The path diverges...

We all find ourselves in places like the picture where the path separates.  What do we do?  Which way will we go?  What is the better path?  How did we get to this spot in the first place?

This week, I start an amazing new journey, and separate somewhat from another.  I'll talk about the new journey more in a later post, but want to talk a little bit about what I'm leaving behind first:  "My" 6:30 a.m. CrossFit class at CrossFit Cedar Park.

Ugh.

Last summer, after seeing my results with CrossFit, a friend decided to give it a try, but there wasn't a class at the time he needed to attend, so he asked if I could fill the slot and coach the class.  Why not, right?  I mean, I know what I'm doing, right?

Well, maybe I didn't.  Let's back up a little...

Even though I have the title of "the first" CrossFitter at CrossFit Cedar Park, I wasn't always the most dedicated, and honestly, looking back at it, I wasn't even really very good at most of it.  I heard what David was saying, but I was strong and I didn't take things like stretching, executing the foundations, or the diet (!!!) very seriously. 

Eventually, I started getting whipped regularly by people like Fio and Carson. I got frustrated, cut some corners one day, suffered a little injury and had to take some time off and evaluate my commitment -- was I going to finally dig in and improve my functional ability and fitness, or would I be stubborn and wind up with bad knees from doing bad squats at a 3-sets-of-ten globo-gym?

Pride swallowed and hat in hand, I got some help from the other coaches at CFCP and went on a bit of a tear.  I adopted a rough paleo-zone diet, added some independent programming to the WODs I was doing in class and got on the right path.  Within a couple of months, I lost over 40 lbs. and my fitness was pretty solid -- especially for a guy approaching 40 years old.  I wound up putting my money where my mouth was and getting my Level-1 Coaching Cert. without any real expectation that I would actually coach.

Thankfully, the powers that be had enough faith to give me a shot.  And, the past 9 or 10 months have been unbelievably rewarding...

I've been witness to people taking charge of their health -- and taking as much work as I could throw at them through differentiated and/or scaffolded programming.  From the smile on someone's face after losing 50 lbs. over the past seven months, to someone else's smile for shaving a minute off of a 4:30 Fran (today), and someone else getting their first handstand (also today), these people are achieving their own goals and living a better life because of their commitment to themselves..... Overall, they are more functional, more fit, more flexible, stronger, leaner and they continue to push and pull each other past the ever-extending finish line again and again.  And, on top of that, their foundations are solid, so they have a platform to continue to advance.

So, thanks to those of you in my classes for digging in, remaining so positive, and letting me be a part of this journey with you -- I'm really happy for your successes, and grateful for what you've taught me about myself in the process. 

For those in my 5:15, sorry, but you can't get rid of me -- I'm going to continue coaching that class.  And, for those at 6:30 a.m., pack your lunch and hold on tight -- after seeing his Saturday morning programming, you're in for a great ride with Carson!

3-2-1...

To the moon, Alice!

Today marks the end of thirty years of space shuttle missions.  I remember the excitement of that first launch, the Challenger and Columbia tragedies, the excitement of Dr. Sally Ride being the first American woman in space, and the general sense of pride, amazement and wonder at the men and women who commit their lives to Space...the final frontier (sorry, Captain Kirk, had to do it).

It's impressive, you know, all of this "spaceman" and "going to the moon" stuff. And, it's challenging. Kind of like many things in our lives, achieving what we've only imagined sometimes requires us to accept a seemingly impossible (or just plain CRAZY) goal, challenge our comfort zone, and rely on individual and collective commitment. Here's a clip of President Kennedy giving a speech at Rice University describing the challenge our space program faced when he was President...Have a look:

We choose to go to moon in this decade not because it will be easy, but because it will be hard; because that goal will serve to organize the best of our energies and skills; because that challenge is one we are willing to accept, one we are unwilling to postpone, and one we intend to win.

Thirty-five years after we started flying airplanes across the Atlantic Ocean, our President told our country we were going to invent new super-strong metal and go to the moon.

And, we did.

Wow.

I'm always impressed with loose collectivism -- people who share a common dream towards the success of a mission, or idea, and then see it through. Our space program has operated in that manner for most of the last century, and I'm sad a big part of it (at least where my life experience is concerned) is coming to an end.

Anyway, enough with the sadness, it is time to for me to: be bold; accept the challenges ahead of me with the excitement and confidence of a kid running into the waves at the beach; keep loving the ones I care about with everything I have; keep challenging my mind, working on my fitness and...

...figure out how I'm going to get my happy a** to the moon one day.


:)


Take us home, Blue Eyes...



3-2-1, GO

"The 4th": Freedom, Family and Fireworks

Joe G.

Every morning, my step-grandfather shows up at my Dad's house with a delivery of something "fresh" for my Dad and step-mother. In his 80s, his health is waning, and that shrapnel he's carried in his back for over sixty years after being on the first boat in the first wave at Iwo Jima during World War II gives him fits, but it doesn't deter him from getting up with the sun and hunting out good vegetables or homemade tamales.

Nobody really talks to him about how it happened, but I know one person who has, and he's told the story to me.

Basically,  Iwo Jima is a very small island shaped a little like Brazil, with a big mountain/volcano at the "small" end of the island. The Japanese held the strategic little island, and the United States wanted it.

The Japanese had tunnelled throughout the island, and the thinking was that if we could cut off the "ant-hill" at the small end of the island from their counterparts on the other end of the island, we could divide and conquer.

