Sport in Society

Cultures, Commerce, Media, Politics

ISSN: 1743-0437 (Print) 1743-0445 (Online) Journal homepage: http://www.tandfonline.com/loi/fcss20

‘Let’s work on your weaknesses’: Australian

CrossFit coaching, masculinity and neoliberal
framings of ‘health’ and ‘fitness’

Meredith Nash

To cite this article: Meredith Nash (2017): ‘Let’s work on your weaknesses’: Australian CrossFit
coaching, masculinity and neoliberal framings of ‘health’ and ‘fitness’, Sport in Society, DOI:
10.1080/17430437.2017.1390565

To link to this article: https://doi.org/10.1080/17430437.2017.1390565

Published online: 17 Nov 2017.

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 Sport in Society, 2017
https://doi.org/10.1080/17430437.2017.1390565

‘Let’s work on your weaknesses’: Australian CrossFit coaching,

masculinity and neoliberal framings of ‘health’ and ‘fitness’
Meredith Nash
School of Social Sciences, University of Tasmania, Hobart, Australia

ABSTRACT
CrossFit (CF) is one of the fastest growing exercise regimens in the
world. However, sociologists have been relatively slow in examining
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the place of CF coaches in contemporary CF fitness culture. CF coaches

are key figures in the production, promotion and consumption of CF
fitness services. Therefore, coaches are a sociologically compelling
group to examine. Drawing on interviews with male CF coaches in
Tasmania, Australia, this paper argues that the way that CF coaches
become qualified, interact with clients and understand ‘health’ and
‘fitness’ is shaped by the confluence of masculinity and neoliberalism.
As CF grows in Australia alongside other fitness regimens, these
findings pose a unique set of concerns for the Australian fitness
industry, especially in relation to the ways that CF coaches translate
the meaning and practice of ‘health’ and ‘fitness’ to their athletes.

Introduction
CrossFit (CF) is a fitness regimen that was designed by Greg and Lauren Glassman,1 personal
trainers who became well known in the mid-1990s in the US for their high-intensity fitness
routines combining gymnastics, powerlifting and functional calisthenics. By exploiting the
power of social media, in 2016, CF is a global fitness phenomenon. With 13,000 CF ‘boxes’
(the name for a CF gym) operating in 142 countries,2 the company’s yearly revenue has
doubled in the last three years to AUD$137 million. The brand, however, is worth AUD$5.5
billion thanks to sponsorship deals with Reebok and the TV channel ESPN which televises
the Reebok CF Games where the ‘fittest’ CF athletes compete for a AUD$2.7 million prize
package (Ozanian 2015).
CF has thrived in Australia and elsewhere because Glassman’s affiliation model is embed-
ded in libertarian free market ideology and the barriers to affiliation are low compared to the
mainstream commercial fitness business model (Mannix 2014). To affiliate, box owners need
only have a CF coaching certification and pay a yearly brand licensing fee. A key benefit of
affiliation is that owners are free to run a box however they like and are not required to share
any revenue with the CF headquarters in Washington, D.C. Whereas it might cost a fran-
chisee up to AUD$4.2 million to open a Gold’s Gym (International Franchise Association
2015), opening a CF box is cheaper at approximately AUD$42,000. This is because CF

CONTACT  Meredith Nash  meredith.nash@utas.edu.au

© 2017 Informa UK Limited, trading as Taylor & Francis Group
 2   M. NASH

gyms are generally housed in warehouses and do not require expensive equipment like
treadmills (CF 2015c). CF membership costs are also high relative to other Australian
gyms (AUD$150–200 per month vs. AUD$20–40 per month at 24-h gyms) and group
classes are the only option for members. In this brand-licensed business model, affiliates
are reliant on a smaller membership base paying a premium to attend classes with a group
personal training ‘feel’ compared to a mainstream gym model where profit is generated on
a broad membership of people who pay lower fees, attend less frequently and receive less
individual service (Herz 2014). CF affiliates do not undergo accreditation or inspections to
maintain their affiliation because Glassman believes that ‘good’ affiliates will thrive and ‘bad’
affiliates will fail (Beers 2013). Affiliates license the CF brand for as much as AUD$4200
per year (determined by when the box opened) and CF charges AUD$1400 for a variety of
certificate courses from entry level to advanced credentials (Levels 1–4) (CF 2015b). The
Level 1 course is the most popular qualification and is offered multiple times every weekend
worldwide (CF 2015b). There are currently over 116,000 Level 1 trainers listed in the global
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CF trainer directory.3 Five thousand Level 1 coaches are located in Australia. As a result of
the affiliation process, there is wide variation among CF affiliate owners globally in terms
of their competence, qualifications and overall preparedness to open a box.
CF is making a significant impact on the Australian fitness industry (Whytcross 2014);
however, relatively little is known about CF coaching. Australian professional and accred-
iting bodies and associations (e.g. Fitness Australia) do not collect any information about
this group because CF coaches are not accredited in the same way as most Australian fitness
professionals. Moreover, CF headquarters does not publish any statistics about coaches or
affiliates. Therefore, CF coaches are a sociologically compelling group to examine. There
is a large body of sociological research examining sports coaching (e.g. Jones et al. 2011)
especially at the elite level (e.g. Potrac, Jones, and Armour 2002). Yet, there is limited soci-
ological research examining paid fitness work such as personal training and group exercise
instruction (e.g. Donaghue and Allen 2016; George 2008; Smith Maguire 2001, 2008a).
Smith Maguire (2001) and George (2008) outline the contours of fitness labour in the US
and also draw attention to kinds of interactions that personal trainers have with their cli-
ents. Smith Maguire (2008a) also discusses US personal trainers as ‘cultural intermediaries’
between their clients and public health agendas. There is less research focused on how
health and fitness discourses are taken up by fitness workers (e.g. Smith Maguire 2008a;
Wiest, Andrews, and Giardina 2015), especially in an Australian context (e.g. Donaghue
and Allen 2016) or in relation to CF.
There is now an emerging body of research on CF. Scholarship has been primarily quan-
titative and medical/physiological, focusing primarily on the effect of CF on fitness lev-
els and body composition (e.g. Barfield and Anderson 2014) and increased potential for
injury (e.g. Hak, Hodzovic, and Hickey 2013). Scholars have also used mainly quantitative
approaches to understand motivational variables in CF across gender and age (e.g. Patridge,
Knapp, and Massengale 2015). Sociological discussions of CF have mainly been forged
within the context of urban North American discourses, representations and participant
experiences (e.g. Dawson 2017; Heywood 2015a, 2015b; Knapp 2015a, 2015b; Washington
and Economides 2016). To my knowledge, there are no sociological studies of CF coaching
or affiliate ownership in Australia or elsewhere. This paper fills several gaps by providing
critical information about the context and practice of CF coaching in Tasmania, a regional
Australian state. Moreover, it examines how Tasmanian CF coaches take up health and
 SPORT IN SOCIETY   3

fitness discourses and translate them to their clients. Specifically, I argue that Tasmanian
CF coaches’ beliefs about health and fitness and the manner in which they do their work
reproduce the masculine, neoliberal ethos of the CF global brand.

