CrossFit: Fitness cult or reinventive institution?

Introduction

The exercise regime known as CrossFit appears to have sparked one of the biggest fitness trends of the twenty-first century. Designed initially as an exercise programme to promote functional fitness, CrossFit has undergone a rather rapid metamorphosis into a global, multi-dimensional, multi-million-dollar industry, branding itself as the ‘sport of fitness’. Officially established in 2000, CrossFit now boasts more than 6,500 affiliates in the US alone: ‘While it took five years to grow to 500 affiliates, CrossFit Inc. added about 1,000 every three months in 2013. And on June 20, 2014, CrossFit hit 10,000 affiliates worldwide’ (Beers, 2014: 3). In contrast, well-known fitness franchise Planet Fitness, which has been around since 1992 and which began franchising in 2003, had about 827 locations in the US in 2014 (Kulikowski, 2012; Taylor, 2014). Even the world’s largest fitness franchise, Anytime Fitness, cannot compare with CrossFit’s growth rate. As of 2014, Anytime Fitness, which was founded in 2001 and began franchising in 2002, had about 2,700 locations around the world (Daley, 2013, 2014).

Although there has been considerable sociological analysis of contemporary fitness culture, some of which is explored below, scholarly contributions within the social sciences have lagged in trying to capture the CrossFit maelstrom. Given that it is the fastest growing fitness phenomenon in the world, the dearth of scholarly research into its history, development, promotional culture and social aspects is striking. The impetus for this article came from my own short-lived and negative experience of CrossFit. The camaraderie aspect of CrossFit that has captivated hundreds of thousands of people was the very thing that I (and several others) find abhorrent– ridiculous, even. My knee-jerk reaction was that CrossFit is, in many ways, akin to a cult, and I became interested in finding some answers to why this exercise regime is so polarising. At the time, I was teaching a course on symbolic interaction and came across the work of Susie Scott (2010, 2011) on reinventive institutions, which offers a refreshing juxtaposition to Goffman’s (1961) ‘total institutions’. Scott’s conception of reinventive institutions offers valuable insights into voluntary self-transformation and identity reconstruction, which provides a useful, multi-dimensional analytical tool for understanding CrossFit from a sociological perspective.

Taking the form of a critical theoretical essay, this article examines CrossFit as a reinventive institution. The work presented here draws on a range of sources, including the personal testimonies of avid CrossFitters, with the aim of gaining insights into their lived experiences of the transformative power of this exercise regime. The principal texts that I consulted include The Power of Community: CrossFit and the Force of Human Connection by Allison Belger (2012); Inside the Box: How CrossFit® Shredded the Rules, Stripped Down the Gym and Rebuilt my Body by TJ Murphy (2012); and Learning to Breathe Fire: The Rise of CrossFit and the Primal Future of Fitness by JC Herz (2014). While these writings are not representative of the CrossFit experience, they do address the socio-cultural aspects that are of concern in this article, namely identity reconstruction, interaction and community.

The article begins with a brief overview of CrossFit in relation to existing literature on fitness culture. It then describes and explains the key features and mechanisms of reinventive institutions. Against this backdrop, CrossFit is considered through the theoretical lens of reinventive institutions, paying particular attention to three dimensions – namely, voluntarism, performative regulation and greed. By applying these concepts to CrossFit, I argue that we can begin to understand why this exercise regime has gained such enormous popularity and has such a powerful hold over its adherents.

