Life has its seasons, its good days and bad. We all have much to be thankful for, but sometimes you just go through a "nobody likes me, everybody hates me, I think I'll eat some worms" kind of season. (What? Am I the only one that learned that song at 4-H Camp?) I'm in that season.
And I've been having those days. You know the type; those mornings when you're driving in to work, and the closer you get the more anxious you become. Your stomach is in knots and your throat is tight with tears that threaten to spill over. And sometimes they do. I was there today, and all I can say is praise Jesus for some waterproof mascara.
It's been a tough couple of weeks and I needed a victory..something...ANYTHING! So, I trudged through the day and dragged myself to CrossFit. I know, a glass of wine and a Netflix marathon would seem the more logical choice in this situation, but for whatever reason I willed myself to just go. Now it must be said that this whole CrossFit thing is very new for me, I played the French Horn for seven years and was President of the Science Club in high school for crying out loud...Crossfit!? It's the toughest workout I've ever experienced, and most days I can't do anything to it's prescribed level, but I've stuck with it none the less.
And then today happened. I walked in and my worst nightmare unfolded before my eyes. Behold, five thick ropes were hanging from the rafters, each coiled at the bottom atop a blue gymnastics mat. Then the flashbacks started happening. Elementary school Phys Ed. I don't know which was worse, rope climbing day or wiffle ball day. I sucked at both so it's a toss up, really. Maybe I could sneak out and nobody will notice...too late.
We spent a few minutes warming up and then the gym's owner (I just can't call it a "box" yet...I'll get there...baby steps) let us know that it was time to take turns climbing. Yep, this is the stuff nightmares are made of. Me. In front of about 15 of my peers. Failing. I held back for a while, watching as athlete after athlete shimmied up to the rafters with seemingly ease. Please Lord, get me out of this!
I chalked up my hands, mostly because I think it makes me look cool, but deep down, I knew that no amount of chalk was going to help me get up that thing. I stepped up to my rope, and after a few deep breaths, I grabbed it and hurled myself up, wrapping my legs around quickly. To my instant surprise, I didn't fall flat to the mat. Good deal. This is good. But wait, I still have to move, right? With all of my grit, I willed my feet to cling to the rope and used my legs to push me up. Holy crap...it worked! I'm higher! I braced myself again, tightened my feet around the rope and pushed. I moved again. I was doing it! Little by little, push by push, I pulled myself to the very tippy top, reached up my hand, and TOUCHED THAT RAFTER!
And then came the tears. And I didn't care. It wasn't the victory that I was expecting, but it was the victory that I needed. Amen.
And I've been having those days. You know the type; those mornings when you're driving in to work, and the closer you get the more anxious you become. Your stomach is in knots and your throat is tight with tears that threaten to spill over. And sometimes they do. I was there today, and all I can say is praise Jesus for some waterproof mascara.
It's been a tough couple of weeks and I needed a victory..something...ANYTHING! So, I trudged through the day and dragged myself to CrossFit. I know, a glass of wine and a Netflix marathon would seem the more logical choice in this situation, but for whatever reason I willed myself to just go. Now it must be said that this whole CrossFit thing is very new for me, I played the French Horn for seven years and was President of the Science Club in high school for crying out loud...Crossfit!? It's the toughest workout I've ever experienced, and most days I can't do anything to it's prescribed level, but I've stuck with it none the less.
And then today happened. I walked in and my worst nightmare unfolded before my eyes. Behold, five thick ropes were hanging from the rafters, each coiled at the bottom atop a blue gymnastics mat. Then the flashbacks started happening. Elementary school Phys Ed. I don't know which was worse, rope climbing day or wiffle ball day. I sucked at both so it's a toss up, really. Maybe I could sneak out and nobody will notice...too late.
We spent a few minutes warming up and then the gym's owner (I just can't call it a "box" yet...I'll get there...baby steps) let us know that it was time to take turns climbing. Yep, this is the stuff nightmares are made of. Me. In front of about 15 of my peers. Failing. I held back for a while, watching as athlete after athlete shimmied up to the rafters with seemingly ease. Please Lord, get me out of this!
I chalked up my hands, mostly because I think it makes me look cool, but deep down, I knew that no amount of chalk was going to help me get up that thing. I stepped up to my rope, and after a few deep breaths, I grabbed it and hurled myself up, wrapping my legs around quickly. To my instant surprise, I didn't fall flat to the mat. Good deal. This is good. But wait, I still have to move, right? With all of my grit, I willed my feet to cling to the rope and used my legs to push me up. Holy crap...it worked! I'm higher! I braced myself again, tightened my feet around the rope and pushed. I moved again. I was doing it! Little by little, push by push, I pulled myself to the very tippy top, reached up my hand, and TOUCHED THAT RAFTER!
And then came the tears. And I didn't care. It wasn't the victory that I was expecting, but it was the victory that I needed. Amen.
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