Fitness consumption and healthism

Neoliberal rationality has shaped contemporary health and fitness discourses (for a
detailed overview, see Wiest, Andrews, and Giardina 2015). Neoliberalism is associated
with free-market policies, privatization, competition, efficiency and growth (Rose 2002).
Whereas exercise was once seen as a means to fitness, fitness is now seen as part of a ‘healthy’
‘lifestyle’. Aligning with this, corporeal responsibility, risk and ‘fitness’ are now highly com-
modifiable factors that comprise an $8.5 billion Australian market of fitness products and
services (Whytcross 2014). Since the late 1970s, against a backdrop of individualization, the
body and its ‘fitness’ have been constructed as a reflexive ‘project’ in Australia and elsewhere
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in the industrialized world (e.g. North America – see Wiest, Andrews, and Giardina 2015;
Western Europe – see Andreasson and Johansson 2014), improved through consumption
of fitness services and products from protein powders to athletic gear (Giddens 1991).
Gyms are the main institutional marketplace for the fitness industry and Australians
spent $845 million on gym memberships in 2013 (Whytcross 2014). The majority of the
3000 commercial gyms in Australia are large service-oriented leisure and lifestyle health
businesses that offer three main types of services: personal training (offered by 94% of
Australian gyms), strength training (85%), aerobics/group fitness (80%) and relaxation/
wellness (40%) (ABS 2012). Personal training is the fastest growing segment for health/
fitness expenditure in Australia and is the primary way that large commercial gyms gen-
erate profit (Deloitte Access Economics 2012). Group exercise instruction is also central
to industry growth because of its wide market appeal (ABS 2012). Nevertheless, recent
reports show that mainstream commercial gyms are losing market share to boutique/‘micro’
gyms that operate in smaller training spaces and focus on one activity (e.g. spinning) or
personalized exercise regimens (e.g. CF) (Sweaney 2014). As the Australian fitness market
becomes increasingly saturated, ‘CF stands out as the only notable industry innovation in
the last five years’ (Whytcross 2014, 10).
Bodily ideals and the consumption of fitness products are conjoined in relation to a
broader moral imperative to pursue ‘health’ or ‘healthism’. According to healthist discourse,
‘health’ and ‘disease’ are matters of personal responsibility, and incorporate a moral imper-
ative based on assumptions about personal character (Crawford 1980). Illness is the result
of ‘risky’ ‘choices’, whereas ‘fitness’ is evidence of personal virtue and ‘good’ neoliberal citi-
zenship. For the entrepreneurial subject, ‘fat’ is a source of ‘disease’ and evidence of flawed
character compared to a toned body which communicates discipline and responsibility
while offering protection (medical/moral) from the rapidly changing social conditions of
postmodern life (Glassner 1989). In this way, fitness brands are able to induce ‘body panic’
by communicating values about ‘health’ that are applicable to a range of products that can
help individuals achieve their health/fitness goals (Dworkin and Wachs 2009). Thus, health
is increasingly being conceived and evaluated in Australia in representational rather than
instrumental terms such that the appearance of health (achieved through the cultivation of
a fit, fat-free body) is regarded as more important than the attainment of ‘health’.
 4   M. NASH

One reason that gym membership in the West has increased is because it is a potent
mark of social status – to work on one’s body is a sign of motivation to take care of oneself
as well as possessing the financial means to do so (Bourdieu 1978). CF boxes encourage
membership by connecting with ‘healthist’ discourses by framing advertising campaigns
around self-improvement through body work. For instance, a recent CF/Reebok video
advertisement shows a montage of images of athletes drowning in sweat, crawling through
mud and dragging themselves out of bed at dawn to get to the box (Reebok 2015). At the end,
a voiceover says ‘We do it to be better. Period’. This taps into a ‘no pain, no gain’ mentality
and implores that pushing individual limits through fitness leads to personal fulfilment.

What is a CrossFit coach?

As the commercial market penetrates most aspects of Australian fitness, middle-class indi-
viduals are also increasingly looking to paid fitness workers to advise them on how to max-
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imize health (Smith Maguire 2008b). Personal training is now the fastest growing segment
for health/fitness expenditure and the supply of Australian fitness professionals has risen
yearly by 7% since 1999 (Deloitte Access Economics 2012). In line with this, paid fitness
work has become increasingly professionalized. For instance, a Certificate III in Fitness is
required to work as a professional group exercise instructor and a Certificate IV in Fitness
is required to work as a professional personal trainer (Fitness Australia 2015).
Paid fitness work has also become specialized as the industry expands. To illustrate, CF
instruction is a hybrid role that combines the skills of a sport coach, group exercise instructor
and personal trainer. All participants used the term ‘coach’ to describe themselves; therefore,
this is the term that I use throughout this article. Notably, CF is both an exercise regimen
and a sport. Therefore, some coaches coach CF athletes to compete at the CF Games and
in local and regional competitions. However, not all CF participants compete. Competitive
and non-competitive training can take place in a CF box on any given day. Competitive
CF athletes usually follow different programming from other participants and some boxes
offer competition classes as well as regular ones.
A CF Level 1 coaching certification does not qualify an individual as a fitness ‘profes-
sional’ according to Australian standards. Fitness Australia, Australia’s main professional
and accrediting body, does not recognize the CF Level 1 coaching qualification as equivalent
to a Certificate III in Fitness (Diss 2014). Level 1 CF coaches without Certificate III or IV
qualifications are not recognized as Australian fitness ‘professionals’ given their perceived
lack of necessary qualifications, their lack of adherence to standards of practice and ethics
and the lack of a professional body to oversee and monitor coaching practices and affili-
ates (Diss 2014). In line with a neoliberal sensibility, CF headquarters has argued strongly
against the professionalization of the fitness industry (especially in the US where paid fitness
work is unregulated), noting that it leads to unnecessary government regulation, increased
costs to practitioners and consumers, ‘extraneous’ education requirements and limitations
on practitioner licensing (Kilgore 2015, 6). Despite this view, most Australian CF coaches
and affiliate owners (including the ones that I interviewed) still acquire Certificates III/IV
in Fitness because these qualifications are necessary for credibility in the Australian fitness
industry. However, unlike other CF coaches elsewhere in the world, this means that the CF
coaches in this study are more highly trained than the average CF coach. It is possible that
their views are also influenced by their professional fitness training.
 SPORT IN SOCIETY   5

