Chumbawamba

My shoulders just wouldn't open, I am a mobility nightmare. The heels of my feet refused to stay on the ground... I am convinced I had magnets surgically inserted into my toes at birth. My mind is right, but my body refuses to comprehend and cooperate with me. It seems as though this problem is not being resolved, no matter how much I work on it. Failed attempts, over and over, and over again.

Then I recall just a few days ago watching my coach hit a 235# snatch with ease, as if the movement is innate to him. DAFUQ?! I understand he's been training for longer than I have and is a great athlete, but why the FUCK can't I mimic his technique with not even half of that goddamn weight?!

Maybe there is a God and he's finally decided to punish me for all the times I took his name in vain. Has karma finally decided to come into my life and bite me in the ass? Is this why it burns when I pee? Oops, there I go again... alright, back on the topic of me being terrible.

WHY AM I SUCH A LITTLE BITCH, KENDRICK?!

The snatch is an extremely intricate and technically challenging movement. Unlike other lifts, it has the unique ability to humble an ego and make grown men feel like little bitches. It is one of my many GOATS, a movement I try my best to avoid because I'm outright terrible at it.

So naturally, the first workout for the 2013 Granite Games is a goddamn snatch ladder. Christ on a corn dog, who do I have to sleep with to get a fucking break for once?

Although our first workout may not go as planned and although we may be behind the 8-ball going into the second day of competition, I'm looking forward to it. Does that make me a masochist? Well no, not technically. You see, masochism is the sexual gratification from experiencing emotional or physical pain and I don't plan on competing with a boner, but hey, no guarantees.

Back to me looking forward to hating my life but welcoming it with open arms... masochist, hardly, but that probably makes me a little crazy... which, in my humble opinion, is the secret ingredient required to achieve success at the highest level at anything in life.

So often we want things to change from what they are to our perfect dream scenario without us putting in any real work. We want that 6 pack abs and perfect ass, but we don't want to follow a strict diet or get to the gym every day. We want the dream job and CEO title without having to flip burgers for a few years or take multiple unpaid internships. We want all the accolades but without putting in any time or effort, without going through any hardships or being forced to sacrifice what we do have.

So we settle; we make excuses so we don't feel bad about giving up. "Who cares about looking good, it's what inside that matters most"... "The CEO has a son working for the company, he'll get the position over me automatically anyways"... "Who cares about practicing my snatch, I'll just make up for it in the other workouts!"... that's it, lets reason with our shortcomings!

50 Shades of Christmas? YES PLEASE.

But then we're reminded of Gladwell's "10,000 hour rule", which states that success in any endeavor, to a large extent, does not come until we've devoted at least 10,000 hours of practice to it. And although practice doesn't always make "perfect", it can certainly make us very, very good. However, the one thing they fail to mention is that you have to be bat shit fucking insane to practice anything for 10,000 total hours.

And there I find myself, practice after practice doing the things I hate... the things I suck at. Which isn't necessarily crazy, except when it's on a voluntary basis. Why practice snatching when my hands are torn to pieces, my hip bones hurt from constant contact with the barbell and my shoulders are as sore as a Penn State... never mind, you get the picture. THIS ISN'T GETTING ANY MORE FUN. But I'm getting better... slowly.

Time always seems to fly by when you're having fun and always seems to move slower than an elderly couple having sex in a pool of molasses when you're not. And when I sit back and think about it, I'm already light years ahead of when I first started trying to master the technique... that was MAYBE a total of 10 hours ago, but probably not even half that. So if I've already vastly improved my technique in such a short amount of time, why get too discouraged? And, on top of that, why think it's going to be amazing anytime soon? 

YouTube the song "Sex Syrup"... YOU'RE WELCOME.

That doesn't mean I'm against all of a sudden having a moment of clarity and finally having something click to the point that my technique improves drastically after getting that "cue", but if it doesn't happen, it doesn't happen. But that's the beauty of it all, you're probably gonna have to fuck up thousands of times before shit starts to click. Just like the baby that touches the hot stove, it's gonna take a lot of tears before your brain registers that you need to stop doing that so you stop getting boo-boos. And once it clicks, all of those misfortunes more often than not seem completely worth it in the end.

