I have a sore on my bum.

TMI, I know, and believe me when I tell you that I mulled for several minutes over how to ease you into the confession of this ugly truth but in the end, it’s a fact that there’s a sore on my bum and there’s really no way to make it sound any prettier.

Apparently bum sores are what can happen when you overzealously do three sets of 30 sit-ups on someone’s front lawn with nothing but a mere layer of cotton between your bum and the hard, wet ground, which is exactly what I did last Saturday morning. Some friends invited us to their weekly CrossFit group, which involved gathering together, mumble-mumble, and then I would magically look fit and awesome. I must have mentally blocked their description of what would happen after the gathering but before the looking awesome, because there is no way I would have willingly put myself through that if I had known what I was in for.

Okay, really. It wasn’t that bad. I just thought I was dead until the next day’s soreness kicked in and then I wished I was dead.

But not really, because I also felt amazing. In an awful way. And that’s the thing about exercise: Nothing will make you feel better — or worse — all at the same time.

So that’s how Justin and I found ourselves standing in a stranger’s driveway surrounded by a group of ridiculously fit and happy people at nine-o’clock in the morning. At first I was petrified that we’d gotten ourselves inadvertently sucked into a pitch for selling Advocare because they were passing out energy drinks and rehydration gels and super vitamin infused shakes left and right and I thought, Great. I just wanted to work out and make some new friends and now they’re going to try to sell us stuff, but guess what — that so wasn’t the case. It turns out they were all just awesomely nice people who also happen to sell Advocare and were super generous with their product because they wanted us to have a great workout. Plus, I actually ended up genuinely trying — and liking — some of the drinks, which was kind of a win-win for everyone. (They did not ask me to link to their website. I’m not even sure they know the name of my blog. I just thought I’d throw that out there in case any of you are interested in some diet and fitnessy type stuff.)

Then we got to the part where we actually had to move, which basically involved me turning beet red and being the last to finish anything. But I did finish, which was kind of the whole point.

Well.

I finished the “Juggernaut” section, which included a set of 10 burpees, 20 push-ups, 30 sit-ups, 40 squats, 400-yard run, rinse, repeat. Two more times. And while they had mats in the driveway for the sit-ups, which were not crunches, mind you, but full-on sit-ups where you’re lying on the ground with your arms stretched behind your head and the bottoms of your feet pressed together with your knees spread wide (super attractive — I know), and then you somehow manage to sit up — all the way up — and slap your feet with your hands and get all proud of yourself for a second before you realize you have to do it again. And again. Ad nauseam.

They’re like hyperactive sit-ups that make you look all flaily and spastic what with the arms flying over your head to slap your feet and I’m pretty sure I looked like a baby seal having a seizure. Not to mention all of the bum rubbing friction that was apparently happening down below, which I didn’t even notice while I was busy concentrating on not snapping my spine in half.

Understandably.

And so they had these mats, but they were like thirty steps away from where I was lying in the soft, wet grass after attempting to do 20 (okay mostly knee-down) push-ups, and I’ll be honest —

Thirty steps was way too far.

Plus my butt was wet from the damp morning ground, and I’d be lying if I said that feeling something cold on at least one part of my body — any part of my body — at that moment in my life didn’t feel at least a little bit good.

So I did my sit-ups right there where I’d dropped in the grass, all too aware of my muscular protestations but never for a second suspecting the dermal damage I was apparently doing to an inch-long patch of skin right next to my tailbone.

Because us hardcore CrossFitters are too badass to be bothered with surficial injuries, you know.

Except the next day I was bothered.

Like, beyond the screaming in my back and shoulders — beyond the stiff neck and the tightening in my abdomen — beyond my sore glutes and quads and calves, I was like, Huh. My bum kind of hurts. OMG PLEASE DON’T LET IT BE A SPIDER BITE.

Upon closer inspection I realized it wasn’t, which was a huge relief but also kind of a major mystery until I realized, Oh yeah. You were doing spastic seal slaps on someone’s lawn yesterday and maybe THAT’S why you have this raw spot on your tush. And, wow. No one should ever have to use the word “raw” to describe his or her tush. Like, ever. If you do, it’s probably a good time to start feeling sorry for yourself. But just a little, because hey. There are worse things than raw tush sores.

Like spider bites.

And realizing you’ve jumped on the bandwagon and formed a fledgling love/hate relationship with a workout known as CrossFit.

Trust me — I would know.

Have you tried CrossFit? Are you hooked? No thanks, you’ll stick to yoga? Do you get bum sores too, or is that just me?