CrossFit and fitness culture

As a corporate entity, CrossFit was officially established in 2000 by former gymnast Greg Glassman and his then wife, Lauren Jenai, although Glassman had been using the term and working on the fitness programme for several years prior to this. Fuelled by the belief that his regular training schedule was not challenging enough, and in his quest to find a workout routine that would give him a performance advantage, Glassman began experimenting with new ways of pushing his body to the limit (Herz, 2014: 20). To this end, he developed a range of workout routines that entail ‘constantly varied functional movement, executed at high intensity, across broad time and modal domains’ (Herz, 2014: 31). While some modes of elite physical training prioritise speed over endurance or strength, for example, CrossFit – whose slogan is ‘forging elite fitness’ – aims to produce and improve human physical power and fitness by mastering the following 10 skills: ‘cardiovascular and respiratory endurance, stamina, strength, flexibility, power, speed, coordination, agility, balance, and accuracy’ Glassman (2002: 1). As such, CrossFit’s definition of fitness encompasses aspects of both ‘health-related fitness’ and ‘skill-related fitness’, the latter being associated with the motor skills needed to participate in competitive sport (Markula and Pringle, 2006: 57). This expansive definition of fitness partly explains why CrossFit has such wide appeal among ‘“average” or “normal” individual[s] who would not participate in high performance sports (Markula and Pringle, 2006: 57), as well as those who wish to excel in competitive, elite sports.

Another source of its appeal is that CrossFit claims to provide functional training for everyday activities (Glassman cited in Dube, 2008). Several authors in the field have explored the idea of functional fitness and its relationship to the idealised female body. For instance, Markula (1995: 438) – with specific reference to women – noted that her respondents were not only engaging in aerobics to make their bodies conform to a socially constructed, ‘sleek’ and ‘toned’ ideal, but were also interested in boosting their strength so that they did not need to ask for help when performing everyday functional tasks, like opening bottles or taking out the trash. Sassatelli (2010: 165) supported this depiction of the contemporary fit woman, and extended the logic to men in her claim that the twenty-first century fitness ideal for women is ‘muscular femininity, while for men it is agile masculinity’ (emphasis in original). Given its extensive definition of fitness, CrossFit certainly seems to endorse these archetypes. It could, perhaps, be argued that – with specific reference to women’s bodies – CrossFit seeks to push the boundaries even further by encouraging visible muscularity. This point underscores the reinventive nature of CrossFit, and I will return to it later in the discussion. However, it is worth acknowledging that the representation of gender and body ideals within and beyond the CrossFit community is fraught with contradictions. ¹

The final aspect that I explore here is CrossFit’s self-proclaimed status as ‘the sport of fitness’. CrossFit is not unique in its efforts to turn fitness training into a competitive sport – sportaerobics (or aerobic gymnastics) is a case in point. However, as Sibley (2012: 42) argues, ‘fitness as a competitive “sport” is still a relatively novel concept’. Based on a study with middle and high-school students, Sibley (2012) contends that incorporating a competitive dimension to sport education is likely to increase interest in fitness programmes. It is worth considering Sassatelli’s (2010: 98–100) distinction between sport and fitness in relation to CrossFit. For her, fitness training, unlike sport, ‘is not geared to a specific performance to be achieved or reproduced to the maximum on a special sporting occasion’ (Sassatelli, 2010: 99). While sport necessitates the transformation or moulding of one’s body to improve ‘athletic performance’, fitness entails ‘embodied performance’, meaning that ‘the ultimate achievement goes beyond carrying out the exercise, and coincides with the opportunity for body transformation and improvement’ (Sassatelli, 2010: 99, emphasis in original). CrossFit, like sportaerobics, has successfully turned fitness training into a competitive sport, and with this shift, fitness fanatics are reinvented as athletes. The annual CrossFit Games, sponsored by Reebok, began in 2007, with about 70 registered athletes battling it out to be named the fittest on earth and for a chance to receive US $500 in prize money (Reebok CrossFit Games, n.d.). In 2013, 138,619 athletes registered to take part in the Open (which is the first stage of the CrossFit Games), and in 2014 this figure rose to 209,585 (Achauer, 2014). The series of events culminates in the CrossFit Games, in which 80 of the world’s fittest people (40 men and 40 women) compete in a series of workout routines – unknown to them until just before the Games begin – to determine who will be crowned fittest man and fittest woman on earth. In the 2014 Games, the fittest man and woman each received US $275,000. The total payout to the top 20 men and top 20 women in 2014 amounted to US $1.75 million, and it is reported that the competition winnings will increase to US$2 million in 2015 (CrossFit, 2014). For many, the idea of watching people work out may seem ridiculous, but positive ratings and the popularity of the competition have led ESPN to extend its contract with CrossFit Inc. to have exclusive rights to televise the Games.