CrossFit and masculinity

Masculinity may be broadly defined as a socially constructed component of gender identity
that is typically associated with men. However, a large body of multi-disciplinary scholar-
ship has conceptualized a range of social constructions of masculinity and its association
between maleness and power (Kimmel, Hearn, and Connell 2005). The concept of hegem-
onic masculinity, in particular, has largely shaped understandings of masculinity within
the sociology of sport (Connell 1995). Hegemonic masculinity was originally conceived as
an idealized concept that involves gender practices that guarantee the global domination of
men over women and other marginalized groups of men. The concept has been modified to
more accurately reflect localized patterns of social interaction (Connell and Messerschmidt
2005). For instance, Beasley (2008) emphasizes the importance of accounting for hegemonic
masculinity as a discursive political ideal with a range of plural hegemonic masculinities.
To illustrate, a wide variety of subordinate/sub-hegemonic masculinities exist which are
often deemed inferior on the basis of sexuality, ethnicity or class position. For instance,
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working-class masculinities are often associated with strength, power, embodiment, misog-
yny and homophobia.
In Australia, hegemonic masculinity has traditionally been linked with ‘mateship’ in
which male identity and relationships are defined by independence, stoicism and emotional
suppression (Pease 2001). The concept of Australian ‘mateship’ embraces a celebrated cul-
ture of silence, emotional repression and suspicion of feminization (Butera 2008). These
traits arguably emerge from Australia’s settler history. In Tasmania, a long convict history
is combined with rurality, which has a strong hand in constructing masculinity and which
may heighten particular practices or render them more enduring (Alston and Kent 2008).
For example, dominant Tasmanian masculine identities and associated practices histori-
cally align with working-class images of labourers, loggers and farmers – ‘tough’, ‘active’
men who work outside the home, having practical/hands-on knowledge of the world, con-
tending with/controlling ‘nature’ and overcoming adversity (Liepins 2000). Even though
working-class Tasmanian men may not hold institutional power, idealized ‘working class
manhood’ invokes a ‘shared sense of quintessential Australianism’ and assumed masculine
‘physicality’ (Beasley 2008, 5). However, positioning working-class masculinities in oppo-
sition to middle-class masculinities is problematic as these discursive constructions do not
easily map onto men’s everyday experiences which are much more complex and anxious
given the rapidly changing social conditions of postmodernity. Thus, masculinity is always
contested and insecure, is read via social interactions and in relation to a variety of subject
positions and power relations.
The representation and practice of masculinity in CF is deeply entwined with CF’s origins
in military training. For instance, Glassman (2007) describes it as training for surviving
the ‘unknown and unknowable’. Arguably, this approach is embodied in the programme’s
mantra, ‘forging elite fitness’ (CF 2015a). In line with this, CF is now a primary strength
training programme for Australian police officers, fire fighters, tactical operations teams
and military Special Forces units where this type of fitness is highly valued (Davis 2011).
Broadly, particular ideas associated with neoliberalism and traditional militarized masculine
identities (e.g. hardness, stoicism, toughness, the disavowal of vulnerability, competition)
have become wider hegemonic ideals in CF (Knapp 2015a, 2015b; McSorley 2016).
 6   M. NASH

As Connell (2005, 1816) has argued, neoliberalism can itself function as a form of mas-
culine politics in sport. Neoliberal and masculine values are especially important in the
association of bodies with entrepreneurial culture. For instance, in CF, engagement with
physical risk articulates closely with the hypercompetitive ethos of neoliberalism and thus,
the ‘endangered’ militarized body can be a source of identification and pleasure (for both
women and men) (see Lamb and Hillman 2015).
Throughout this paper, I am interested in masculinity as a discursive ideal or ‘enabling
mode of representation, which mobilizes institutions and practices’ in CF (Beasley 2008,
9). For instance, demonstrations of dominant masculine attributes may be described as
‘hypermasculinity’. Men in this study were often complicit in the social formations that
privileged hypermasculine behaviour in a box (Cover 2015). Throughout this paper, I use
hypermasculinity to signal ‘an idealised image of an extreme form of masculinity that few,
if any, actually embody’ (Pringle and Hickey 2010, 119). As I discuss, hypermasculine
discourses are especially demonstrated in coaches’ problematic behaviours including an
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emphasis on risk-taking, pain and suffering (Crocket 2012, 320).

Methodology
Data for this paper are derived from a larger qualitative study about gym culture in
Tasmania, Australia which utilized semi-structured interviews with male and female fitness
professionals (e.g. personal trainers, group exercise instructors, gym owner/operators) and
current gym members to gather data about fitness participation, fitness sites/services and
professional fitness labour. The CF data were gathered in relation to the component of the
research examining the contemporary scope and role of fitness professionals. Key research
questions explored include:
• How do fitness professionals define health and fitness?
• How do fitness professional gain relevant credentials?
• How do fitness professionals attract, retain and motivate clients?
CF coaches/affiliate operators were identified as an important group of fitness profession-
als to include in the study. I initially wanted to interview all nine CF affiliate owners in the
state. However, I prepared myself for the possibility that recruitment in this group might
present special challenges. This is because CF regularly receives negative media attention
around the question of whether the regimen is ‘dangerous’ (e.g. Weathers 2014). Thus, CF
affiliates are notoriously wary of speaking to journalists or researchers who might publish
negative information about the brand (Cornwall 2013).
I overcame potential difficulties by recruiting CF box owners through Justine, a local
intermediary (i.e. an individual who was a former member of the CF community) using
snowball sampling. I interviewed Justine for the study on the basis of her role as a group
fitness instructor. In the interview, I learned that she was a former CF coach who had
trained/coached in several boxes. Justine offered to email the study details to others in her
network including Jamie, owner/operator of the first Tasmanian CF box (Box A). Jamie
contacted me and following an interview, he passed on the study information to the other
Tasmanian owner/operators which allowed me to form my sample.
 SPORT IN SOCIETY   7

Methods
One semi-structured interview of one hour was conducted in person or via Skype with six
male Tasmanian CF affiliate owners/coaches.4 All participants held at least a Certificate III in
Fitness in addition to their CF qualifications, making them ‘fitness professionals’ in accord-
ance with Australian standards. Interviews covered relevant themes but participants were
encouraged to freely reflect on their experiences (Rubin and Rubin 2011). The interviews’
schedule was developed in relation to the relevant literature (e.g. Dawson 2017; Heywood
2015a, 2015b; Knapp 2015a, 2015b; Washington and Economides 2016). For instance,
coaches were asked about a range of topics including their views on health and fitness, CF
affiliation, gaining CF qualifications, how they motivated their clients and their views on CF
as a global fitness movement. A voluntary demographic questionnaire was distributed to
all participants. All interviews were recorded with consent and transcribed verbatim. Data
were analysed thematically. First, each transcript was reviewed for meaningfulness in rela-
tion to the key research questions. Data were then clustered into categories based on shared
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ideas. Once categories were created, the data were re-read to refocus the analysis on themes
instead of codes (Braun and Clarke 2006). This study was approved by the University of
Tasmania Human Research Ethics Committee. Pseudonyms are used throughout this paper.

