Shooting Stars

Once I could stand, I wanted to walk.
The desire grew every morning.

One day I shuffled twenty steps.

Another day? I walked fifty.

Eventually? One lap around the entire ICU.

Every day, one step further, literally.
Upon returning to my room, in the corner of the window, I would see a bright yellow paper only seen from the outside-in that I could not see from my bed. Bright yellow, vivid, vibrant, with a giant star and comet trail behind it.

A star. For me!

Every day, I could not wait to see that star after returning from my walk.
It was my "welcome home."
It was my "you did it."
It was my "high-five."
It was my "today is better."
It was mine in the way that the light at the end of the tunnel, championship banner raised to the rafters, or gold medal placed around my neck would be as a goal. It was my champagne cork flying across the room with a trail of suds in celebration.

Every day.
One more step.
Return home after trying.
See that star.
Go get it.

On my way out of the hospital, I asked one of the nurses why that paper sits there, and why they don't put one in the room for patients. She calmly explained that the yellow paper with that shooting star is their way of knowing who is an "extreme falling risk."

(Wait, what?!)

Falling risk.
Extreme falling risk.

That star is placed on the outside of the window for the nurses and doctors to know at a moments notice or glance in passing that the person inside could be prone to falling.

Placed on the outside, for those outside.

Just think about that for a moment...

Falling risk. Failing risk. Potential concern.
(Keep your eye on this one.)

I understand the medical reasons behind that.
But.. what about one layer deeper?
This one might try, and he might fail.
This one might stand up, and he might fail.
This one might take an extra step, and he might fail.

How does that work?
How does that message change so quickly between a pane of glass and a one-sided paper not visible from within?

Falling risk. Failing risk. Potential concern.
or...
Finish line. Back of the net. Endzone.
Celebration.
Moment of pride.
Accomplishment.
Daily goal.
"Keep an eye on this one" ...
Watch me.
Look out world...
I'm going to do it.

Looking back?
Lesson learned.

Never, ever, under any circumstance, no matter what, no matter where, no matter why... never ever ever see your golden star, your goal, your dream, your finish line as someones slap of a 'potential failure' post-it note on your forehead. Let their worry be your wonder.

I might fail.. but I just might take one step further.

Keep your eyes forward.
You don't need to have your chest sawed open to qualify for your own star.
It could be one line of code.
It could be hitting send.
It could be one interview, one project, one lift, one word.
It's your star.

Keep going.

Red Starry Night

You find yourself in cardiac ICU.
Bedridden with enough tubes to look like a stunt-double for Neo in the Matrix.
The nurse challenges you to stand up for the first time and walk down the hallway.
What do you do?
Do you panic, since you haven't left your bed since the surgery?
Do you fear, because you're not sure if you'll make it that far?
Do you give up halfway down the hall?
Odds are good that if you're a Guerrilla, you dig deep, you keep your head up, you face your flinch, and you push through.
Odds are even better that when you're done with one lap, you might ask when you can walk your second.
You've faced runs in the winter.
You've learned what "max effort" means.
You've pulled your chin up to that bar, banded or strict.
You've seen what the guy or girl next to you breathe fire.
Maybe Guerrilla Fitness CrossFit isn't just about barbells and burpees.
Maybe there's more...

I don't know what your darkest nights look like.
Each one of us has a different night sky when life pulls the black color out of the crayon box and scribbles it into reality.
It might be family related.
It might be financial.
It might be a photo album with every picture ripped in half.
It might be something unspoken deep down inside, or it could be a valve regurgitating blood back into the heart and a remix to the rhythm of your normal heartbeat that you weren't expecting one Saturday afternoon.
Out of the blue, and into the black..

Dear Guerrilla family, it's been an interesting month.
Heart surgery isn't something that's on most "to do" lists.
Open heart surgery wasn't on mine.
Thankfully it wasn't time for me to close my eyes for good and get a fist bump from God for Rx'ing this life-wod programmed for me.
When that challenge showed up unexpectedly, the sky started to roll in some of those clouds that didn't exactly scream "spring beauty is around the corner".
But enough about clouds for now, this note isn't about the challenges I faced, or face now that I'm home.
Challenges and adversity are not what unite us in Guerrilla.
We are united by what we do with them.
We face weights, heights, walls, and distances every time that 3..2..1..GO is called.
We also face our own thoughts, feelings, resistance, and more inside.
Sure, we scale accordingly, but we also PR with fire in our eyes.