CrossFit is a relatively new player on the fitness scene, and it is too soon to tell whether this fitness regime will stand the test of time or whether it will run its course and die out like other fitness crazes. However, given its rampant growth over a relatively short period of time, it is worth exploring some of the reasons for its magnetism beyond the pursuit of fitness.

The cult(ure) of CrossFit

CrossFit describes itself as a ‘fitness regimen’ in the first instance, but also as ‘the community that spontaneously arises when people do these workouts together’ (CrossFit, n.d.-a). The physical space where CrossFitters train resembles a large shed-like container or warehouse, known as ‘the box’. Fitted with minimalist equipment, the box affords its occupants very little opportunity to be autonomous or anonymous. This is quite unlike traditional fitness gyms where the clientele are able to create virtual boundaries between themselves and others by listening to music, reading or watching television while working out on a piece of equipment. Of course, alongside circuit and weight training, many fitness gyms offer ‘group fitness’ classes, such as spinning, yoga, pilates, Zumba, step classes and so on, allowing gym-goers to choose between individual or collective modes of working out, or alternate between the two. Nonetheless, even within the context of group fitness it is still possible to claim one’s own space, such as a particular area in the class, or a yoga mat, or a specific bike in the spinning class. In other words, certain kinds of group fitness classes offer a ‘space where individuals come together to exercise alone in a group setting’ (Markula and Pringle, 2006: 76). The option of physically or mentally cutting oneself off is not available to CrossFitters. For them, group training requires active participation and interaction, which is integral to the creation of a CrossFit community. In Glassman’s (2011) words, ‘if [the coaches] get a sense that you’re a little bit keeping to yourself, they’re going to be in your face’.

Being part of a gym community is certainly not unique to CrossFit. Commenting on fitness culture in the United States, McKenzie (2013: 168) notes that ‘[d]uring the late 1970s and 1980s, the gym became a significant site of social exchange’. Borrowing the concept of ‘the third place’ from sociologist Ray Oldenburg, McKenzie suggests that the gym – much like the local pub or cafe – offers a place beyond ‘home’ and ‘work’, where people can interact regularly with others who share their interests and, in so doing, enhance their sense of belonging (McKenzie, 2013: 168). While regular fitness gyms have expanded their floor space to accommodate additional spaces of interaction, such as smoothie bars, spas and restaurants (McKenzie, 2013: 169), CrossFit boxes remain small and minimalist, and interaction is an essential aspect of the workout itself.

While the relatively low cost of setting up a box has arguably expedited the breakneck mushrooming of CrossFit boxes around the globe, economics alone cannot account for the rampant proliferation of the CrossFit phenomenon, and it certainly does not explain the grip that CrossFit has over its devotees. The CrossFit community is said to be ‘a key component of why it’s so effective’ (CrossFit, n.d.-a). Indeed, according to keen CrossFitter Allison Belger (2012: 24), ‘community and social connectedness [are] arguably as essential to CrossFit’s efficacy and popularity as are the fitness tenets and methodologies to which it adheres’. Belger goes so far as to admit that if she were faced with a tragedy she ‘would want to be surrounded by the warmth and camaraderie of [her] gym community’ (Belger, 2012: 10–11). Social and psychological explanations are beginning to gain more prominence in scholarly contributions. For example, research by Partridge et al. (2014) considers the relationship between gender, membership duration and the goal-orientation (either mastery or performance) of CrossFitters. CrossFit’s own literature emphasises concepts such as affect, enjoyment and ‘CrossFit transference’, which refers to the process that enables CrossFitters to channel their drive and motivation to get through a ‘workout of the day’ (WOD), into their lives outside the box (Cavellerano, 2012: 2).