The orders to my step-grandfather and the others in his unit were to hit the beach and scramble to the other side of the island -- if they were successful, they would essentially create multiple points of attack. To be honest, it was suicide -- "just go" didn't offer a whole lot of opportunity for shelter or survival. Those boys knew the Japanese would be taking shots at them as they hustled to find cover anywhere they could. Joe took some shrapnel that made it impossible to run, but he continued fighting, and kept pushing - ultimately dragging himself by his elbows to the other side of the island and helping secure the United States' position on the island, and ultimate victory in that war.

Terry

My Mom's Dad grew up a California beach kid who loved surfing. In fact, over twenty years before The Beach Boys made surfing "cool," Terry was the president of the Santa Monica Surfer's Club -- a group of boys who made their own surfboards and skipped school every Thursday morning to catch some waves before the local truant officer showed up and escorted them to class.

After the war, Terry married my "Nana", an Irish-Catholic girl from Maine (a real corker) and somehow, they wound up in Texas where their love for the water turned from surfing and lobster to walking the beaches together down near Bolivar at sunrise and looking for sea shells.

I remember listening to him hum big band and Frank Sinatra songs while I was in the front seat of his brown Cadillac on our way from Houston down to their beach house in Bolivar. The windows were cracked a little to let the smoke from his cigarettes escape, and the air would get increasingly humid as we drove along the beach highway and he'd try to convince me that he saw a pink elephant on his last trip down to the beach.

"Pop" never spoke of the war, but we knew he was in it. He'd say just about anything to get out of the conversation. I remember as a child I'd ask if he was at Pear Harbor and he'd say yes, then I'd ask if he fought the Germans and he'd say yes. It turns out the latter was accurate.

Just before he died, he gave my Mom a letter of thanks personally addressed to him from the country of France, and medal from our government commending him for his service at Normandy that he had never shown anyone. We don't know any details of what he did there (he handed those things to my Mom as he said he wouldn't talk about it), but whatever it was made such an impact that he'd never speak of it, and it was important enough to receive a medal and letter of thanks from a foreign country. The United States also gave him a flag for his service, which I now have, and will always treasure.


Pepaw Joe (yes, another Joe)

I didn't get a chance to know my other grandfather, Joe. He was killed before I was born, so I don't know much of his story or experiences during World War II. I do know, however, he was a gunner on a plane much like the one in the movie the "Memphis Belle," and he married one of the most spirited women anyone will ever know.

Bonnie, a fiery, tall and slender, dark haired young woman of German descent from Memphis was seventeen or eighteen years old when her brother was getting married in Dallas. Bonnie travelled with the rest of the family from Memphis to Dallas for the wedding, and after the long trip, she laid down and fell asleep on the couch at the home of her soon to be sister-in-law's (Ruthie's) family, facing away from the room and towards the cushions.

After Bonnie had been asleep for a while, Ruthie's brother Joe, on leave from the war, showed up at the house in uniform, walked into the living room and spied Bonnie asleep on the couch. Joe saw the young woman (who, from the back, was about the same age, hair color and body type as his sister) and just assumed it was Ruthie -- he hadn't even heard of Bonnie at that point -- so Joe did what any brother who wanted to surprise their little sister would do, he walked over and gave her a huge smack on her rear-end.

Bonnie was startled. Who was this soldier? How could he? How DARE he?!?

That was Sunday. By that Thursday (only four days later) Joe and Bonnie were holding hands, gazing into each other's eyes and saying "I do" while standing at the altar for a (completely unexpected) double-wedding featuring the brother and sister of one family marrying the brother and sister from a different family...

My grandmother, Bonnie, is still alive and tells us stories about Joe now and then, and even though she remarried to a wonderful man over thirty years ago (whom we all very much love as our grandfather), we are all sure Joe still has a pretty safe place in that heart of hers. And, Joe must really deserve that spot, because my Dad, Aunt and Uncle all turned out to be great parents, and wonderful examples for their kids and other people in their community.

Heroes

Every year, we lose more and more people like Joe G., Pepaw Joe, and Pop -- part of the Greatest Generation. Most of those men were just boys when they were called into the service of our growing country. Their efforts helped secure America's place as the most incredible country in history.

During our national holidays, it can be beneficial to revisit the way President Lincoln closed his Gettysburg Address in November 1863 and draw the parallel for what our grandparents did in World War II, what our military had fought for before that generation, and what we, as Americans, must continue to do today:

The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us, the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us -- that from these honored dead, we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion -- that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain - that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom - and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from this earth.

Happy 4th of July

I realize this is a little early for the 4th of July, but I am involved in a fundraiser right now called The Hero Course that benefits the Military Warriors Support Foundation which helps servicemen and women injured in combat transition back to civilian life, and these ideas have been at the front of my mind for the past few weeks. I feel it is important, and as my Mom reminded me, it is never inopportune to give thanks and celebrate our freedoms.

It is dry, and really hot this year. There will be no fireworks for sale in Central Texas this 4th of July. With that in mind, I encourage you to spend whatever you might have spent on fireworks on those who insure the freedoms we will all be celebrating. My fundraiser ends next week, so if you'd like to sponsor me in our effort to raise awareness and funds for Military Warriors Support Foundation, click here. If you have a relationship with a different organization, thank you for supporting them.

Thank you Joe G., Pepaw, Pop, and all the other men and women out there like you who put their lives on the line so that we might enjoy the freedom we have.

Y'all have a great 4th of July.