There are a lot of stupid words in our lexicon, but let’s talk about just one today:

Overachiever: someone who achieves too much. Or achieves more than they were expected to. How stupid is that? Like you’re only supposed to achieve this much, and then you’ve gone too far? Or like someone else gets to determine that they thought you should achieve?

What loser came up with that word? And why do we insist on using it?

I never even knew that word existed until I was in my 20′s. We just achieved in my family, as much as we could, as often as we could. Achievement was the result of hard work. We were good with that. Go hard and get results. What part of that formula needs changing? NONE. No part. Zero. Nada. Zilch. And guess what? There’s no limit on achieving. No quota, no tariff, no mark you cannot go above.

You can achieve as much as you want.

Holy fuck. What a concept, right?

Except there are these fucktards who make up words like “overachiever” so that you are supposed to feel bad if you achieve “too” much. It’s supposedly not cool. Well, fuck cool then! I’m going to do what I want to do. And you get to do the same. Glory Hallelujah, right? You want to achieve, I’m good with that. You don’t want to achieve anything? Well, I’m good with that too … as long as you don’t affect me or what I’m doing. Like the Supreme Goddess Chrissie Hynde of the Kingdom of the Pretenders once sang: “I got a smile for everyone I meet. As long as you don’t try dragging my bay, or dropping the bomb on my street.” (I don’t have a bay — you may not either — but I think we can safely assume we’re taking a ride in Metaphor Land on this one. We understand what she’s saying.)

Anyhow, my point is this: Go do your shit and stop listening to morons. There is no such thing as “overachieving” — there’s only the reality of kicking ass and making awesome happen. Let the bystanders figure it out and put names on everything. Hard workers are too busy getting shit done! Overachieve … my fucking ass.

We bring so much on ourselves.

Ever do this in the gym?

Then stop it.

Learn what you can from a bad lift and move on. Learn what you can from anything that happens in your life, and move forward, upward, onward … anywhere but the same spot, brooding on your troubles. Your perceived troubles.

You can make yourself stronger through experience, or weaker. The difference is often what you do in your head, not what you do on the platform.

Get back on the barbell and lift the darn thing. Act. Put yourself in motion. Life will get better.

This is going to sound stupid and sappy and ridiculous, but here it is:

Dumb, right? Fucking stupid. You’ve got your dreams and ambitions and your righteous anger! You’re ready to kick ass and bend this world to your will! If only you can get stronger and tougher, you can take everything that is yours. In this dirty world, the spoils belong to the victor and nice guys finish last. You do NOT want to finish last.

Or maybe, that’s not always correct. Maybe nice people do succeed because they are … nice. (Wait, what?) Maybe people want to help you if you’re nice. Maybe people want to love you if … yeah, get this … you love them. And maybe, just maybe, it is more rewarding to be loved than feared.

Craaaaazy. Oh, and probably true.

I tell my kids this one all the time: “People want to help you. Give them a reason to help you.” Politeness is a reason. Warmth is a reason. Respect is a reason.

Think about it. Haven’t you wanted to do something for someone simply because they made you smile? Or laugh? Or treated like you a human being, when the rest of the world didn’t seem to give a damn?

We all have. Because, despite our desire to make this world all about achievement and success and kicking ass, when we strip down our lives to the bare essentials we have this: survival, and how we feel. If people make us feel like crap, we don’t want to be around them much. If people make us feel good — important, or special, or just respected — then we want to spend more time with them. It’s really simple, when you think about it.

But, wait, who needs help? You’re a strong, independent beast! You don’t need anybody’s help!

Shut up. We all need help. Most of us are just too proud to admit it. If we didn’t need help, we’d all live apart from anyone else, single campfire after single campfire dotting the horizon for as far as the eye can see. But guess what? Facebook, your phone, your consumption of this post alone illustrates your desire for community. You already admitted your need, so just deal with it.

Now, some of you may be wondering how the heck this concept is going to help you in the gym. How does love translate to the barbell or the kettlebell or the pull-up bar? You can’t love the barbell. (Well, you could, but that’s just wrong, and possibly illegal in 14 states.) And nobody can love thrusters. But maybe, instead of hating and dreading thrusters, you can learn to love what they do for your body, how they make you stronger in body and mind.