As a source of support that has supposedly helped people to overcome adversity, it is unsurprising that CrossFit has been compared to a church. In his monograph, Inside the Box, Murphy (2012: 90) makes reference to CrossFit’s close-knit nature and the levels of trust that permeate the CrossFit community, and claims that ‘[t]he social structures typical at CrossFit gyms resemble in some ways those of another, more well-established institution in society’. His conclusion is that CrossFit is indeed a church, ‘if you subtract the religious dimension’ (Murphy, 2012: 91). Belger (2012: 116) also alludes to similarities between the allure of the church and CrossFit, but, like Ornella (2014, 2015), who is particularly interested in Christian CrossFitters and the relationship between physical suffering and religion within the CrossFit community, she argues that religiosity and participation in faith-based communities precede involvement in CrossFit. Combining physical training with ‘spiritual fitness’ programmes is not unique to CrossFit. This idea is central to the nineteenth-century notion of ‘muscular Christianity’ (Ladd and Mathisen, 1999; Putney, 2001), and many CrossFit affiliates have adopted a Christian orientation. For example, CrossFit Faith offers ‘faith WODs’ and has established Faith Rx’d, a non-profit organisation that carries out the affiliate’s ministry efforts (CrossFit Faith, n.d.). CrossFit Religion’s slogan reads: ‘In WOD we trust’, and the motto of CrossFit FMS (For My Savior) is ‘I CrossFit for my savior, because my savior was fit for the cross’.

Beyond religion, another aspect of identity that is apparent in CrossFit is language. Many of Belger’s respondents spoke about having a shared language that they have in common with other CrossFitters: ‘It’s a language that only we speak’, said Brad Ludden, a CrossFitting kayaker who runs recreational camps for young adult cancer patients (cited in Belger, 2012: 104). Indeed, every WOD has a name and is associated with a specific combination of exercises. Knowledge of the names and contents of the innumerable WODs certainly distinguishes CrossFitters from non-CrossFitters. However, speaking the same language extends beyond the literal interpretation, and has more to do with the nature of the shared experience that CrossFitters go through during their workouts. Here, Ludden’s words are instructive: ‘I believe that through challenge, we grow closer. Any time you challenge yourself in a group, you bond strongly with the others. … [W]e put a group of strangers through a legitimate challenge, and they immediately bond’ (cited in Belger, 2012: 104–105). The obvious parallel that springs to mind is the military, and it is unsurprising that so many army personnel are drawn to CrossFit. The promise of supreme physical fitness combined with the intense camaraderie that CrossFit generates is a powerful magnet for military men and women. Indeed, several boxes around the world identify as ‘military affiliates’ and there are numerous WODs named after fallen soliders.

Mutual connection and identification derived from shared (sometimes gruelling) experience, as well as being motivated by guilt and piety, are recurrent themes in CrossFit, religion and the military. As such, CrossFit represents what I call an exercise–military–religion (EMR) nexus. Considering the intersection of these phenomena in the CrossFit context, it is hardly surprising that CrossFit has been labelled a cult. Of course, in the world of physical fitness, the cult metaphor is nothing new. As noted sardonically in The Economist (2002):

Gym-going, after all, has all the basic lineaments of a religion. Its adherents are motivated by feelings of guilt, and the urge to atone for fleshly sins. Many visit their places of worship with a fanatical regularity. … Once there, believers are led by sacerdotal instructors, who either goad them into mass ecstasy during aerobics classes, or preside over the confessional tête-à-tête of personal training. Each devotee has his [sic] own rituals, though most rely on the principles of self-mortification and delayed gratification.

Many of these attributes permeate CrossFit. The chronicles of avid CrossFitters are replete with stories that reveal many of the cult-like characteristics identified by Lalich and Langone (2006: 327–328), such as devotion to the leader (coach), assumption of an exalted status, censure of dissent, gradual inability to relate to outsiders, willingness to do whatever it takes to achieve the goal (even if this entails vomiting, bleeding or urinating in public) ² and a desire to recruit more members (epitomised by what we might call ‘evanGYMism’, i.e. incessant talking about CrossFit). Indeed, in reference to the film ‘Fight Club’, many have joked that ‘the first rule about CrossFit is always talk about CrossFit’.

