The man in the Porsche adds an unsolicited prediction when asked to confirm that this unmarked corrugated garage is CrossFit’s county headquarters.

“Yep,” he says. “They’re going to kick your ass.”

As it turns out, he’s only partly right: A lot more happens than an ass-kicking. Gymnast rings reveal secret ballasts of balance I never knew. Deadlifts expand my self-belief. Lunges reduce my quads to quinoa, in-depth discussions fortify my fitness insight and the CrossFit peeps trigger my freak-meter.

Each of my four introductory hour-long classes begins with a warm-up: three sets of three pull-ups; 10 pushups, 15 seconds hanging, knees up, from the pull-up bar; and 15 squats. York High and Georgetown alum Russ Greene watches carefully. His youth belies his experience; he’s been fully immersed in CrossFit for seven years, evolving a sixth sense for scaling intensity and weight according to the putty in front of him. (He says he likes the disbelieving and out-of-shape best, since they show the most dramatic improvement; he even talked his mom into training with him, which might recommend him the most.) He’s gauging his training for the CrossFit Games (see story, this page) and maybe the Marine Corps Officer Program; a grid of top workouts on the wall reports that he can do 52 consecutive pull-ups and deadlift 455.

He schools me in core skills next. One day it’s back squats, later it’s “push-press” and ring dips. These (and more) form the fundamentals upon which WODs, sports, and everyday life are built: lifts, pushes, leaps. Little administered precisions – a tightened lumbar, a gathered breath, clenched quadriceps – make big differences in feasibility and fluidity. Perfect squats prove elusive – keeping the butt out, taking it low, all with a straight back feels like remembering all the components of a good golf stroke at once – but the equilibrium and posture proverbs are instantly applicable.

Then the obscenity: WODs to make Billy Blanks black out, sequences that beg the thought, “There’s no way in hallelujah that’s happening,” challenges that would be obnoxious at 10am, let alone at dawn after just an apple. Pump 10 push presses and 10 pull-ups, then nine of each, then eight, then – arms taffy, motivation mush – seven, six, five and on down to one, as fast as possible, without sacrificing form. Or sets of leaping squats (or was it clean-and-jerks?) stacked with lunges until muscles twitch and walking down the stairs won’t know normal for a week.

A mini lecture closes each session, contextualizing the seemingly random movements in the functionality CrossFit exalts. As we discuss how to define fitness and health in practical terms and parse optimal amounts of protein, the conversation dips into the health care crisis (“Society’s illnesses are lifestyle-driven problems; our system doesn’t treat those”), the Great Recession (“CrossFits keep opening because they aren’t the traditional capital-and-loan-heavy business model”) and high school sports (“We miss the chance to build great athletes every day”).

These deliberations help demonstrate that characterizations of this subculture as “psycho” are oversimplified. “Intense” is fair, as is “obsessed” – many of its members know all of their workout times and precise carbohydrate intake, most can’t stop talking about CrossFit, and all have a more-than-minor masochistic streak – but there is depth delivered with that discipline. Irrefutable results and a willingness to push to the brink of breaking are prerequisites for any endeavor. It’s these methods that make their madness the fiercest force in fitness today.