Editor's Note: The following is a response to this epic column by PostGrad Problems.
I signed up for CrossFit in early 2011, a few months after graduating from college. I had spent the better part of a decade destroying my physical health and appearance through nonstop binge drinking, drug use, and consumption of every tobacco product known to man, and didn’t want to die of a massive heart attack in my late twenties, so I figured it was time to get my shit together.
My sister and boyfriend (at the time) actually talked me into it; their sales pitch being that I would love trying something other than long-distance running, of which I was growing tired. I signed up for a monthly contract, opting for three sessions per week, costing an admittedly expensive $108 per month.
I learned a lot over the course of that grueling year.