So if you have yet to land that dream job, keep searching for it. Keep sending in applications and working two jobs to get by, there's no such thing as being too resilient. If you're sad your body doesn't look like the models in the magazines, first and foremost read a fucking book on nutrition and realize your body doesn't just lose a high percentage of body fat over night, then open your eyes and realize most of those images are actually airbrushed and photoshopped, THEN start getting to the gym and eating right. And if your snatch happens to suck like mine, put on your wrist wraps, lace up your shoes and get back under the barbell.

My Favorite Flower

Some of my most vivid memories are from when I was younger. I can't tell you why I remember them so well, in fact besides providing some laughs most of them hold zero significance to me. I remember a girl giving me one of her strawberry fruit snacks when I was in second grade during lunch. I, not knowing I was allergic to strawberries, immediately began vomiting as my throat began to swell shut. I was fine after about twenty minutes or so in the principal's office but to this day she still reminds me when I see her how traumatic of an experience it was for her.

I remember swim lessons at our family's first apartment complex when we moved to Illinois from Georgia. I was hellbent on being the best in sports and wasn't about to let the other little tykes show me up when it came to diving to the bottom of the deep end. Having suffered from childhood asthma, I quickly realized I had grossly underestimated the distance I could safely dive while holding my breath and completely blacked out underwater. As I came to outside the pool, my 8 year old self had just gotten mouth to mouth from the gorgeous red haired lifeguard who saved the day. Not the ideal situation to get your first kiss, but hey, don't rain on my parade. But one of my earliest memories that sticks out the most was the day I decided to completely shut down emotionally to others.

Time has been good to you, Wendy Peffercorn

My folks hit a rough spot in their marriage... although I have no problem sharing the story with close friends I will not go into further detail on the internet out of respect for both of them. But, like most children, I started to become extremely quiet and secluded as I had to face the harsh reality that life wasn't always rainbows and sunshine. It's funny how parents can do an extremely good job of not letting children know exactly how bad things in life can be. They don't always understand yelling, or what mommy/daddy losing their job means, or why one of them won't be living with you anymore.

I remember laying down on a long brown chair, a poster of Ella Fitzgerald hanging directly across from me. My short body barely took up room as I reclined, perhaps a sign I was too young to be in such a place. "We don't have to talk if you don't want to, it's all up to you" the counselor said as he sat behind his desk. Silence ensued. Just minutes ago I was sitting outside in the lobby as my sister exited the door, tears streaming down her face. I remember feeling as though I had failed her as a brother, like I should have gone in first so she could see me leave before she went in emotionally unscathed. Every session went like this. I knew my parents were looking out for me, hoping maybe a professional could tap into those emotional areas inside my heart that I had chosen to shut down. But every single session was silence, not a word left my lips. To this day I can't remember what the counselor looked like. I'd walk in with my head down and proceed to stare off into space until my time was up. Nine times out of ten he'd have to tap me on the shoulder to let me know it was time to go, I was too busy going off into my happy place to hear him say I could leave.

And although my parents resolved their differences, my heart had officially decided to lock itself behind close doors. Years have passed and I still find myself quiet around my parents, talking to them as though I'm still a scared child. Perhaps unavoidable pain I've inflicted on myself, perhaps a pain I decided was necessary in order to feel "normal".

Then a funny thing happened today... I found out someone died. Let me explain. As I was driving I got caught in traffic and was forced to travel at a snail's pace for about a mile. With the cool, fall breeze in the air I decided to drive with my windows down and the radio up. Something caught my eye and as I glanced out the passenger side window I noticed a funeral procession. Although my music wasn't blaring, I decided to turn it down out of respect for those mourning, and it turns out they were close enough to hear as the priest made his closing remarks. Afterwards, a pair of women, maybe a mother and daughter made their way over to the grave. Although I was in traffic and although her voice was soft, I made out "I just wish I could have..." followed by a loud honk, the fellow in the car behind me was in no mood to wait any longer.

