My Family, My Home
As many rounds as possible, in 15 minutes:
3 Handstand Push-ups
6 Strict Pull-ups
12 PistolsTonight I sat on the wall at the Olympic lifting gym and I listened to the blend of voices and metal. It struck me how the gym has become my home.
A few weeks ago I walked through my boyfriend’s gym. I was hit by the distinct combination of sweat and leather that says martial arts to me. It smelled good and I took a big deep breath.
At the powerlifting gym last week we were little kids with the sled-pull. Adding more weights and asking, “What if we tried this?” Laughing and saying, “Wait, wait, let me do it!”
The music in my home is the constant rumble and thunder of dropping barbells. Our greeting is a strong, sweaty hug.
My family has bruised shins and torn up hands.
My family spontaneously bursts into cheers and yelling.
My family doesn’t care what you look like, but rather what can you do.
My family holds me to a higher standard and pushes me to do more.
My family shows up when I compete and welcomes me when I train.
My home smells like sweat, leather, and steel.