Anyhow, whatever you’re struggling with today — a relationship, a work problem, even those damn double-unders — put more love into the situation. See what happens. Things just might get better …

Pride goeth before a miss.

The more weight, the merrier.

United we stand, kind of staggered we run.

Don’t rub salt in the wound. Unless it’s a big tear from pull-ups and you like to cry.

If you can’t stand the heat, stay out of the noon class.

Too many cooks spoil the meatza.

A watched bar never lifts itself.

Let the bumpers fall where they may.

CrossFit is the spice of life.

You can’t have your cake and eat it too. Well, you can. But you’re going to feel like shit in the morning.

A big fish in a small box.

Like two peas in a … Wait, you eat peas? Aren’t those a legume?

It only hurts when I laugh. Or breathe. Or open my eyes. Man, that WOD killed me.

Mind over bumpers.

The road to hell is paved with … chippers. Fucking chippers.

Hope for the best, and prepare for double unders.

The barbell is mightier than the sword.

Misery loves company, so same time same place tomorrow!

If you’re lost … join the club.

If you’re down-hearted … pick yourself up. Stop complaining. That’s the first step to feeling better. Keep telling your victim story and you stay the victim. Move forward. New memories are made every day. Even if life has been shitty to you, it doesn’t have to stay that way. Change your thoughts, change your words, change your mojo, now.

If you’re on top of the world and everything is going absolutely fantastic for you … be grateful. Boast less, give thanks more. Most people won’t tell you when you’re being a jackass, so you better learn to cap that tendency yourself. (And if you do have someone in your life who will tell you when you’re being a fool? Be grateful for them. The truth hurts, but it will save you.) Yes, it’s great to be happy. But make sure to share the wealth, and keep an eye on the redline on your Jackass-Meter.

If you’re reading this … be grateful you have the time and ability to do so. You’re probably not worried about your safety, your next meal, or if you’ll see another day. There’s no IED buried on your road, no IV bag hooked up to your arm, and you probably have enough money to go to the grocery store and buy a healthy meal.

Perspective: eat it with breakfast every morning. Then go forth and make something of yourself and the day.

You spend a lot of time in the tunnel.

It’s the space you go to in the workout, when pain is that big black blanket trying to suffocate you. You go into the tunnel and stay there. It’s quiet — you can’t hear the voices or the music. The only thing loud is your breathing … and your pain. Your pain is not a quiet guest. It yells. And screams. It’s almost as loud as that stupid voice inside your head that keeps saying “You can’t do this. Stop. Quit. NOW.”

But you learned to ignore that weakling in your head long ago. Way back, in grammar school, playing basketball, you learned to stuff the pain way down and keep going. Racing down the court on the fast break, ball barely staying in front of you, legs barely staying under you, chest heaving with so little air, 9 players racing behind you. 5 trying desperately to catch you and steal the ball before you hit the lay-up at the end of the court. You weren’t fast then, nor were you big. In fact, the only thing you had going for you back then is the same thing you have going for you now — you’re ornery and you don’t fucking give up. You don’t ever give up. If aggression and stubbornness earned medals, your chest would be full of brightly colored ribbons.

But now, there are no other players; it’s just you and the pull-up bar and your breath this morning. And the workout isn’t over. The others are done. You can tell that. There’s no more bouncing of the bumpers. They seem to be around you, but you’re really not sure. You can’t hear most of them. You’re in the tunnel.

3 more pull-ups to go. 3 more dips. Don’t think about the hang power cleans. Just get this shit done.

Quit. You suck. Why aren’t you done yet? Your stupid head again. Shut the fuck up.

Hands on the bar. One. Two. You drop off.

One voice breaks through. “C’mon. I got you. Get on the bar.” Ironically, it’s a soft voice, from the biggest, baddest, baldest guy in class. You hear him. And somehow, that’s all you need.

You finish the pull-ups, and the dips. You nail the hang power cleans. “Time!” 

It’s over. With air, comes the walk out of the tunnel. You rejoin the rest of the class — grown adults who seem to function so much better in the real world than you do. You wonder if they go down the tunnel too …

The Pity Party must stop.

You know what I’m talking about — the one going on in your head. The soundtrack to the “I Can’t Believe They Did This To Me” movie that plays in your brain when something doesn’t go your way.