Participants’ characteristics
Participants were between the ages of 24 and 39, with a mean age of 31 years. All participants
described themselves as Anglo-Australian, middle-class, heterosexual and were mostly ter-
tiary educated. Five of the participants lived with a partner and one participant lived with
children. All participants worked full-time as affiliate owners/coaches.

The structure and organization of CF in Tasmania

CF arrived in Tasmania relatively recently. It is generally acknowledged that the first
Australian CF affiliates opened in Brisbane and Melbourne around 2006 (CF Brisbane 2015;
CF Victoria 2015). There are now 580 Australian affiliates (CF 2015d). The first Tasmanian
box (Box A) opened in 2010. In 2016, there are nine Tasmanian affiliates (four in Hobart
[Boxes A–D] and five in northern Tasmania [Boxes E–I]).5 The expansion of CF is due to
the efforts of Jamie, owner of Box A. Since 2010, Jamie has mentored most other affiliate
owners. For instance, the owners of Boxes D, F and H learned to coach in Box A (see Table
1). This reflects the reality of the CF business model and arguably accounts for the global

Table 1. Participant demographic information.

Name Age Relationship status Box Box opening
Jamie 39 Married A Nov 2010
Jordan 29 Partnered B Mar 2011
Griffin 32 Partnered C Feb 2013
Tyler 27 Partnered D Nov 2011
Chris 27 Single E Aug 2014
Dominic 24 Partnered F Jun 2014
Tony 37 Single G Nov 2012
Chad 28 Single H Nov 2011
Daniel 32 Single I Apr 2015
 8   M. NASH

growth of affiliation. Most coaches open boxes as a result of developing an interest in CF at

another box as a member or coach. However, this also means that Jamie has had a strong
hand in shaping the culture and practice of CF in Tasmania and it is highly likely that his
views on health and fitness have shaped those of the other coaches. Jamie’s influence is
possible given the small regional population and small number of CF boxes (n = 9). It is
unlikely that one box owner could have such an effect in a large city (e.g. there are 112 CF
boxes in Melbourne, Australia).
Eight of the nine Tasmanian affiliates are owned and operated by men.6 As CF coaching
data are not publicly available, participants estimated that 20 coaches (including the affiliate
owners) are working in the nine boxes. Fifteen coaches are men and five coaches are women
(two women in Boxes A and G, one woman in Box E). In other words, 75% of Tasmanian
CF coaches are men. This is unusual given that 56% of Australian fitness professionals are
women (Deloitte Access Economics 2012). The gender imbalance in Tasmanian coaching is
reflective of a broader trend in CF globally at the recreational and elite levels (O’Hagan 2014).
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CF membership in Tasmania, however, is not reflective of this gendered divide. All owners
confirmed that men and women are equally represented in their boxes and that members
are mainly between the ages of 25–35 and work full-time in professional roles. In general,
the characterization of Tasmanian members reflects global trends in CF membership (Rally
Fitness 2014). In addition to an even gendered split, CF members worldwide are generally
white (85%), between the ages of 24–34 (40%), have a postgraduate degree (40%) and earn
AUD$200,000+ per year (Rally Fitness 2014). This demographic profile is likely tied to the
higher cost of a CF membership compared to mainstream commercial gyms (CF 2015e).
Coaches characterized their members in the following ways:
Our members are 51% men and 49% women … Typically, we attract A-type personalities and
the thing about A-type personalities is that they want to be fucking good at everything. So
what we’re talking about are professionals who are … successful in life, they have their shit
squared away and they come into an environment like this where we record all our workouts
and what that creates is not only competition between people but within themselves. (Jamie)

Trying to beat your best friend or whatever. Our members live for that. They just think about
the workout the whole day and come and do it. It’s not uncommon that you get people who
say ‘I just want to do the workout, I don’t care about my injury’. Like it’s crazy. You see some
ridiculous things here unfortunately. Competition gives people a strange mentality (Chad)

If you’re not humble, CF is not for you. (Dominic)

Jamie’s description of the kinds of people who are attracted to his box reflects sociological
discussions of sport and social class (e.g. Bourdieu 1978). Like other lifestyle sports, CF is
an activity that allows members to signal their possession of the characteristics of a profes-
sional middle-class habitus (e.g. hard working, goal-oriented, seeing oneself as a project to
be continually improved) (Fletcher 2008; Wheaton 2013). Jamie proposes that CrossFitters
are rational and calculating entrepreneurs (‘A-type personalities’) who are willing to suffer
in order to manage their bodies and, by extension, their lives. Jamie’s comment also signals
that some participants perhaps use CF to work through emotional/psychological adversity.
This resonates with Dawson’s (2017) contention that CF is a ‘reinventive institution’ much
like a church or even a cult, given the emphasis on survival and overcoming (physical)
suffering as a community (Heywood 2015b; Murphy 2012).
 SPORT IN SOCIETY   9

Jamie’s characterization of members also corresponds with configurations of Australian

masculinity described earlier. CF is arguably a contemporary site where local, historically
embedded configurations of masculinity are affirmed and reproduced albeit in new ways.
For example, an entrepreneurial/neoliberal CF identity is merged with elements of rural
Tasmanian masculinities (e.g. working hard, mastering nature, overcoming adversity). In
this way, we may talk about a distinct Tasmanian CF rural masculinity.
Nevertheless, the characterization of CF members as ‘hard-working’ and ‘humble’ con-
trasts with the views of many outside the CF movement who have been more critical of this
‘supportive’ culture. Dawson (2017) highlights the arrogance and sanctimonious attitude
of CrossFitters (including some coaches) and observes that the institution is ‘greedy’ in its
demands for total loyalty, time, energy and money from its members.
The coaches’ characterizations similarly speak to the ways in which a competitive mascu-
linity is valued in CF more broadly. For instance, Chad describes his members as routinely
ignoring the advice of the expert (him) and willing to push past the point of what is con-
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sidered to be safe. Chad’s positions his CF participants as defiant and more likely to engage
in ‘risky’ hypermasculine behaviours, particularly when the behaviour is a demonstration
of physical power or strength.
Women were acknowledged by coaches as being more committed, focused and easier
to train than men:
I actually find them [women] to be more competitive and neurally invested than males. If I
take a group of blokes, they’ll race each other and make it a chest-thumping type of experience
but then they’ll go and have a laugh. Whereas girls, they feel like it’s a lot more serious. I feel
like they are a lot more judgemental on themselves. So they are much more invested in the
accountability piece [of exercise]. (Jordan, Box B)

