Since becoming slightly obsessed with Crossfit, I've been initiated into a world with a new lexicon, dress code, menu, and the list goes on. When a Facebook post informed us we'd be doing "one of the girls" for our Workout of the Day (aka WOD), I knew to expect some kind of Crossfit benchmark workout that pops up every now and again to serve as a good measurement of improvement over time. Yesterday's WOD happened to be Helen. During the third 400m run, I was feeling it and tried remembering what I'd done the day before. Why were my legs feeling a little like lead?
And then I remembered the girls -- the ones that we work for every single day. The Helens and Graces and Frans out there being purchased and abused every minute. And then I got mad. And then I forgot about my lead-like legs. And then I asked God, "why?" And then I teared up. And then I prayed, "Lord, I don't want to hate and yet I hate what men do to these girls. And for me, one of the girls is 146. And I'll run and kettle bell swing and pull up for her today. And even though 146 will never know, I pray that in some way dedicating this WOD to her will make a difference." And maybe we make sense of the craziness surrounding us by imbuing everyday actions with some sense of greatness and eternal meaning. We recognize that the small internal steps of determination overflow from lives that are staid against injustice and devoted to redemption. When that determination overflows, it changes the world.
As a completely unrelated addendum to this blog, I have to add a bright note about a recent accomplishment. My office staff just watched a friend's band perform on New Haven Green. While our staff sat on bleachers set to the side, one old man in boldly colored pants and shirt danced directly in front of the stage. Matthew dared me to go dance with the man. Matthew doesn't know me. I went and danced. And the BEST part is that the man liked to dance like me, arms flailing, in his own little world.
And then I remembered the girls -- the ones that we work for every single day. The Helens and Graces and Frans out there being purchased and abused every minute. And then I got mad. And then I forgot about my lead-like legs. And then I asked God, "why?" And then I teared up. And then I prayed, "Lord, I don't want to hate and yet I hate what men do to these girls. And for me, one of the girls is 146. And I'll run and kettle bell swing and pull up for her today. And even though 146 will never know, I pray that in some way dedicating this WOD to her will make a difference." And maybe we make sense of the craziness surrounding us by imbuing everyday actions with some sense of greatness and eternal meaning. We recognize that the small internal steps of determination overflow from lives that are staid against injustice and devoted to redemption. When that determination overflows, it changes the world.
As a completely unrelated addendum to this blog, I have to add a bright note about a recent accomplishment. My office staff just watched a friend's band perform on New Haven Green. While our staff sat on bleachers set to the side, one old man in boldly colored pants and shirt danced directly in front of the stage. Matthew dared me to go dance with the man. Matthew doesn't know me. I went and danced. And the BEST part is that the man liked to dance like me, arms flailing, in his own little world.
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