CrossFit coaches Noah Abbott (far left) and Margie Lempert make sure Noah Barth (in tire) doesn’t try to end his workout early. (Christian Johnston)
(
)
(
)
On a recent Saturday evening, an attractive crowd of 70 gathers in a cavernous space on a mostly deserted street in Gowanus, Brooklyn. Toting Crock-Pots and big bowls of green salad, they enter through a door marked only with a skull and crossbones. Once inside, the scene is like a reunion, with high-fives, handshakes and hugs. Beyond the communal dining table, piled high with simmering meat roasts, the walls are decorated with medicine balls, kettle weights and climbing ropes.
As the visitors mill about, pouring themselves stiff tequila drinks, their bodies ripple with muscle — but are also marked by bruises. One woman is even hobbling around in a foot brace.
This isn’t one of Brooklyn’s secret supper clubs. It’s a potluck thrown by the South Brooklyn members of CrossFit, one of the hottest fitness-and-lifestyle movements in the country.
Today, they’re marking the end of a grueling two-monthlong “Paleo Challenge,” in which participants adhere to a strict “caveman” diet consisting of grass-fed meats, fish, fruits, vegetables and nuts.
“On this diet, you can pretty much eat anything that’s green or had a face,” says CrossFitter Will Lanier. Not included in the diet: grains, refined sugars, dairy and starches — or alcohol. Still, many of the devotees skirt this by indulging in drinks containing tequila, considered a lesser evil because it’s made mostly with agave rather than refined sugars and grains.
And while the diet is extreme, the CrossFit workout is even tougher. Members punish themselves with intense workouts so basic and primal, a caveman could compete. Each hourlong session includes running, chin-ups, swinging giant hammers, dead-lifting, handstand push-ups and, yes, flipping 400-pound tractor tires.
The exercise is so grueling that throwing up during training — while not a stated goal of the regime — is considered a badge of honor. And people who suffer together, apparently, socialize together. Far from being just a workout, CrossFit is a way of life.
“Socializing is baked into the program,” says Alex Tilney, a 34-year-old writer from Cobble Hill and a devoted CrossFitter since last June.
“Before every class, everyone says their names, and the coaches ask you what your plans are this weekend and how you’re feeling that day. There’s a sense of coming together.”
Some people are so enthusiastic about CrossFit that its members are the only friends they have. “CrossFit people understand [that] whether you’re hungover or not, you’re getting up and going to the gym the next morning,” says Ali Hovland, a 26-year-old project manager who works out at the Black Box gym in the Flatiron District.
Hovland first tried CrossFit after giving birth to a daughter, Zoe, 14 months ago. Not only did she spring back into shape, she found a new family for her new family. Her little girl is now a fixture at the gym, joining her mom for all her workouts.
“My friends are CrossFitters,” says Hovland. “It’s pretty cut and dry.”
Comments like these have caused outsiders to jokingly label the movement a cult. It’s true newcomers can feel alienated by the CrossFit philosophy, which implicitly offers a perfect body through pain while keeping peace of mind.
Last weekend a novice tried a free introductory class at a Brooklyn gym. As he pressed into a stretch, he grimaced — and got told off by a coach.
“I made a horrific face, eyes bugging out of my head,” says the newbie, who asked not to be named because he doesn’t want to be banned from future classes. “I assumed that would be OK. Suddenly this trainer said, ‘Some of you are using a “private face,” which is not appropriate.’
“It’s a tough-love spirit,” adds the newbie. “A ‘Fight Club’ vibe.”
“I’ve heard people call CrossFit a cult a ton of times,” says coach Will Lanier, who quit his fashion p.r. job to become a full-time trainer. “And yeah, sure, I see that. But it’s the good things about a cult — we’re a community working towards a common goal.”
Former gymnast and trainer Greg Glassman founded the program 12 years ago in California. Today, he still leads the movement, training and contributing often to its online journal.
The regime — a favorite of professional athletes, police academies, martial artists and military units — has slowly been gaining steam in the fitness world, mostly by word of mouth. In 2005, there were roughly 50 affiliates worldwide; now, there are approximately 2,500. In the past year alone, CrossFit has seen tremendous growth, thanks to a new 10-year partnership with Reebok and the popularity of the Olympic-style CrossFit Games, which aired for the first time on ESPN last summer.
Today there are 20 CrossFit affiliates in the New York City area, three of which opened in the past year. While members usually exercise in bare-bones “boxes” (CrossFit-speak for gym), the regime is also spawning copycat workouts at “mainstream” gyms around the city, including New York Sports Club, which launched its “UFX” program (Ultimate Fitness Experience) class last month.
Up to five days a week, CrossFitters perform a 60-minute“WOD” (CrossFit for “work-out of the day”), and everyone completes the tasks as a group. Individual times and weights are recorded daily, and since everyone is doing the same workout, it often fosters competition among members.
Die-hard CrossFitters say the sweat and tears that go into their workouts bond them.
“There’s this feeling of, if you didn’t suffer, you didn’t try hard enough. It’s hard not to make friends in that environment,” says Hovland.
CrossFit South Brooklyn owner David Osorio, 27, has seen the rise of his fellow fanatics firsthand. He started his affiliate with a couple of sandbags and jump-ropes in a Carroll Gardens playground, and gradually upgraded to his warehouse space in Gowanus.
“In the beginning, the gym was 15 people,” he says. “Now, we actually can’t even handle all the people who are coming to us. It’s a good problem to have.”
Osorio says the tribal spirit of the regime is what keeps his clients coming back.
“If you go to a yoga class, it’s anonymous,” he says. “The training has to be really good for you to go back, but that’s very one-dimensional.”
With CrossFit, “you go through something really painful and agonizing and awful. At the end you’re like, ‘What did I just do?’ and then you look around the room and 15 other people are all on the floor panting too. It brings people together.”
csalinger@nypost.com