We’re all guilty of it, to some degree. We all have a part of us (that gigantic ego that follows us EVERYWHERE) that is outraged, mortified, horrified at the horrible things done to us. We all feel sorry for ourselves at times.

I‘m not going to argue about what was done to you. Maybe it was terrible, maybe your anger is justified. Maybe we all should be amazed that you’re not curled up in a little ball, rocking yourself to sleep. I’ll give you that.

But I just want you to ask yourself this question: Is it useful anymore? Is your anger over whatever happened truly productive now? Has it built anything of merit? Is it continuing to help you? Or, when you really look at it, is your anger hurting your efforts to do something worthwhile in this imperfect world? Is it making your life better? Or is it making it worse?

And, are you happy? Really, truly, holy-shit-I-can’t-wait-to-get-out-of-bed happy?

If you’re not, then you need to make some changes. The Pity Party and the Holy Fuck I Love Life Celebration can’t happen in the same place. It’s like two gigantic weddings in one small room. Nobody can dance if the floor is covered with people sobbing. In much the same way, your self-pity and your ambition are fundamentally incompatible. You can’t achieve greatness if you’re spending most of your time licking your wounds. (And when I say “greatness” don’t confuse it with money, or status. Many are great who have lesser quantities of such markers.)

Kay Yow, the late NC State basketball coach, said this: “Don’t wallow in self pity. You know you will drown. It’s okay at moments to have some pity, but swish your feet and get out.”

Swish and get out. And then get back to building your most amazing life.

Folks have pride in CrossFit.

But, sometimes, that bravado steps over the line into bullshit. Like when you hear somebody talking smack about how a workout should not be scaled, or “Everybody should just man up and do that shit.” Or they scoff at the RX’d weights “That’s too light.”

Really? Mr/Mrs. Tough Guy, you know what everybody should do?

Well, I have one handy-dandy reply that fits all the bulltalk. One question that you can use in any situation, anytime, anywhere you want. The next time somebody goes on about their own badassery or you hear them running down a workout, and you need to provide a little perspective because their ego is sucking all the air out of the room, just say this:

“Did you go as fast as Khalipa?”

Boom. They can take a seat on the Shut The Fuck Up Bench.

Because unless your time is like our buddy Jason’s (or Froning or Holmberg or Iceland Annie or Julie Foucher or anybody who has proven themselves to be a certified ironhard fuckyouup motherfucker) then you just need to shut your trap and work harder. (Gasp! Please, friends, pray for my soul, I used the Devil’s Language again!)

In fact, maybe that’s what we all need to do. Shut up and work harder. Perhaps everything in life will improve.

Smacktalkers, see ya at the gym! And you better be going as fast as Khaaaa-liiip-aaa …

I have trouble acting normal when I’m nervous.

And, if we knew (for sure), would we really care? Do you want to do something just because a lot of other people do it? Doesn’t that seem incredibly stupid? Like would I CrossFit solely because other people are CrossFitting? I don’t think so. But it’s what I need. Maybe it’s what you need too. See, I figure YOU do what you need to in order to keep breathing in this world, and I’m going to do what I need to do to keep breathing. Notice I didn’t say “to keep sane” … probably because I’m not really sure most days what “sane” is. Again, it seems like some artificial construct. Like someone else got to decide these terms and these meanings, without knowing me or my heart or my brain or my life. And so why should I care?

I guess what I’m saying is that you can either let this world define you, or you can define yourself. Here’s hoping you got the chutzpah to be who you really are.

“Do you have any t-shirts that don’t say ‘CrossFit’ on them?”

Somebody asked me this question once, and it took a moment before I could reply.

“Yes. The ones I don’t wear.”

I don’t know if you’re like me, but when I open that drawer and go to grab a t-shirt, there are only two choices: shirts that make me feel alive, and shirts that make me feel like everybody else in this world.

Non-CrossFit shirts seem “normal” or boring, or safe and unwilling to try. Some shirts might as well say “I accept the sucky status quo.” Or “I gave up trying long ago.” Or “I’m okay with mediocre.”

 And so I usually grab one of the CrossFit shirts, because they remind me of not only what I’ve done, but also, more importantly, of who I could be, if I keep working hard and I keep throwing my heart on the line.

So, yeah, I have shirts that don’t say CrossFit on them. And, mostly, I wonder why I even bought them.