A reflection on Strength’s Purpose
The day I tore my back, no one was watching. It wasn’t under a barbell in the gym or at work swinging a hammer. It was at home, lifting a toddler who had fallen asleep on the couch, curled like a cat across a warm pile of laundry. I scooped her up wrong and felt a stab under my left shoulder blade. I knelt in reflex, tried to keep her stable and asleep, and heard another quiet pop accompanying sharper pain.
After I’d laid her in bed, I couldn’t take a full breath. Each inhale was short. Attempts at deeper breaths brought agony. I watched my wife carry the baby, hoist the diaper bag, and shoulder the entire house that night. I was proud of her efforts. I was ashamed of my weakness.
In that moment, I realized I hadn’t been training for us. I’d been training for something else. I was past playing sports for anything other than recreation. I was training for something aesthetic and maintaining a baseline level of health. My training was hollow.
“No man is more unhappy than he who never faces adversity. For he is not permitted to prove himself.”
– Seneca