Men think ‘Oh I go to the gym, I work out hard’. Or they think ‘Oh no, CF is like a group class
… I don’t want to do that. I want to do man stuff ’. Once they come in and start training, they
get their arse kicked. We’ve got so many girls in the gym that are stronger than an average
male. (Chad, Box H)
Coaches’ descriptions of women as ‘better’ athletes are notable because accountability,
perseverance and courage are traits generally associated with men/masculinity (Connell and
Messerschmidt 2005). Jordan notes that women are more ‘serious’ and ‘invested’ in their
CF practice compared to men. He also criticizes men for getting caught up in what might
be characterized as hypermasculine performances (e.g. ‘chest-thumping’). Chad similarly
criticizes the men in his box for being perhaps overly confident in their abilities. These
comments align with findings from Patridge, Knapp and Massengale (2014) who explain
that CF women are motivated by mastery-based goals or the ability to master/complete a
task. This is because women often have less experience in certain tasks like weightlifting
and therefore are more anxious about being unable to complete the Workout of the Day
(WOD) (Knapp 2015b). Men, in contrast, are motivated by performance-based goals (e.g.
doing a WOD faster) and demonstrate higher levels of self-confidence, especially when it
comes to activities that are aligned closely with masculinity (e.g. weightlifting).
Chad’s point about women in his box being ‘stronger than the average male’ is also
significant. CF prides itself on its presumption ‘… that men and women can do the same
physical training’ (Heywood 2015b, 31). Thus, scholars have explored if/how CF may provide
an important site for the rearticulation of normative gender power relationships as women
disturb naturalized gender distinctions (e.g. Knapp 2015b; Washington and Economides
 10   M. NASH

2016). Yet, although CF embraces women as equally capable participants, Washington and
Economides (2016) argue that the company traffics in neoliberal postfeminist logic. For
instance, CF’s competitive female athletes are routinely represented as ‘empowered’ ‘strong’
women but they are also arguably hampered by the constraints of heteronormativity and
normative beauty ideals (e.g. ‘strong is the new sexy’ – see also Heywood 2015b) that operate
within neoliberal norms. Thus, Jordan’s comment about women being ‘more judgemental on
themselves’ may flag women’s anxieties about attaining an ever-changing and unattainable
ideal CF body.

‘Fitness’ and ‘health’ in CF

At CF (2015f), ‘fitness’ is defined as the ‘increased work capacity across broad time and
modal domains’. In other words, CF is not based on the development of specialized fitness;
it is focused on developing physical preparedness broadly (Glassman 2007). The primary
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goal of CF is to perform successfully on multiple physical challenges. As a ‘minimalist’

programme, CF is based on nine foundational functional movements to achieve fitness
(CF 2015g). These movements are combined variously to maximize intensity. Since 2010,
Olympic weightlifting has become a significant part of CF programming and some boxes no
longer teach some of the foundational movements (e.g. sumo deadlift high pull). Boxes are
also starting to promote activities outside the box (e.g. rope climbs, ocean swimming). In this
way, the ‘being ready for anything’ tenet now goes far beyond the foundational movements.
CF workouts take place in a team/group workout environment. Group classes are usu-
ally 45–60 min including a warm-up and cool down. In CF, the embodied competencies
of ex-military personnel are highly valued in the coaching domain and much like military
fitness programmes (McSorley 2016), CF workouts require intense effort. The core of the
CF programme is the Workout of the Day (WOD). WODs usually last less than 20 min
and involve performing a set of ‘modalities’ (e.g. doing a certain amount of reps of various
exercises as quickly as possible or within a certain time limit) (CF 2015g). As in the military,
the conduct of classes is accompanied by the deployment of a distinctive terminology to
describe workouts/exercises. This language is intended to draw members of the CF com-
munity together and create a shared identity (Dawson 2017).
Yet, much of this terminology reinforces hypermasculinity by making use of heter-
onormative/misogynistic language and naturalizing problematic gender relations. This is
most striking in relation to the naming of ‘benchmark’ WODS which are used to meas-
ure progress over time (Glassman 2006). To illustrate, ‘The Girls’ refers to 20 workouts
which are named after women and are supposed to be completely exhausting (e.g. ‘Linda’).
Naming WODs after women follows the practice of the National Weather Service naming
storms after women: ‘… anything that leaves you flat on your back and incapacitated only
to lure you back for more at a later date certainly deserves naming’ (Glassman 2006, 3).
Characterizing the toughest WODs as women accords with Western masculinist conceptu-
alizations of selfhood whereby men’s bodies are positioned as rational and stable, whereas
women’s bodies are irrational, unstable and threatening to the masculine (Ortner 1972).
The feminization of the benchmark WODs also positions women as ‘sexual vixens’ and
subordinate objects of male heterosexual desire (Knapp 2015b, 43). The feminized WODs
also serve an important function in that they act as a gauge against which masculinity is
measured. This is demonstrated by Glassman’s (2006, 3) comment that ‘The Girls’ have a
 SPORT IN SOCIETY   11

‘magnificent capacity to root out weakness and humiliate..’ [male] athletes. In other words,
failure is coded as feminine and ‘The Girls’ are not only a mark of feminine subordination,
these workouts also signal the feminization of defeat. Thus, ‘The Girls’ is a metaphor for
the feminine standing in the way of masculine success.
While ‘The Girls’ measure performance/progress, ‘The Hero’ WODs embody CF ideals,
test an athlete’s limits and bring together the CF community (Glassman 2006). Hero WODs
comprise 132 workouts named after ‘fallen’ ‘heroes’ who (mostly) died in service (e.g. mili-
tary, law enforcement) (Glassman 2006). Each WOD on the CF website is accompanied by
the name and photograph of the hero and an obituary. Learning about the hero is supposed
to provide an emotional/psychological context to the workout (Berger 2010). Of the 132
workouts, only one is dedicated to a woman (‘White’). Over time, however, hero WODs
developed into longer, more arduous workouts than regular WODs. This is intended to
engender a nationalistic pride in suffering (Berger 2010).
The masculine character of CF is also embodied in the programme’s obsession with
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‘objectivity’ and the quantitative measurement of results – exercise must be ‘measurable,

