might come across as living out some childhood fantasy of being a sports hero, and maybe it is. But this is the same feeling that makes fantasy football a $70 Billion industry (that’s billion with a “buh”) and the World Cup the most significant, cultural event on Earth. We all want to be a part of something amazing. You might be above experiencing the dreams you had when you were ten, (ahem… snarky NY Times writer…) but for the rest of us its a heck of a lot of fun. 

Froning didn't actually win the Iron Eagle Challenge. It was a partner competition, and his other half couldn’t finish the last lift of the hang clean ladder. This, however, made him even more endearing and likable. I’m just speculating, but winning didn’t seem like the most important part of the day to him. It was the joy of competing, and that’s something we can all share.

When in Rome Part Three...

Ever tried explaining fantasy sports to someone? It’s downright embarrassing. When I was in college, my roommate and I joined a fantasy baseball league with some of our friends. On the day of our draft, we declared a corner in the computer lab on campus and obnoxiously (and pathetically) trash talked each others picks. The girl I liked at the time asked me what we were doing, and suddenly reality set in. I was arguing with my friends over a team of grown men (who didn’t know I existed) I had assembled. I had created a fantasy world where I was the mastermind behind the team. I was pretending to be Frank Wren or Theo Epstein.

The football version of fantasy sports is by far the most glaring example of our obsession with the NFL. Using players as giant, muscular avatars, the experience of living out our inner Tyler Durdens has skyrocketed to new heights. In the 2010 season alone, an estimated 18 million people played fantasy football across the country. (Some reports estimate a number much greater.)

Fantasy football is so popular even established and respected news networks who don’t specialize in sports regularly feature reports on which sleeper free agents can help you win your office league. Articles with titles like “Fantasy Football could help you get a raise” pop up across the internet, promising corporate networking possibilities for our online addiction. Even the business world is forced to create fantasy football policies due to the hundreds of millions in lost revenue caused by employees playing fantasy football at work.

Opponents to fantasy football believe the activity is ruining the experience of supporting a team, but those puritan cries are muffled by the mountains of revenue brought in by this billion dollar industry. Therefore the NFL created a channel catered specifically to fantasy leagues. The Red Zone Network is the watered down, instant gratification version of Sunday games. By showing only scoring opportunities from every team, fantasy players can watch their teams win or lose as if they were watching an actual game. If this were in Sports Illustrated, it would appear in the “Sign of the Apocalypse” section.

But of course the NFL loves fantasy leagues. In what other context would a meaningless touchdown in a blowout game keep fans glued to the screen? Only if they’re trailing by five points against the guy from accounting in the office league.

Again, try explaining this to someone who doesn’t care.

The appeal of fantasy football is not in the activity itself (albeit fun), but rather in the intimate connection it gives fans who otherwise wouldn’t have access to actual NFL players. Men who are faster, stronger, and more powerful become pawns in the hands of men who’ve seen the bottom of a milkshake more than they’ve seen the end of a mile run.

I don’t mean to paint fantasy players as pathetic slobs (I’ve played several times), but it does bring the average person closer to a world that is otherwise unattainable.

In my previous posts, I compared the NFL to the gladiators of ancient Rome. Applying this same logic to fantasy sports, could you imagine fantasy gladiators? Or maybe war conquests? Fantasy Crusades could be a huge hit.

Indulging in these games is no more absurd than enjoying the game itself. We should, however, be honest about what drives the intensity behind this activity. In the ESPN 30 for 30 film, Silly Little Game, fantasy sports creators said owning their original fantasy baseball team made them feel like gods. Their passion was in the palm of their hands, regardless if it was a fantasy.

With the proper perspective, fantasy sports can be more fun than simply watching the games. The story about my friends meeting in the computer lab is one of the best memories I have from my years at East Tennessee State (regardless of my embarrassment). However, it can also morph into a vehicle for an NFL junkie’s desperate attempts at glory without ever risking a concussion, torn ACL, or separated shoulder. Like a man visiting a strip to club to experience a woman, this endeavor will be ultimately unfulfilling.