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Evidence of a Miss

You should never see a handprint like this on top of a jumpbox.

Evidence of a bad miss. Proof that shin and wood collided, while a hand tried to take the blow.

Happened yesterday, in the 6am, on the 8th box jump of 10, at the end of Round 4 of 5. Immediately after I let my mind wander to what I was going to do after class. The very instant that I no longer focused wholly on the task in front of me. Whack.

Bitch slapped by the Universe again.

It hurt. Like a mofo. And it should. If there was no pain, how would we remember our lessons? If we did not hurt, why would we be certain to do better the next time?

We like to think that we would remember anyhow, we would learn anyhow, we would improve anyhow. But I’m not so certain.

Pain serves its purpose. Life is yelling at you. Listen.

Think about that next time you’re faced with a workout injury, or a mistake, or the end of a relationship, or any of a myriad of disappointments that seem to litter and fill our lives at times. Consider what the pain might be teaching you. Listen to your hurt, and figure out how it can make you better, instead of bitter.

Bruises are visible memories. Here, you missed. There, you could have done better. Scars teach lessons. Sad lessons, maybe, but useful … if we are smart.

Don’t just hurt. Learn …


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