I don't know all your names.
I don't know all the names of stars in the sky either, but I do know what they mean to me when I look up when it's dark out.
To each and every one of you that wished me well, encouraged me, checked in, prayed, visited, made turkey chili, spent time with me, signed a jumbo soup card or had my name pop up in your thoughts for a split second - you were there in that hospital ICU wing with me.
You are the real Team Paul.
You were a thousand red stars in my dark sky.

Whether you're Jim Brown or Jenny trying out a free Saturday class, Coach or couch-potato that is learning self-discipline for the first time, I'm thankful for each and every one of you. The worst is over. The scar is healing.
My story is not done, and I'm believing and working toward a 105% recovery with all my heart and soul. The doctors were thrilled that I was active in CrossFit, and they say I'll be able to run and lift and jump soon enough.
Walking comes first.
Squats are next.
Burpees will be allowed last, unfortunately.
Apparently a sternum sawed in half isn't "ideal" for my favorite movement early on in the rehab process. Lame..

"I'm home" seemed so far away one month ago.
Well, I'm home.
Those two words have now been replaced with the goal of saying "I'm back".
Every day brings more energy, more health, and more hope for tomorrow.
I learned one Sunday morning to dance in the storm, and to welcome the opportunity learn and trust and grow in it.
I pray you learn to do the same

I look forward to the next time I see you all.
I encourage each and every one of you to appreciate the moments spent under the banner of the red star we share in Guerrilla. There's a beauty in the strength required to push through - no matter if it's for you, or for the person next to you giving their all.

Dig deep if you're facing that dark sky.
Hit the start button. Push play. Go.
Don't stare at life's screen waiting to get better.

Find that hope in your heart.
(They couldn't cut it out of mine.)

Until next time... Keep going.

Ghosts

She was kind.
She was thoughtful.
She listened.
She cared.
She was there during tough times.
She made me smile.
She helped me be me again.
She made my life better.

One night she disappeared.
The next day she was gone.
It's like she was never there.

Ghost.

It was only yesterday.
Sure, there were others,
but only one made that impression.

The nurse's name was Maria.

Hello My Name Is

Double-tap the rewind button, go back in time to when you were a kid.

What a simple answer it was back then..

"Who are you?"
: insert name here :

There.
Simple.

"What do you like to do?"
"What is your favorite _____?"

I like to play.
I like dogs.
I like my Lego castle.
I like jokes.
I like swimming.
I love cheeseburgers.

There.
Simple.

Let's go back to the present, if you will.
Single-tap the rewind button.
Go back in time to when answers changed.

"Who are you?"
...was suddenly saddled with baggage.
...was suddenly riddled with questions.

Small bags with weight.
Carry-on sized questions.
Backpacks of doubt.
Suitcases of hurts.
Duffel bags of names.
Roof racks..
Trailers..
Storage units of shame, self-pity, defeat, pain, and guilt.

Chain link.
(I was hurt, so now I'm _______.)
Chain link.
(I never had a chance to, so now I'm ____.)
Chain link.
(You don't know my yesterday, I'm __.)
Chain link.
(Victim. Ex. Used to be. Once was.)
Chain link.
(What does your question even mean?)
Chain link.
(What should I put on my name tag?)
Chain link.
(You wouldn't understand, I'm _____.)
Chain link.
Chain link.
Chain link.

These aren't even the cold, iron chains that Hollywood puts around ghosts of memories past, or the heavy, rusty ones that we see painted with the souls reaching to the sky.

Chain link linked to chain link.

Fed. Followed. Warmed by your own hands, and wrapped around your own neck, and tied around your own waste, and looped around your own shoulder.

Warm.

Inviting.

Inviting..

Even the cold feels warm when it freezes you over.

Chain link.

Hello, my name is _______.
(Insert chain links here.)
Wait, that's not right...

How old were you when you gained your strength to carry more chains? How old were you when your arms became accustomed to the toil? How old were you when you became old? Lose those lies. Lose those would'ves. Lose those yeah-buts.
Lose them before you lose you any further.

Why is it more terrifying to dare, to fly?
Why is it more comforting to look back
and not even try.

Heave.
Ho.

Chain link.

(Let go.)

Chain link.

(Let go.)

Chain link.

(Let go.)

Let go.
Let go.
Let go.

It's "Hello, my name is."

It's not "Hello, my name was."

Grow your wings.
Expand your lungs.
Open your eyes.
Look up to that sky.. to those hills..
From where comes your help?

The rewind buttons on our remotes are well worn.
Fast forward doesn't exist.
So why not push play?

You are beautiful.
You are strong.
You are a story worth living.
You are someone.
You are worth it.
You are.
You are not you were.
You are.

You will be.

(Keep going.)