observable, and repeatable’ (Glassman 2007). Linking the meaning and practice of ‘fitness’
with ‘science’ and masculinity is important because, historically, ‘fitness’ (and cardiovas-
cular exercise, in particular) has been associated with femininity/women (Dworkin and
Wachs 2009). Women have generally been discouraged from lifting weights and developing
a muscular body. Instead, they have been encouraged to take up activities which promote
weight loss and service the production of an ideally slender feminine body (e.g. aerobics)
(Haravon Collins 2002). Thus, in order to remove the association with femininity, fitness
in CF is associated with hypermasculinity, the military and a very specific set of objectives
related to performance. For instance, in CF, ‘intensity’ is defined as the average power output
of a human body during a workout (Sherwood 2008) and power is expressed by the follow-
ing formula (Kilgore 2007, 1): Power = Weight moved (force) × Distance moved/Time it
takes to move. In short, doing a lot of work over a short period makes someone powerful.
However, the value placed on ‘scientific’ evidence and measurement in CF is underpinned
by a dominant ideology of corporeal surveillance. Under the evaluating gaze of a coach (and
other participants), scientific formulas are mechanisms for monitoring the neoliberal work
of self-production – who is ‘fit’ or ‘unfit’. If one is ‘fit’, they are also deemed to be ‘healthy’. As
I will discuss in a forthcoming section, this approach is problematic (and also positivist) in
that it assumes that there is an ‘objective’ ‘truth’ about fitness and its relationship to ‘health’.
Feminist scholars have critiqued positivist approaches because they present science as a
‘neutral’ endeavour that does not require critical interpretation (see Keller 1982; Harding
1986; for an overview of feminist critiques, see Sprague and Zimmerman 1993). For instance,
Glassman (2010) has argued that you cannot argue with ‘real science’. Thus, these formulas
are, to a certain extent, intended to shut down debate as to how to fitness and health are
defined. No emphasis is placed on the embodied experience of exercise or how a person
experiences their own bodies as ‘fit’ or ‘unfit’ because this would ultimately challenge how
fitness is defined. This prevents the possibility of understanding how features of identity
such as gender, ethnicity and age intervene in these categorizations.
Coaches generally provided a definition of ‘fitness’ that reflected their CF training.
… Increasing your fitness is about increasing your capacity … What can you do in this time
frame? What can you do when you’re given a task? How quickly can you do it? How many
 12   M. NASH

moves do you have in your bag of tricks? It [fitness] needs to involve a range of motion …
(Tyler, Box D)
Jamie (Box A) drew a picture on his whiteboard while he explained the concept (Figure 1):
So here is my time axis [t] and here is my weight or load axis [w]. Any given task that we do
in here, we measure. So how much can you lift? How long does it take you to row 5 km? Now
what that looks like if I start plotting all those numbers … most athletes get this curved piece
going here. So, in a short time, I can lift heavier weight. Longer the time, the less volume/
intensity I can work on. If you are really, really good at lifting heavy stuff you might be up here
but if I get you to run, you’ll be down here. If you’re a really good endurance athlete, you’re
up here and you can still do great stuff but over here you can’t lift your drink bottle so your
curves like that. What I want is more volume under the curve so the person who’s got greater
time/work capacity has greater volume under the curve. For me, to get you fit and for me to
address your weaknesses, I’m gradually going to start increasing your capacity and get more
volume under that curve.
In contrast to findings from Donaghue and Allen’s (2016) study of Australian personal
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trainers, coaches prioritized performance over aesthetics or achieving a specific body weight:
Performance should be the number 1 factor for training. Then the aesthetics will be driven by
performance … Like once I focussed on CF and improving my performance, my body changed
completely. There’s no real ideal look like, ‘That person’s fit because this and that’. Everyone is
completely different. (Chad)

Fitness hasn’t really got to do with [aesthetics] – like some people have really good physical
ability but their attitude and mental aspect is weak and so they give up at the drop of a hat …
(Tyler)

What we do here is a shift away from ‘I’m going to the gym to lose weight’ and more towards
‘Let’s work on your weaknesses’ … Fitness means that they look better, they feel better, they’re

Figure 1. Jamie’s explanation of the relationship between health and fitness.

 SPORT IN SOCIETY   13

more confident, they walk taller, people look at them differently …’ It’s because they are coming
in here and working on their challenges every day and psychological adaptations in how they
carry themselves and in their approach to life. And there’s no question that the side effect is
that you look better naked … (Jamie)
In a further invocation of masculinist approaches to exercise, the coaches reiterate that
aesthetics is not a primary goal for improving fitness even though cardiovascular exercise
(which forms an important component of CF) is well known for reducing body fat. Jamie
and Chad note that an aesthetically ‘fit’ body is a desirable by-product of fitness but weight
loss is not the goal. Rather, an aesthetically ‘fit’ body is masculinized and instrumentalized
by tying it to increased performance and being a productive neoliberal citizen (e.g. ‘working
on your weaknesses’, not giving up ‘at the drop of a hat’). For Jamie, ‘looking better naked’
is the reward for developing an internalized self-monitoring gaze (Atkinson 2008a). This
comment suggests that bodily capital translates into cultural capital. However, as Dworkin
and Wachs (2009) argue in relation to their study of the presentation of men’s bodies in US
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men’s fitness magazines, the ability to translate bodily capital into cultural capital is tied to
gender, race and class privilege. Thus, even though aesthetic fitness can only be achieved
by certain privileged people/bodies, Jamie implies that ‘looking better naked’ is a nor-
malized bodily expectation associated with doing CF and is one that translates into other
realms of life (e.g. confidence). As I noted earlier, however, this expectation differs for men
and women. As Knapp (2015, 689) observes ‘normative bodily expectations are expressed
through gender specific fitness goals’, which include weight loss.
Glassman (2009) defines health as sustained fitness over time (as implied by the phrase
‘broad time and modal domains’). Thus, most coaches implored that ‘fitness’ and ‘health’
are intrinsically linked. However, Glassman defines health more holistically. For instance,
he argues that health can be placed on a continuum from sickness to wellness to fitness. In
addition to engaging in specific kinds of exercise, Glassman (2002, 2) states that eating a
balanced diet, playing new sports and maintaining psychological well-being are critical in
attaining ‘super wellness’ or ‘genuine fitness’. Nevertheless, Glassman’s definition of ‘fitness’
produces and normalizes certain ideas about what it means to be a healthy, responsible,
individual and, more specifically, what it means to be a ‘healthy’ CrossFitter.
In contrast, coaches generally describe health as merely the absence of illness.
If we had a curve and we started off on one side is sickness and the other is health then we
could measure your position on there as to how fit you are. So if you’re really sick, you’re quite
unfit. If you’re really healthy, you’re fit … fitness is the tool or the metric as to where you move
on that curve. (Dominic)

What is fitness versus health? It’s actually the absence of disease … But the argument here [in
CF] is can I potentially have a disease and still have exceptional work capacity across broad
time and modal domains? … Here’s my 3rd axis and this is ages/stages [in reference to Figure
1]. So I’ll put to you that the definition of health is how much fitness you maintain throughout
your life. So if I take this line here – if I can maintain that capacity over many, many years, the
more volume I have maintained under that curve as I move through ages and stages is going
to be my health … . If I can go for a good 30 min brisk walk and not feel any ill physiological
effects from that and I’m 75 years old, I’m having a good time … (Jamie)
Both Glassman’s and the coaches’ comments about fitness and health run counter to
arguments from sociologists (e.g. Lupton 2013; Smith Maguire 2008b) who have discussed
the problematic relationship between ‘fitness’ and ‘health’ and, in particular, the power
 14   M. NASH

afforded to quantitative measurements of ‘fitness’ by the fitness industry and the strong focus
on individual behaviours. Specifically, coaches promote a view that health and fitness are
intrinsically tied to individuals and framed through neoliberal ideologies, which is reflective
of healthism. The extracts imply that ‘good health’ is solely based on an individual’s ‘deter-
mination to resist culture, advertising, institutional and environmental constraints, disease
agents, or, simply, lazy or poor personal habits’ (Crawford 1980, 368). For instance, coaches
make negative judgements about those who do not meet the CF definition of ‘health’ (e.g.
‘if you’re sick, you’re quite unfit’). The need for CrossFitters to be health-minded and bodily
disciplined is implicitly tied to consumerism. Promoting healthism is useful to coaches
because it compels clients to literally buy into the CF community and other CF services/
products in order to achieve ‘health’ (Smith Maguire 2008a). Moreover, as CF businesses
are tethered to the free market and neoliberalism, presenting alternative perspectives on
health and fitness is ultimately bad for business.
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Pain and suffering

