There’s a cult forming among us. Few of us realize how quickly this new sect is spiraling from a few friendly enthusiasts to an army of devoted convertees. It’s happening right under our noses: in our hallways, on the football field, and especially in our weight room. Libertyville High School is being seized by a cult that falls not under the religious, commercial, or political domain. Its members won’t guilt you by claiming that you won’t be saved without them; their washboard stomachs and toned thighs will make you feel poorly without saying a word. I’m here to warn you before it’s too late…before you know it, you will have fallen victim to the CrossFit Cult.

   It’s important to acknowledge that not all of the world’s cult members are the robe-donning, commune-dwelling weirdos that most people imagine. Modern cult members disguise themselves, in this case camouflaging themselves with Nike gear, kettlebells, and callused hands. It’s easy for these sneaky participants in the Cult to rope you in, both figuratively and literally (Have you seen how fast they scale those things?). The CrossFit Cult is becoming a problem, so use these questions provided by the ICSA (International Cultic Studies Association) to see just how dangerous these CrossFit Crusaders can be.

Is the group preoccupied with bringing in new members?

   Maybe as a high school athlete my perception of this question has been altered, but every time I talk to a CrossFit Cult member, I find myself squirming to find excuses for why I can’t make the next CrossFit workout. I’m sure I’m not the only one who feels like I have a neon sign plastered to my forehead that reads “RECRUIT ME!” I’ve seen Cult leaders patrol the weight room looking for fresh meat to trick into joining. CrossFit Crusaders are the Jehovah’s Witnesses of the fitness world. I’m pretty sure that half of the kids they enlist are simply pushovers who feel guilty saying no for the 17th time.

Are members expected to donate inordinate amounts of time to the group?

   When you join CrossFit, it’s not a hope that you will dedicate yourself to it, it’s an expectation. I’m not ruling out the option that Cult members get whipped with latex pull-up bands as penance for missing a workout. How else can you explain the astonishing attendance rates for the CrossFit class at 6:00 a.m.? I’m starting to think that their end of the fieldhouse is a masqueraded casino, where they pump oxygen into the place to ignite the participants’ desire to work out. There have to be some questionable tactics that the Cult leaders use to motivate their subjects. My ambition to work out burns about as passionately as burnt toast, theirs like Chicago on a certain night in 1871. Whatever the Cult does, its members are happy to fulfill the extreme commitment.

Is the group elitist, claiming a special, exalted status for itself? Do they ignore others that may be doing the same thing outside the group?

   When I’m in the weight room running through my agenda of traditional lifts, (squat, bench, clean, etc.), I can almost feel their judgmental smirks. CrossFit has created an illusion that they are the epitome of elite fitness, unlike anything the world has ever seen. In reality, they throw in a couple kettlebells and sandbags and do the same thing as the rest of us. Their status has been elevated so much that they even have their own acronymic language:

   Cult Member #1: “Do we need the TRXes for this WOD?”

   Cult Member #2: “Not for this AMRAP. I’m going for my PR!”

   At one point, I had so many people tell me that I need to try this WOD that I started to think it was a code name for some type of drug.

   By the standards of the ICSA, CrossFit meets the qualifications of a cult. I’m not out to stop it; they’re not doing anything wrong (except for lowering my self-esteem in my fitness levels). Everyone at LHS is susceptible to taking the dream body bait and falling into the trap. So if you’re ever being pressured to convert to the Cult, just spout off some acronyms and drop into a set of burpees — you’ll fit right in.