Living With Paleo Man

The brain has only so much storage space and no more. Thus, when you introduce new information into one that is already full of facts about history and literature and math and science and football and the arts, something's gotta go.

I have witnessed this phenomenon up close in my husband, who joined an exercise cult called CrossFit a year ago. Since then, normal discourse with him has become impossible; now it's all about how many reps he did in how much time. He has replaced much of his formerly extensive vocabulary with the following words: Burpees, lunges, thrusters, deadlifts, pull-ups, box jumps, tire flips, knees-to-elbows, toes-to-bar, push-ups, heavy squats and air squats. These words now pepper his conversations with all who will listen. He mutters to himself about Angie, Fran and Cindy, who turn out not to be hot women I should worry about but the names of challenging exercise routines.

He looks for excuses to move heavy things. He is very proud about the fact that he can now jump onto kitchen counters and climb ropes, things he might need to do in the jungle, he explains. Often he forgets his own strength; for example, when he hugs me, I flash on the last scene of "King Kong." He has yet to run up the side of the Empire State Building, but if they posted that on the CrossFit website as the next workout, he'd do it, or die trying.

Just last week, dressed in full business attire, Mitch reported that he ran four blocks through downtown Atlanta to a business meeting he was late for and was not winded at all! Which just goes to show you that the ability to bench press your own body weight has little impact on your punctuality.