Stoned on CrossFit

It's the 1000 yard stare.

The scrambled brain. The post-WOD stupor. What some folk call "WOD Drunk" . . . and what the rest of us call Monday afternoon, or the 6am, or "a quick one in the garage."

People pay lots more money to scramble their brains this way without CrossFit.

They want to go where you go – into the dusky twilight of  your mind, where you can't feel your tongue or any functioning neurons; where capacity is dulled and the ability to do simple math or write your name left you somewhere along the last three thrusters, or the 30 toes-to-bar.

It's like your brain is wrapped in fluffy white gauze, yet you can feel each and every breath, almost every molecule of air going into your lungs. Breathing never felt so sweet. Air was never so beautiful.

The good thing is that, unlike with meth or heroin or alcohol, your body is actually going to look better. 

You can probably drive immediately after consuming.

It's not a $150/day habit.

You can hold a job, and keep your teeth.

Your relatives will, however, probably speak in hushed tones at family gatherings.

• "She's doing that 'CrossFit' thing.”

• “We can't get him to stop. We've tried."

• "I heard it's dangerous, but she won't listen."

• "He's not interested in his old hobbies. It's all this new thing -- this CrossFit -- and new friends."

• "She's changed."

It's too late.

You're an after-school special: "Stoned on CrossFit."

See ya at the gym for another hit.