Honor

Last night, I had my best kettlebell class to date.

I think my grandfather's passing at around 4 in the afternoon inspired me to do it. I visited him in the hospital on Monday and saw how illness and old age had shrunk him. Stewing with emotions all of yesterday - the year or so of preparing for this day couldn't hold back the flood - I finally let go during class.

For the first time, I led the class in weight. Using the 74 lb. bell and channeling all the sorrow into each swing... It's silly. I don't think grandfather ever lifted weights in his life. He just had a long life filled with manual labor. But I didn't know how else to honor him last night but to give his memory my very best effort.

I went through the stretching routine. Hips, knees, ankles, loosening. I felt the weight crawl from my heart to my throat. You don't honor iron with tears.

There are only a few times where I felt like I've given something what I can comfortably call "my all."  The Syracuse Half-Ironman, the NYC Marathon, and last night's class. Two of those events are fairly prestigious and one will probably never even merit more than a half-remembered blip in a locker room, but I gave it my all.

74 lbs. 1 hour. Continuous exertion. I was determined to go full throttle to the finish. No saving anything for tomorrow. Tomorrow's not promised to anyone. My eyes will not dim their light.

People who come to me asking to see their 6-pack, get big or "just look good, not like a bodybuilder, but trim y'know?" could never understand what I do. Iron is language. Iron is heart. I run, bike and swim, but I was reborn through the iron and to the iron I will always return. I say that I'll do triathlons for my whole life, and I will, but once I finish on Kona's holy hill, my career for all intents and purposes is over.  A sprint here, an Olympic there and when the itch gets me, a full Iron just to remember the pain. But after I conquer Kona, I'd like to go back to the iron, my dear friend, my lover, my teacher - the language I speak, the curtain to the Sanctum Sanctorum.

Focused. My intention honed, sharpened, tight and taut. No animal soul, but a human mind directing the flow of these ruddy rivers.

People have been asking me what they could do to help. Live your life. "And he has shown you O man, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God." (Micah 6:8) I don't want food. I don't want someone to talk to. Not right now at least. I want to watch your life flourish, roots deepening, shoots lengthening. I want to see you grow, mature, ripen and when the time is ready, for you to pass on the baton yourself, lighting the way to tomorrow with your own life. Want to help me move on? Act justly. Love mercy. Walk humbly with the God who made us. I don't ask people to do things for me. Do something for yourself. Grow. Go out there and discover the width and breadth of this world and find the God who fashioned it all for your joy. Be elated, be broken, wail and laugh, dance and despair at life's enormity. Live.

The iron spun slowly through the air, unfettered manatee ballet. I watched it fly, float dangerously. I was foolish for letting my hands off the bell for so long, and for daring to leave them off longer and longer with each rep. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Even now a three. The speed of the downswing threatened to tear my arm out of its socket, its force pulling me off my toes. Body braced as a unit, I held the line. We held on.

I think about my grandfather. I never knew him well. He lived with me for about a quarter-of-a-century, all but two years of my life, and I do not, can not, recall a single conversation I had with him. But I'm deeply grateful because my mother divests tomes about the love that they shared between each other. That love forged my mother into the woman of dignity and strength that she is today. That woman forged the man I am today. I could not be who I am if he was not as he was. Thank you, grandfather, for the impact you've had on my life. I will continue to honor your memory by pushing forward in my life. Neither China's Communist Revolution nor the challenge of sending down roots in a foreign country late in your life could break you. Neither will life's challenges hold me back. Here's to you.