Many CrossFitters have appropriated the cult label and have recast it in a positive light. For example, Herz (2014: 232) makes reference to avid CrossFitters ‘already drinking the Kool-Aid’. ³ She dedicates a chapter of her monograph to what she calls ‘A Good Cult’ and recounts the story of a CrossFit Football coach whose trainees readily accept that CrossFit is a cult, based on: a) its frequent congregation in a common meeting space, namely the box; b) its promotion of a special diet; c) the tendency for its devotees to wear similar workout apparel; and d) its development of the language of WODs that is recognisable only to fellow CrossFitters (Herz, 2014: 236). Murphy’s personal CrossFit testimony (2012) includes a chapter entitled ‘Cultfit: The Community and Sociology of CrossFit’, in which he argues that ‘there is no conventional brainwashing in CrossFit, no selling of the flowers at the airport or worshipping of sociopathic gurus’ and, on this basis, that ‘CrossFit is not a cult by any standard definition’ (Murphy, 2012: 90). He nonetheless concedes that ‘[i]n online forums and social-networking threads, the phrase “drinking the Kool-Aid” surfaces regularly, albeit in a tongue-in-cheek fashion’ (Murphy, 2012: 91). It is easy to see why CrossFitters and non-CrossFitters alike would conjure up the cult metaphor in relation to CrossFit. However, a critical point is that – despite the levels of commitment shown by devotees and the personal transformation that subscribers may undergo – CrossFit allows voluntary entry and exit, and ‘[d]eceptive or coercive practices are not integral to the growth of these organizations or their ability to retain their members’ (Lalich and Tobias, 2006: 5). Instead, it can be argued that certain elements of cultish behaviour reverberate in arenas of physical training, because religious communities, like army barracks, elite training academies, therapeutics clinics and many other organisations, bear the hallmarks of what Susie Scott (2010, 2011) has termed ‘reinventive institutions’. In the discussion that follows, I will employ this concept in order to shed more light on the EMR nexus that is evident in CrossFit.

Reinventive institutions: in search of the ‘improved’ self

In an adaptation of Erving Goffman’s (1961) conceptualisation of the asylum as a ‘total institution’ (TI), Susie Scott (2010, 2011) put forward the idea of a ‘reinventive institution’ (RI), which she defines as

a material, discursive or symbolic structure through which voluntary members actively seek to cultivate a new social identity, role or status. This is interpreted positively as a process of reinvention, self-improvement or transformation. It is achieved through not only formal instruction in an institutional rhetoric, but also the mechanisms of performative regulation in the interaction context of an inmate culture. (Scott, 2010: 226)

Scott’s concept captures the process of ‘voluntary self-improvement’ (Scott, 2011: 30, emphasis added) that accompanied the shift in late modernity from coerced institutionalisation to self-help and introspection as a means of rehabilitation. Instead of being taken up in a facility – often against one’s will – in order to undergo a top-down, imposed identity transformation, individuals in the contemporary period of late modernity are autonomously ‘seeking out institutional membership as a vehicle for identity change’ (Scott, 2011: 234). Unlike the TI, which aims to ‘eliminate unwanted parts of the self’, the RI aims to ‘cultivate an entirely new one, positively designed and modelled as a lifestyle change’ (Scott, 2011: 235). The idea of voluntarism gives the impression that the choice of identities is unlimited and that RI devotees are able to exercise a high degree of agency in selecting and constructing their ideal identities. However, drawing on a wide range of examples of RIs, Scott (2011: 39) refutes postmodern undercurrents and suggests that within RIs, ‘far from embarking on an individualistic journey of self-discovery, adherents are provided with “McSelves” – generic new identities, not so very different from the standard hospital issue of the Goffmanesque asylum’.

