CrossFit Athletic Group

by, Bethany

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Towards the end of 2022, Chris approached me to ask if I was interested in helping at the basketball camp that he runs each year.  If you have had the distinct privilege of having a deeper conversation with me, then you will already know that my relationship with basketball is tumultuous. Despite my youth being filled with basketball glory, I rarely shoot around in the gym and have expertly evaded Mr. Carey's attempts to play Sunday night pick up.

Back in 2022, I had a convenient excuse to decline - I was constantly on the road for work, with a schedule that changed daily like my underwear. I was able to avoid confronting my relationship with basketball as an adult and avoid the little children vipers that would most certainly torture me.

Ever persistent, Chris came a-calling again at the end of 2023. This time, my answer was different. My work schedule was no longer so travel intensive, and with some clear boundaries at work, I could commit to being at camp every Wednesday for 8 weeks. I ignored the anxiety that started to spill over and agreed to help, with the feeling that I would come to regret saying yes. As I am rarely ever wrong, I was not surprised that on that first Wednesday, I was in a state of dread. How had I committed to leaving my house on a school night to help coach a sport that afforded me amazing opportunities but also rendered psychological damage? How was I supposed to talk with and interact with children? What if they were mean? What if they did not like me? What if they left and never came back?

Chris, of course, did not give a shit about any of those things. The kids would be menaces, the basketball would be horrendous, and it did not matter one ounce if a parent was unhappy, left, and never came back. My anxiety ebbed - until we received our first assignment on that first night: go block or steal the ball from 10 kids. First of all, I did not know that I had signed myself up for ASSIGNMENTS or HOMEWORK when I agreed to do this. Second of all, this seemed like an express route to getting camp shut down due to utter disgust from the assembled parents. I didn't block a single kid that night. I wandered aimlessly and shot around (realized that my shot is now truly flat as hell), tried to strike up some semblance of a conversation with any child willing to speak with me, and leaned on Aaron, Dillion, and Sap to ease my anxiety. Once camp started, I attempted to get my group into orderly lines and execute the drills that Chris had planned. My efforts were thwarted at every turn. Kids ran away, dribbled while I spoke, and used my butt to play the butt bongos. In short, I was miserable. That night, Chris gave me an out, an opportunity to escape: "do you want to come back next week? It's okay to say no." Back in my day, quitting was worse than death. I was raised to honor my commitments and thus told Chris I would be back next week. (The irony that I betrayed this to retire from basketball is not lost on me.)

That second week, my homework was to impose less structure onto my group, to go with the flow. Talk about a challenge. I keep a detailed planner of all my meetings, all my tasks, work and personal. I outline my goals every week, I create my daily task lists, I take my notes, and I write down the good things that happen. What had I done at the gym to somehow reveal this side of myself to Chris that encouraged him to give me this absurdly difficult homework assignment? How did his punk ass know this would be a good assignment that would benefit me in more ways than one? I tried my best that night but felt that without structure I was not delivering any value and therefore had fallen short of some mysterious target that no one had defined.

That third week, my homework was slightly more palatable: use my excitement and energy to get the kids to be more animated during camp and get them to celebrate the small stuff. Again, I tried my best that night, bringing my high knees and whooping and hollering, but still felt like it was not enough.

At this point in the camp, I was settling in. Leaning on the kids that I knew and putting myself out there with the kids that I did not. The butt bongos continued, and I was called a lame-o rainbow. Johnny J stormed off my court because of my shortcomings as a referee. I forgot my whistle one week and had to run around screaming "whistle! whistle!" when I wanted play to stop. I was feeling less dread with each Wednesday and even started having fun. Chris, of course, had to ruin everything with more homework: "how do you know when you have done a good job?"

Well, fuck. The eternal struggle of high-achieving children turned anxiety-ridden adults. Back in my day, there was no such thing as a “good job.” There was excellence or there was nothing, on the court and in school. The pressure placed on me to always go above and beyond the elusive “good job” forged me into the beacon of excellence I most certainly am today, but at what cost? It was the reason I ultimately left basketball behind.

My experiences as a kid have made me hungry for external validation of a job well done, even as an adult. How could this camp and Chris's probing homework help undo the years of psychological damage? At what point did I become the type of person that could not give myself a "good job" for even going out on a limb and helping with a basketball camp?

The association of "good job" with external validation fueled my first answer to Chris's all-knowing question: "I did a good job if the kids had fun or if the kids learned something."  Maybe but also no. "I did a good job if I tried my best." Closer. How did you know when you tried your best? Foiled again.

Even as I reflect on camp a few weeks later, I am not sure of the answer. I showed up for 7 weeks (my perfect attendance soiled at the last minute due to work travel), I got to know some cool kids, and I know in my heart that it will be easier to help again next year because of the work I put in this year. I achieved my original goal to do something new outside of my comfort zone. Does that mean I did a good job and that I did my best? When we do a hard workout in the gym and I am gassed, did I do a good job? A persistent thought always seems to plague me: could I have done more? could I have been better?

Thus, we arrive to Chris's most recent kick in our ongoing mental toughness training: using your inner voice to motivate, reward, and self-correct. As they say, I have gotten some solid reps in on trying to implement this way of thinking long term, undoing the trauma of my childhood. I am in no way cured, but I am better for having tried something new and different and uncomfortable. In the end, I am proud for having helped with camp and therefore we can all conclude that I did a damn good job.