I came home with a small rip on my wrist from doing muscle-ups. My son thinks any kind of bump, scrape or bruise deserves thorough acknowledgement (as he would of course want for his own injuries). After inspection he remarked, “maybe you should stop doing CrossFit.” His comment made me think about my mother. My mother spent over thirty years working the night shift as a sorter machine operator at a bank. That means she stood on her feet all night, and with her hands she ran the machine and moved paper checks into various pockets of the machine. All night long. For thirty years. As a kid I remember her almost constantly, for years on end, having cuts and split skin on her hands and fingers. (That’s where I learned to use Bag Balm on my hands, which is a great trick, by the way). Meanwhile during the day she ALWAYS had a second job, yet somehow she managed to support all of my sister’s and my athletic pursuits. In 15 years she missed only one of my gymnastics meets. One. And that was because she was singing in my aunt’s wedding. She is what drove me to obtain a college degree and a Master’s degree, even though she had the advantage of neither.
I don’t mind for one second spending hours upon hours in the gym. I don’t mind physical discomforts. I spent my entire childhood watching a woman bust her ass to survive while her passions, other than raising her children, fell to the wayside. She was happy being a mother, but the world lost a wonderful artist and musician. So no buddy, mommy’s not ever going to quit.
“Yes, Mother. I can see you are flawed. You have not hidden it. That is your greatest gift to me.” – Alice Walker