In her definition, Scott mentions ‘performative regulation’, which refers to the type of power that operates in RIs. This power ‘is experienced as benign, enabling and beneficial to the goal of self-improvement’ (Scott, 2011: 242). To arrive at this conclusion, Scott (2011) draws on a range of theoretical strands, notably Foucault’s (1977) ‘disciplinary gaze’, which produces ‘docile bodies’. To account for actors’ meanings and motivations, Scott incorporates Rose’s (1990) idea that applying power to oneself is perceived to be in one’s own best interests, such that instead of ‘resenting their guardians, [people] seek them out as authoritative experts, whose penetrative gaze does not intrude but rather informs and elucidates’ (Scott, 2011: 49). Borrowing from Lukes (2005), Scott adds that ‘power is most effective when it secures the willing compliance of subjects to be governed, and … that insofar as individuals may perceive it to be in their own interests to comply with regimes, it may actually be so’ (Scott, 2011: 240, emphasis added). Finally, to understand why people voluntarily seek out these kinds of institutional arrangements and perceive them to be so beneficial, Scott (2011) employs Goffman’s notion of the interaction order, which suggests that social actors work collaboratively to create and maintain a ‘definition of the situation’ (Goffman, 1983). To counter the implicit assumption that interaction always proceeds in a harmonious manner, Scott (2011) also relies on Strauss’ (1978) idea of ‘negotiated order’ to suggest that conflict and tension between and within social actors in the RI is possible. Weaving these theoretical strands together, Scott (2011: 49) claims that the person entering the RI is ‘simultaneously controlled and controlling, docile and agentic, solipsistic and other-oriented’.

To comprehend what people might get out of the RI that they would not be able to achieve on their own, Scott suggests that performative regulation is enacted in the ‘interaction context of an inmate culture’ (2010: 226, 2011: 49, emphasis added). This interaction context is particularly important within CrossFit, as discussed below. Scott adds that within this context, ‘members gaze at each other and monitor relative progress towards a shared goal [and] [t]his mutual surveillance implies a network of connections between inmates, who exercise an equally penetrating, ubiquitous gaze’ (Scott, 2011: 49, emphasis in original).

Finally, performative regulation is dynamic and open to change, unlike most TIs; yet, curiously, instances of rebellion against the RI are rare. Unlike in the TI, devotees of most RIs are free to leave if they have had enough. Those who do stay maintain the ‘definition of the situation’ publicly and privately (Scott, 2011: 51), unlike TI inmates, who find and invent subversive ways of defying the institution (Goffman, 1961). The combination of self- and mutual surveillance suppresses any rebellious drives that the RI inmates may have. Unlike in the TI, where there is manifest coercion and latent agency, the RI is characterised by manifest agency – expressed as volition or desire to change or improve oneself – and latent coercion brought on by the execution of performative regulation, which keeps inmates in check (Scott, 2011: 50). In sum, willing RI entrants are subjected to power that ‘operates not only vertically, but also horizontally, diagonally, and circularly’ (Scott, 2011: 48). Power in RIs is profoundly democratic in that it operates over, by and through devotees (Scott, 2011: 50). The thoughts and actions of RI adherents are self-monitored, but they are also kept in check by their ‘gurus’ and by their peers. Performative regulation is thus very effective because enthusiasts buy into the idea that conforming to the RI’s norms is in their own interests and that the act of helping each other to stay on track is virtuous. In simple terms, this form of power is underscored by the sanctimonious view: I am better because I am helping you make yourself better.

RIs can be quite demanding, not only financially but also in terms of time, commitment, loyalty and emotion. Scott (2010) borrows Coser’s (1974) term, ‘greedy institutions’, to capture the high degree of devotion required by the RI. These institutions ‘claim the totality of their members’ social identities by pervading every role they play and every aspect of their lifestyle’ (Scott, 2010: 218). Foucault’s notion of ‘carceral society’ (1977), in which the disciplinary gaze extends beyond the physical institution, bolsters the idea of greediness and the inescapability of the reach of the institution’s powers.