If you lack a mountain or nearby Buddhist temple, your car may be your best solution for enlightenment

She wish she could have what? It bothered me the rest of the trip. The rest of the 20 minute drive was made in complete silence, my brain so flustered I hadn't even realized I never turned the radio back up. Did she want to tell him she loved him, she was sorry, given him one last kiss goodbye? WHAT THE FUCK WAS SHE WISHING FOR? Then it struck me... someone was wishing for something they knew they couldn't have while I had things I wasn't appreciating. 

I remember running through a field of daises with my sister one evening, the air cool though I'm not sure where we were at. We would pick them up in piles and blow their seeds away, watching as the breeze floated them into the sky. The reason I liked running through that particular field was because, no matter how many daises we picked, there would be hundreds of thousands in the same place the next time we went.

I've decided I'm going to try and enjoy the daises from now on. You don't always pick your moments, or your parents, where you were raised or who you fall in love with. And just like a daisy, those moments are going to go away before you know it. But so often we complain about the good times not lasting, forgetting that all moments don't last forever... to include the bad ones.

I have people who love and care for me and it's about time I start giving the same affection back. Because for all I know, I could lose everyone I care for tomorrow. For all I know, they could lose me tomorrow. I don't want people wishing things could have been different when there's time to make them different now. People change, I sure as hell know I'm not the same individual I was ten years ago, or five, or one. Keeping an open heart to those who have hurt or disappointed you in the past is no easy feat, in fact, it's down right scary. But, like Oscar Wilde said, "Every saint has a past and every sinner has a future". I won't let my past dictate my future, nor will I no longer let my judgement of others. I won't be that secluded kid anymore. It took some time, but I think I finally found that key that went missing years ago.

The head of a dandelion is called a "clock"... don't be afraid of change, your time is running out.

Never Forget

Today is the anniversary of the September 11th attacks, a day in which innocent US citizens were murdered at the World Trade Center, the Pentagon and aboard the downed plane in Pennsylvania.

I remember walking to school after church that morning when I first heard the news. We sat in our first period class as our teacher listened in along with us, trying to understand through the chaos if this news was confirmed while praying it was just a hoax. Unfortunately, I must admit that I didn't even know what the Twin Towers were used for, but the sight of them crumbling and Americans running for their lives sent a chill down my spine like I had never experienced. I remember deciding that day in 7th grade that I wanted to serve my country someday, somehow, some way and do whatever I could do help honor those who had fallen that morning, to help stop the bully.

There have been many instances in our history when Americans have been knocked down to the ground, where it would have been perfectly understandable to throw in the towel. However, quitting just isn't in our blood. We rally, we unite, and we come back swinging.

In honor of those innocent men and women who lost their lives and of the men and women who have lost their lives protecting us against further terrorism, let us truly remember these individuals. Let us strive to show our love for our country and the lives we have lost EVERY DAY, united as ONE nation. Because as sad as it is to say, for a large majority of our nation patriotism has lost its "splendor" and the minority that choose to defend it know this all too well. We all will like Facebook statuses and tweets by our favorite celebrities, but few will give this day much more thought than that.

It seems as though our society is not as proud of the men and women who join our military ranks and first responders as previous generations were, often times crediting it to them not being able to land a job or being “too dumb for college". Parents tell their children to not speak to recruiters assuming only the worst will happen if their babies join up. We feel as though becoming a cop, a fire fighter, an EMT is simply a fall back job when your dreams don’t end up working out in this bad economy. Some choose to support those overseas by sticking a yellow ribbon magnet on the back of their cars... but now that I think about it, I haven't seen those in quite some time… I guess they were just a fad. However, we proudly celebrate our country every Memorial Day by getting drunk, grilling out and relaxing on a boat.

