Lisa Vaughn-Spence was always hearing her very fit boss go on and on about all the crazy, extreme things she was doing in Crossfit classes. So Vaughn-Spence, a 39-year-old from Arbutus who's trying to drop 80 pounds, decided to give it a go.
But when she saw people wriggling on pull-up bars, dangling from gymnastics rings, running with weights and hefting barbells, she almost turned around and left.
"I've never been athletic, I've always been overweight and at first I didn't think I was in any way, shape or form capable," says the nanny, who stayed anyway. Now, with sweat shining on her face a few minutes into her latest class, she still declares Crossfit intimidating — "intimidating and addictive."
"A lot of things I didn't think I'd be able to do I can do now," she says.
Crossfit combines aerobic activity with strength training and gymnastics to forge a brutal sort of workout that can leave even the most seasoned athletes panting. But the intensity of the classes can also be scaled back to work for beginners like Vaughn-Spence.
Typically held in bare-bones facilities purposefully called boxes instead of gyms, the ambience is just one way Crossfit attempts to distance itself from traditional fitness regimens. There are also the small, intimate classes, the workouts that change every day and, of course, the intensity.
Founded 15 years ago in California by a former gymnast, Greg Glassman, his trademarked Crossfit affiliates have spread across the country — lately with an almost cultish buzz. There are about 1,700 of the gyms, or boxes, in the country and quite a few in Maryland.
Troy Venuto opened South Baltimore Crossfit not quite a year ago and says it's been growing steadily — not because of advertising or a prominent location but because members keep telling friends, who end up becoming members. "We grow like a family tree," he says.
Lauren Bunney and Donna Pierce, longtime trainers at other area gyms, opened Arenal Fitness in February at Baltimore County's Shops at Quarry Lake. Smitten by Crossfit's small classes and personal touch, they were eager to open a place where the instructors knew everyone's first names and where no one would fall into the trap of routine.
"It's truly the first exercise program I've ever come across that's never boring," Pierce says, as Bunney adds, "By mixing it up, it's a constant shock to your system and the body never hits that adaptation and plateau" that it would at a gym if you were running on a treadmill everyday and hitting the same weight machines.
Their gym, in the Crossfit style, is little more than a room, not all that large, with weights lined up in one corner, a pull-up station, rings hanging from the ceiling. Missing are most regular gym mainstays: the network of weight machines, the televisions, the cushy locker room, the snack bar. There is a sign hanging where members have written their Crossfit "mantras": "Embrace exhaustion." "Integrity B 4 intensity." "We are all beginners. "Earn your scabs."
The scabs thing makes more sense after seeing a workout.
Earlier this week, by 6:30 in the morning, five men and three women were staring at the white board on Arenal's wall, looking at what instructor Susan Simpson had written in marker. Their fate, at least for the next hour.
To warm up, they grabbed medicine balls and ran outside with them. Without stopping, they came back inside and split up — some found barbells to lift, others performed back extensions and the rest lay down on the floor, grabbed rings that dangled from the ceiling and pulled themselves up, keeping their bodies straight as boards. Once everyone had done some of everything, they were only getting to the meat of the workout.
And that was a hard-core barrage of lunges, pull-ups and situps. First 21 repetitions of each, then again with 18, again with 15, then 12 more, nine more and finally the last six. The fastest person in the group, a young man who once served in the Army, finished in 11 minutes, 42 seconds. It took the slowest, a guy new to Crossfit, almost 22 minutes.
At the end, everyone in the group was red-faced, out of breath and slugging down water.
Tate Preston, the guy who finished first, served in the Army from 2004 to 2009, with stints in Iraq and Afghanistan. The 29-year-old from Baltimore praises Crossfit for coming close to the style of tough, communal workout he became used to in the military.
"It's the only thing that comes close," he says. "If you push yourself doing Crossfit, it will be one of the hardest things you'll ever do."
Though it's certainly possible to fashion a tough workout in the gym, running on treadmills, lifting weights, doing aerobics classes, Crossfit devotees swear it's more of a challenge for their bodies. Though Crossfit is based on nine basic moves, members say the infinite combinations and variations of the fundamentals keep things feeling fresh.
"I did traditional working out for years and always had sort of a medium fitness level," says Yvette Nash, a 38-year-old from Columbia who's been doing Crossfit since April. "Now it's like every day is something new, and my body is always yelling at me, 'What are you doing?'"
Although Crossfit certainly attracts athletes — Venuto says his members include a former figure skater, people who played sports and teammates from the Baltimore-Chesapeake Rugby Football Club — the workouts can be dialed back for the flabbier set.
In Crossfit parlance — they use a lot of made-up words and lingo — the hardest version is the "big dog," which someone like Preston would attempt. Those who want it easier could try the "puppy," with fewer repetitions of each exercise. Or, easier still, the "buttercup."
An out-of-shape man nearing 70, the definition of a buttercup, has been attending Vaughn-Spence's class at Arenal. He's got skinny legs and a wispy snow-white beard and he works out in street clothes — but he finishes the classes.
"We want to push people more than they would push themselves," Bunney says. "We were intimidated when we first saw Crossfit, and we're trainers. We can imagine how other people must feel."
For Vaughn-Spence, running was always her Achilles heel. The first time she saw that sprints would be part of the daily workout, she burst into tears right in the middle of the gym.
Bunney, who was leading class that day, let her go at her own pace on a treadmill in the corner while everyone else ran outside. After a while, Vaughn-Spence wanted to try it outdoors, too.
"I finished the workout, and that was a turning point for me," she says, adding that she just signed up to run a 10-K race in October. "With each class, I get a little more confidence. Even though it's hard, it's fun."