In her monograph on RIs, Scott (2011) provides a comprehensive account of religious communities, military camps, secret societies, therapeutic clinics (including drug and alcohol rehabilitation facilities), pedagogic/performance hothouses and a range of virtual institutions that serve the purpose of reinvention. Drawing on this work, I examine CrossFit as a contemporary example of a reinventive institution, paying particular attention to the way in which performative regulation operates within and outside the box. The literature is replete with studies that examine Foucault’s (1977) notions of discipline, bio-power, panoptical surveillance and technologies of domination and of the self in relation to a wide range of sporting and exercise practices (cf. Barker-Ruchti and Tinning, 2010; Chapman, 1997; Duncan, 1994; Dworkin and Wachs, 1998; Heikkala, 1993; Johns and Johns, 2000; McMahon and Penney, 2013; Markula, 2003, 2004; Markula and Pringle, 2006; Millington, 2012). In demonstrating the pervasiveness of surveillance, some authors have explained how fitness participants are ‘exposed to the controlling gaze of [their] fellow exercisers as well as their own gaze reflected in the mirror’ (Markula and Pringle, 2006: 80). Sassatelli (2010: 115) echoes this point, and Millington (2012: 499) refers to the multiple directions of surveillance in the gaming world. Others have pointed to the extreme diets and precise nutrition plans associated with certain sporting codes as a means of both domination and self-transformation (Johns and Johns, 2000). Although most of these studies capture quite vividly the ideas of self-surveillance and the mutual disciplinary gaze, their analyses tend to centre on social actors who are acting ‘together alone’. Scott’s (2011) claim that the interaction context is a critical aspect of the RI in which mutual surveillance is carried out offers a useful analytical lens through which to view CrossFit.

CrossFit as a reinventive institution: ‘Fitter, Faster, Stronger, Better’

Concluding remarks and avenues for future research

In the world of fitness movements, CrossFit – which regards itself as the sport of fitness – has shown unprecedented growth. Executed in the minimalist space of ‘the box’, CrossFit positions itself as something of an antithesis to traditional fitness gyms and, indeed, many of its physical attributes are different. However, as this discussion has shown, there are many similarities between CrossFit and other fitness trends in terms of socio-cultural phenomena such as identity and community. I have argued in this paper that CrossFit resembles a reinventive institution; a term coined by Susie Scott (2010) as a juxtaposition to Goffman’s (1961) ‘total institution’. Its key feature is voluntary entry largely for the purpose of cultivating a better self, where inmates’ behaviour is controlled through performative regulation rather than coercion. Indeed, like many other forms of fitness training, CrossFit offers an opportunity for self-improvement and reinvention of the body and of one’s identity more generally. Choosing to enter ‘the box’ suggests a sense of autonomy and agency, but upon closer inspection it is apparent that involvement in CrossFit is regulated not only by oneself, but also by the coach and, importantly, by one’s peers. Much like the mirrors in traditional gyms, CrossFit’s whiteboards reflect one’s achievements in relation to those of other CrossFitters, thereby facilitating mutual surveillance. While the formation of a gym community is not unique to CrossFit, the operation of this community inside the box sets it apart from traditional group fitness regimes. Cheering for and being cheered on by others is an integral part of CrossFit. This interaction context further facilitates mutual surveillance. This aspect of CrossFit is perhaps repellent to some, but others are captivated by the sense of togetherness and belonging that the interaction context imparts. They are gripped by the conviction that by helping others along in their quest for improvement, they can better themselves. These motivations are not unlike those expressed by military personnel or members of spiritual communities, hence the suggestion that CrossFit, as an example of a reinventive institution, symbolises an exercise–military–religion nexus.

The EMR nexus is worthy of deeper, empirical research. Beyond this, there are numerous avenues for further research that are beginning to receive scholarly treatment in the social sciences. Branding, marketing and corporate sponsorship are related lines of enquiry that could contribute to the literature on fitness consumerism. Other areas that could potentially enhance scholarship on fitness and the quest for self-improvement include the relationship between CrossFit and drugs – both in the sense of performance-enhancing drugs and as a form of rehab for substance abusers. Finally, investigations into ‘CrossFit Kids’ and ‘CrossFit Mom’ – which are spinoff programmes tailored specifically for children and pregnant women – may tell us more about identity work and the commodification of everyday life.