The confluence of military masculinities and neoliberal framings of fitness and health is
integral to understanding larger cultural issues around pain in CF and the affective atmos-
phere of CF training and the production of intensity. There is an established sociological
literature documenting how athletes experience pain and suffering in sport for various
reasons from meeting individual performance goals to gaining acceptance by peers and
authority figures (e.g. Atkinson 2008b; Young 2004). CF has an overarching ‘no pain, no
gain’ ethos and conquering a workout that takes you to that ‘desperate, gasping, vomity
state’ remains an important rite of passage (Herz 2014, 20). Beyond scientific formulas and
benchmark WODs, intensity in CF (as in the military) is defined by the embodied condi-
tions of exhaustion and vomiting (McSorley 2016). For instance, in CF culture, the most
intense workouts are supposed to cause athletes to meet the CF mascot, ‘Pukie the Clown’
(Figure 2). If an athlete meets Pukie, they have exercised to the point of vomiting. Pukie is
depicted as a muscular clown crawling away from a loaded barbell and gymnastics rings,
clutching his stomach and projectile vomiting.
Vomiting can be an effect of working the body so intensely that it cannot get enough
oxygen to the muscles, which leads to a build-up of lactate. Exercise-induced vomiting can
also be caused by dehydration and, in serious cases, can be a symptom of rhabdomyolysis
renal failure (Samborski, Chmielarz-Czarnocińska, and Grzymisławski 2013), a rare con-
dition that mainly occurs in endurance athletes (Eichner 2011). However, rhabdomyolysis
is now occurring more frequently in CF athletes (Hak, Hodzovic, and Hickey 2013).
The relationship between CF and rhabdomyolysis is well known in the CF community
(Wright 2011). While CF headquarters implores that rhabdomyolysis should be avoided,
Glassman has shared more flippant views elsewhere (e.g. Cooperman 2005). For instance,
Glassman opened a 2005 CrossFit Journal article about rhabdomyolysis with another cartoon
clown named ‘Uncle Rhabdo’, CF’s other mascot. ‘Uncle Rhabdo’ is depicted standing next
to a dumbbell exhausted and connected to a dialysis machine. The clown’s kidney has fallen
out along with his intestines which are lying on the ground in a pool of blood (Glassman
2005). Glassman claims that the clowns are an acknowledgement of the consequences result-
ing from inappropriate intensity and are not intended to bait athletes into damaging their
 SPORT IN SOCIETY   15
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Figure 2. Uncle Pukie at Box A.

health. Nevertheless, most CF affiliates in Tasmania have paintings of Pukie and Rhadbo
on their box walls (e.g. Figure 2).
Coaches maintained that pain and suffering are normal and productive in CF and some
of the coaches referenced this in relation to Uncles Pukie and Rhabdo specifically:
You need to be in some pain if you want to get anything out of it … (Jamie)

I definitely tell [members] to embrace it [pain] and that the more pain or suffering that you
can endure, it will probably yield better results … People who train more, go further but … I
don’t say ‘You’re a pussy because you didn’t do that’. (Tyler)

Rhabdo and Pukie, like, they give a bad image sort of but they’re kind of funny … We have a
Pukie … When people would spew, they’d write their name up on the wall. Some people spew,
some people don’t … I tell them that’s not the objective … Pukie doesn’t bother me … ‘Hey,
CF is hard and you’re probably going to spew’. It’s stating the obvious. (Chad)

It’s going to hurt … .You stay in your comfort zone and you just maintain – ‘maintaining’ means
you are going backwards. Most people when they go to the gym, they’re just fluffing around.
They’re not training … (Tony)
In these extracts, pain is positioned as an ‘obvious’ part of the experience and also a
powerful source of transformation in CF (Dawson 2017). Indeed, Chad notes that while
not necessarily the intention, ‘spewing’ is an ‘obvious’ part of the CF experience. Comments
 16   M. NASH

from coaches are reflective of the broader drive in CF to maximize survival in neoliberal
times. Achievement and ‘progress’ are played out within a specific biopolitics in which
participants feel ‘alive’ through suffering (McSorley 2016). In line with the militaristic ethos
of CF, displaying invulnerability and toughness is a middle-class hypermasculinized act
(Young 2004). For example, Tyler identifies a prevalent assumption in CF that failure to
withstand pain is coded as feminine/weakness (e.g. ‘You’re a pussy because you didn’t do
that’) (Dworkin and Wachs 2009). In this way, pain can create problematic norms around
participation that are dependent on and reify white middle-class hypermasculine ideals.
However, coaches were also critical of a ‘no pain, no gain’ paradigm and felt conflicted
about promoting the value of suffering.
… I never say I want you to go as hard as you can until you spew. I never advocate that …
The majority want to work hard and the thought of spewing doesn’t sit with them that well.
I don’t really like that aspect of CF and I think that part of the brand hurts people like me …
(Tyler, Box D)
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We’ve never had anyone puke. That image of CF needs to die. It needs to go away now that
the goal [for membership] is the soccer mum. Gone are the days when an affiliate can post
up [pictures of] torn hands [on Facebook]. It’s not attractive. Taking photos of people who
are down on the ground who didn’t enjoy themselves versus someone who was like, ‘That was
awesome. I didn’t think I would finish it, I’m so proud of what I’ve done’ – that’s the kind of
image of CF that we promote. (Dominic, Box F)
Here, ‘going as hard as you can until you spew’ is positioned as a form of ‘bad’ pain and
not productive. In these extracts, Dominic and Tyler criticize the broader hypermasculine CF
culture in which suffering (and in particular, vomiting) serves as the hallmark of athleticism.
Coaches are especially critical of the mediated images of CF including the pained images of the
cartoon clowns and any other type of image that glorifies injury (e.g. ‘torn up hands’) because
injury is bad for business and damaging to the perception that CF is a supportive ‘community’.
As Dominic says, the ‘soccer mum’ is his primary membership target, not soldiers. In
other words, Dominic sees the need to move away from CF’s hypermasculine ethos so
that ‘mainstream’ people like middle-class working mothers feel ‘safe’ in this environment.
Therefore, this move may be one of economics and not necessarily a genuine desire to
problematize hypermasculinity. However, although coaches claim that they do not endorse
extreme suffering, they all maintain the images of Uncles Pukie and Rhabdo on their box
walls and transfer the risk of injury to their participants who must learn the difference
between ‘good’ and ‘bad’ pain (Nixon 1992).