I'm not here to say that we shouldn't enjoy holidays, nor am I claiming that people have no regard for our troops/first responders anymore. But what I am saying is that anybody can buy an American flag shirt for the 4th of July. We should strive to remember these individuals throughout the year, every day, until the day we die. There's hundreds if not thousands of ways to help our warriors, those both here and abroad. Whether it's visiting our elderly veterans and spending time with them in nursing homes or deciding to take the money you'd spend on a Friday night at the bars and donating it to help our wounded warriors. Whether it’s buying a meal for a fire fighter when you’re out to lunch or running a 5k to raise money for a fallen police officer's family. The age of war bonds may be over and we may not be asked to ration our goods anymore, but we can and should all still be willing to sacrifice a little of ourselves for those who are willing to sacrifice so much.

A friend of mine once told me that an even greater minority than those who serve to protect are those who support them, a very sad realization when you think about it. Military service is not for everyone, and in no way does it need to be. Some people choose to become volunteer fire fighters, but with jobs and raising families, it’s not for everyone. Others are uncomfortable being around guns and the thought of blood alone can make them faint… being an EMT or cop is clearly not a job for them. But even if you aren't defending our country, you can still be a vital source to help making it great. And it is the least bit we should all be willing to do… because at night, when we lay down in peace, there are men and women we don’t even know, who we will probably never even meet, who are ready at a moment’s notice to have their lives cut short so that we may live out our years pursuing our dreams in peace.

So in closing, let us not take a single freedom for granted, let us never forget those whose lives were cut too short, and let us never forget those currently in harm's way. There is truly no better way to honor them.

Progress Over Placement

A couple of days ago I overheard a conversation that went something like this:

"Why don't you compete in the scaled division?"

"I competed in scaled once, I smoked everyone. It was too easy, there's no point of me doing scaled..."

"Yeah, BUT YOU'D WIN!"

Someone needs to slap you for your own benefit.

One of the worst things you can do as a CrossFitter (or any athlete for that matter) is become comfortable with your routine, hence why CrossFit is constantly varied. One of the best things you can do for yourself, on the contrary, is be open to failure.

Yesterday I signed up for The Granite Games, a competition next month in Minnesota that will have some of the top Regionals and Games athletes in attendance. Upon clicking the payment button, I experienced my first "oh shit" moment. Scrolling through the rosters, seeing the names of my competition... I'm gonna get fucking SMOKED. I don't mean in one or two workouts, I mean there's a good chance I'll be shaking in the corner of the gym come the conclusion of the competition like a newborn fawn... AND I CAN'T FUCKING WAIT.

Wait, that doesn't make sense. Why am I looking forward to getting my ass handed to me on a granite platter (see what I did there?) Because GROWTH, that's why.

Do you remember your first CrossFit workout, probably a "simple" 5-4-3-2-1? You finished what looked like a piece of cake workout lying on the ground, gasping for air, wondering if you had the strength to pick up a foam roller and throw it at the coach's head. You went home, cried yourself to sleep and then you woke up feeling like the Rock took a baseball bat to your body.

Teddy Roosevelt would have approved of you, Dwayne.

And then something crazy happened, YOU CAME BACK. Maybe you were like me and you couldn't quite figure out what made you want more. Perhaps it was because you were used to lifting heavy weight in your years prior to CrossFit and now 135# felt like a Sisyphean effort, or maybe it was because the grandma next to you didn't even look winded after doing the same exact workout that had you contemplating suicide just to end the pain and suffering.

Although not all of us have the same reasons for starting or continuing, we've all notice a shared result... PROGRESS. You can now run faster and farther, you can now lift more weight more proficiently, you're now more agile and nimble. Yet, although you can now deadlift 500# or do a sub 2 minute Fran, you've still got goats, and I don't mean the furry creature.

So cute... so paleo.

