Strong is Relative

CrossFit: Olympic lifts, agility, gymnastics, muscle endurance, balance, coordination, control, strength. All these things have given me an outlet for the frustration I've been experiencing lately in life. During my first year of vet school, it was torture to be inside the walls of that building. I felt like a failure and couldn't wait to run away, but no one knew that. This year, that building has become my escape (kinda). Everything it represents gives me hope for my future. Although I feel like the world is crashing down around me, and the floor keeps getting pulled out from under my feet daily (no, this isn't about a boy), that building reminds me that there's a rope tied around my waist pulling me to higher ground (which is, ironically, what Sierra means... A higher place...)


So, as I progress with CF, I have been analyzing my goals and motivations. Helen was my first taste of CF and I have no earthly clue why I ever came back after that WOD, but somehow I did. Here I am today; Squatting over 120 for 5 reps, no sweat, doing handstands and burpees in the Rec Center, and deadlifting more than my body weight after just a few months. This is my outlet; my escape; my thing. Why? Because I can. Because I couldn't before and now I can. Because I am worth more than a lump on the couch. Because I want to be able to look hot naked when I get married. Because I want to be a vet that doesn't get winded pulling horse shoes and chasing lazy ponies on a lunge line. Most importantly, I need something to attack. I may never be as strong as the top CF ladies (frankly, I don't even like knowing how far from their ability I am), but I will be stronger than yesterday and will be able to throw my children in the air as many times as they want, just to see them smile.


Stronger. That is beautiful in its own way. My close friends that really know what I've been through lately don't understand how I'm able to keep it all together. What they don't see is the tears of anger and frustration I shed in the truck when I'm alone. I do break, but I don't want people to think that I shatter. As a Christian, I feel like non-believers could see my life and say "wow, if that's the misery that comes with Christianity, I want no part of that". But I was reminded by a friend today that the poise and grace I've shown through all of this (his words, not mine), are the greatest testimony of all. Maybe he's right. He usually is...