Conclusion
This paper outlines some of the key contours of Crossfit coaching and affiliate ownership
in Tasmania, a regional Australian state. This work builds on an emerging body of socio-
logical scholarship that argues that becoming a CrossFitter is more than just a matter of
developing a fit body and physical skill – it is a continual project of (gendered) bodywork
and self-actualization as part of a CF ‘community’ (e.g. Dawson 2017; Knapp 2015a, 2015b).
This paper contributes to this body of research by illuminating the role of CF coaches in this
process. The demographic profile of the members, the militarized structure and naming
of workouts and the collective embodied experiences of intensity (both pleasurable and
painful) all contribute to the unique atmosphere of a CF class. As I have argued, in many
ways, CF repurposes military discipline and discourses of hypermasculinity in order to
 SPORT IN SOCIETY   17

shape these processes of self-transformation. Indeed, CF may give form to a particular

sporting masculinity which emerges as traditional Tasmanian masculine identities lose
authority. This new masculine CF identity builds on elements from life as it used to be in
rural communities and at the same time brings in neoliberal elements.
Importantly, this paper identifies that coaches are a primary means by which CF advances
a mandate for participants to commit to the CF philosophy which emphasizes neoliberal
physical and psychological self-improvement as a pathway to ‘health’ and ‘fitness’. Coaches
aspire to construct self-monitoring subjects who invest considerable time and energy into
the production of a ‘fit’ and ‘healthy’ body. In this way, CF coaching embodies the neoliberal
imperative in which members are encouraged to ‘choose’ to undertake a project of the self in
which they become personally responsible for committing to behaviours requiring physical
and mental labour. ‘Health’ and ‘fitness’ in CF are bodily capacities that must be constantly
managed and developed. CF coaches encourage members to cultivate their fitness by taking
control of their lives by investing in CF services. However, as I have argued, by encouraging
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members to identify with CF’s core values, coaches absolve themselves of responsibility for
their own roles in perpetuating healthist ideals and instead place a client’s lack of motiva-
tion back on themselves. ‘Success’ in CF is framed as a ‘choice’, whereas ‘failure’ is a form of
weakness and a lack of control over oneself (Rose 1999). Coaches seemed to find comfort
in the idea that CF produces athletes that exhibit the ‘correct’ attitude to fitness compared to
their undisciplined counterparts. This is problematic because conforming to the mandates
of neoliberal individuality that is required to be a ‘good’ CF member is never-ending. From
the moment that athletes step into a box, they are taught to move in prescribed ways and
to submit to the external authority of the coach.
Another key finding to emerge is that CF is perhaps positioned as being much more
accessible (physically, psychologically and financially) than it really is. For instance, there
is a strong classed dimension to CF participation. In line with shifts to neoliberal forms of
governance, CF is accessible to primarily professional middle-class people with disposable
income and leisure time to productively invest in their fitness and health (Smith Maguire
2008b). Ultimately, CF requires its members to be capable of finding a qualified coach,
asking the right questions about their certifications and competence, evaluating their own
health and level of fitness in relation to prescribed workouts and evaluating the safety of
the boxes on their own. Although this approach is perhaps productive at the individual
level, it problematically shifts health from a public to a personal issue and thereby justifies
diminishing state responsibility in health and fitness (Rose 2002) (i.e. the purpose of the
CF business model).
CF athletes are routinely held up as contemporary examples of health, fitness and tough-
ness. In CF, pain is discursively constructed through neoliberal ideologies whereby indi-
viduals became more responsible, productive citizens by suffering collectively. Intensity
and pain allow members to challenge themselves and collectively relish in the ‘pleasure’
of extending their capacities. This is connected to hypermasculinity, namely in the ability
to endure and tolerate pain (Young 2004). Predominant constructions of pain among CF
coaches reflected hypermasculine discourses of toughness and achievement. This can best
be summarized as ‘no pain, no gain’. Ultimately, it is up to the individual to take control
of and manage their pain and make productive use of it, invoking the neoliberal tenets of
self-sufficiency and responsibility.
 18   M. NASH

Coaches, however, also problematized pain in relation to ‘bad’ pain and the risk of injury.
This aspect of the research is significant because more extreme approaches to fitness are
increasingly contextualizing Australian conceptions of sporting bodies, health and fitness.
As Heywood (2015b, 38) observes, CF promotes the ‘survival of the few’ in a world that
is deemed to be ‘threatening’ on all levels. The CF approach to exercise is problematic not
only because it establishes norms that marginalize people who are not able or who choose
not to participate in these types of activities but because it also affirms neoliberal ideologies
which promote the measurement and value of health, fitness and self-esteem by extreme
achievements. The Australian Government and fitness industry need to become aware of
how extreme exercise regimens are potentially shifting Australians’ ideas about what they
are expected to do to maintain fitness and health.
This paper represents one account of coaching in CF boxes and what I have written is a
result of where and how I conducted the research. Multiple readings of this field site and
others are possible and necessary to further CF coaching research. Future research might
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examine female CF coaches’ beliefs about health and fitness and how they compare to that
of male CF coaches. Similarly, the field will benefit from an examination of how CF coaches’
beliefs about health and fitness compare to those of coaches in other ‘extreme’ sports (e.g.
mixed martial arts, endurance running).

Notes
1. 
Although CF was designed by Greg and Lauren Glassman, they have since divorced and Greg
Glassman is the main company spokesperson. All references to ‘Glassman’ in this paper refer
to Greg Glassman.
2. 
70% of CF boxes are located in the US (Rally Fitness 2014).
3. 
Most coaches in the directory are from the US. Coaches must submit a form with their
personal information in order to be listed. Therefore, the number is likely to be much higher.
4. 
It was not my intention to recruit only male coaches; however, my study parameters defined
fitness professional as someone with a Certificate III or IV in accordance with Australian
standards. There are only five female coaches in the state. Two female coaches were on
maternity leave during the research period and three were working in boxes but did not
have Certificate III/IV qualifications.
5. 
Boxes B and G are owned by the same person (Tony). The northern Tasmanian boxes are not
referred to by location because in some cases, there is only one box in a city and therefore,
they would be easily identifiable.
6. 
Tony does not manage both of his boxes. He manages Box B and his two sisters manage/
coach at Box G.

Acknowledgements
I would like to thank the coaches who generously shared their time and CF experiences with me. I
would also like to acknowledge the University of Tasmania Institute for the Study of Social Change
for funding this project.

Disclosure statement
No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author.
 SPORT IN SOCIETY   19

Funding
This work was supported by a grant from the University of Tasmania Institute for the Study of Social
Change.

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