Goats are those movements that you hate doing because you suck shit at them. They also happen to be those movements you need to do if you're ever going to grow as an overall athlete. You see it all the time, guys that have 1200 pound CrossFit totals but can't run a 400 without stopping to catch their breath. Girls that can knock out pull ups like it's their job but can't back squat half of what they should be able to.

There's nothing wrong with having a goat or two, or even a whole fucking farm full of them... as long as you tend to them. I personally blow whale dick at pull ups and handstand push ups. I can give excuses like the fact that I separated both my shoulders and dislocated my collar bone playing baseball when I was younger, or the fact that my fat ass weighs too much. But the problem with excuses is that they take up room for solutions. I eventually started knocking out more and more strict pull ups, then I learned kipping, and now I have a butterfly (a took a bullet to the wing mid-flight butterfly.) I got used to handstand holds and now I can do HSPUs (in small, small, small sets.)

Did I get better right away? Fuck no... it's taken years. My goats have given me enough anger to Hulk out mid-workout and punch a hole through a steel door. But when I look back a week ago, a month ago, a year ago, I've progressed light years from where I started.

Too often we expect change to come instantly and easily, forgetting that all things worthwhile take time and effort. Then, once we achieve that goal, we become complacent. DO NOT LET THIS HAPPEN. You won't get better unless you're willing to take chances, to be open to embarrassment and failure. My sole goal for The Granite Games is to not place last, and to get Andrea Ager to accept my marriage proposal. But even if we do, I'll have just as big of a smile on my face come the end of the competition as I will of we podium. Not because I'm satisfied with being the worst but because I'm willing to go against the best of the best no matter the odds. 

Our children would literally be too beautiful for words to describe.

So if you're thinking about competing, DO IT. And if you've never done so before, maybe scaled is the way to go. But listen to your coaches and if they tell you that you have the ability to do more than you think you can, trust them. Don't settle for competing against lesser opponents... if you need to boost your ego, find a different sport. There's no shame in finishing last, in being the worst time on the whiteboard. The shame lies in not pushing yourself, in giving less than 100% effort. 

CrossFit is a lot like climbing a mountain. You don't just reach the summit on your first try. It takes practice, it takes overcoming little mountains first, it takes failed climbs. You have to reach base camps along the way and always keep the summit on your mind. And, if you ever do reach the peak, you've gotta realize there's higher mountains to climb and someone who did it quicker. 

Whether you're first or last, leave it all on the floor... because as long as you're better than yesterday, that's all that really matters.

Shake The Dust

I know this may anger many people, but it's something I felt the need to get off of my chest.

Last week marked the 50th anniversary of Martin Luther King Jr.'s "I Have a Dream" speech, which has since been dubbed one of the greatest pieces of rhetoric from the 20th century. And, although many black people will blow up social media today with praise and accolations for this moment in history, I can't help but feel even more disappointed than I already am in my fellow African Americans. Let me explain...

MLK envisioned an America in which all races were treated equally, where you weren't discriminated against because your skin tone was a tad bit darker than the person next to you. And our ancestors fought for acceptance, and they won it (to a degree), and subsequent generations of blacks are actively pursuing to ruin any forward progress that was made.

My ancestors were slaves, humans that were treated like wild animals. Caged, whipped, fed scraps off the dinner plates. Fortunately, you can't buy or sell a man's desire, his intestinal fortitude... his strength to endure. And although they were often physically weak, they stayed strong within. They learned to read, they learned proper grammar and syntax, and they learned their rights as human beings. They, to paraphrase Langston Hughes, learned that they too were America.

And as generations passed, so did that strength, that desire to be equal. But somewhere along the way, blacks began to settle... the most dangerous thing you can ever do in life. Because we felt we were "legally" equal, we felt that we were "socially" equal.

This wasn't as apparent when my grandparents were around. Although I was never lucky enough to meet them, the stories people have told me about them made them sound like demigods. Hard workers who didn't make excuses and didn't look for handouts. They carried themselves with pride and expected their offspring too as well... they appeared as they expected to be received. They didn't expect handouts, if they needed more, they worked extra. If the country that had given them freedom needed help, they volunteered without hesitation.

But somewhere along the way, America began to become pussified. Somewhere along the way, blacks began losing all respect for themselves. And now, for some reason, few blacks actually represent the colored American MLK was so passionate about helping to create.

It's sad to know that when I go to a restaurant, a server will automatically expect a shitty tip because of my skin color. What's even worse is that when I open my mouth, they'll be shocked to not hear ebonic-ridden speech.

Is this what my ancestors fought for? For someone who realized their dream and is living it to be considered an exception?

Did they want their children to kill each other over a pair of expensive sneakers? Did they want their children to start sagging their jeans below their ass as if they were in prison, constantly pulling them off the ground opposed to wearing a belt? Did they want their children to spend thousands of dollars on gold chains even though they can't put food on the table for their families? Did they want their children tossing around the word nigga in common talk as if its really any different than the word nigger?

Far too often people make the mistake of thinking that where they start is where they are stuck. Freedom means there are no shackles holding you down... it means if you stay somewhere and refuse to progress, it's only your own damn fault. 

I hope too that someday we will be judged by the content of our character and not be the color of our skin. Sadly, I understand why that may never happen in my lifetime. Until then, I can only hope more black people continue to challenge the status quo. Having respect for yourself and defying expectations is not "acting white" as many people may tell you. Success and progress know no limits, nor qualifications. No matter your race or gender, your creed or your sexuality, America is open to what we make it.

Pinocchio

We love being lied to, perhaps because the truth more often than not does hurt. Ask any guy or girl who is single what they want most in a relationship and one of the most common responses you'll hear will be, "I just want someone who will be honest with me." But what most people don't admit, or maybe just don't realize is that what they really want is someone to comfort them.

"Does this make me look fat?" she says as she tries on a dress two times too small for her with disappointment written all over her face.

"No babe, you look great"... says the boyfriend as he bites his tongue.

Comforting, yes. Honest? Far from it. Because it would be "rude" to say, "Yes babe, it does make you look fat because you ARE overweight. You need to start eating better and working out so you can lose some body fat before you try and wear something that size. Perhaps you should go up a couple of sizes so that the dress looks more flattering to your current figure."

It's safe to assume a response as such would result in a slap to the face, but I feel it's also safe to assume 99.9% of women would expect to be comforted. Now, I'm not trying to start a huge debate about beauty. I realize the true beauty of a person comes from within, so lets not go down that slippery slope. What I'm asking is, when was the last time you were truly honest with someone? Better yet, when was the last time you went an entire day speaking your mind and telling the truth... have you EVER?

Now sit back, reminisce about your previous day's experiences and tally up the amount of "white lies" and approval seeking responses you gave. Baaaaaaaaah... you are officially a sheep. Most of us would be shocked if not disgusted with just how much time we spend not telling the truth, holding back our true feelings and wearing a constant mask wherever we go. Please that person, don't piss off that person. I don't think you'll be getting an invite to attend Fight Club anytime soon, my friend.

I read an article in Esquire a few years back about a movement called "Radical Honesty" (which you can read here: http://www.esquire.com/features/honesty0707) and it completely changed the way I looked at life. It made me lose friends, lose jobs, lose girlfriends and feel AWESOME. I finally became aware that you can't really think outside of the box in any given situation until you're willing to say fuck it to society's unwritten rules.

Although I'm sure many people consider such blatant honesty rude, can't one argue that it's more rude to hold one's self back,,, to not live with one's heart on their sleeve? No, your boss may not like you telling them they don't know their ass from a hole in the ground and it may just get you fired. But if you feel that way so strongly about them, hasn't that anger been building awhile? If you've been biting your tongue for so long, can you really say that you've been happy?

I challenge any of you who decided to read this to give honesty a shot. Dare to be uncomfortable, to be exposed. Perhaps start by reducing your lies instead of becoming Honest Abe out of the blue... you may be surprised just how much lying you've been doing.