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Will* lives fitness, like LIVES IT. His level of passion and commitment to wellness is something that remains for another post, or novel for that matter. A spark on Tinder that turned into a spiritually divine connection.

Platonic in more ways than not, our interactions are sporadic, but always meaningful. Divinely

orchestrated “field trips” to provide me with invaluable life lessons. I’m always better after we hang

out, grounded, inspired…

The conversation turned to my workout. I discussed a new kettlebell complex and blindly suggested I show him after he requested to see video footage (I didn’t record myself). My kettlebells were upstairs in my office.

After moving from the couch, towards the stairs, the tightness of the day’s swings had me

rethinking carrying a kettlebell down two flights of stairs, and then back up after the demo.

I yelled for him to just come upstairs because I didn’t want to bring it down.

He said, Never mind, don’t worry about it.

“You’re not coming up?”

“No, just leave the kettlebell.”

Too late, because now I had something to prove. I haphazardly grabbed my lightest bell and trucked

down the stairs with it. Once I hit the first landing, he turned to look at me. I continued down the stairs

trying not to swing the bell too much, walked past him to the open space in the room and put the bell

down. I stood over it, getting nervous- I didn’t want to fuck up this new exercise I was just bragging

about. He’s hypercritical like I am. Damn it! Why did you do this to yourself?

"The kettlebell is discipline. If you’re not going to treat the bell with purpose and compassion, then

don’t do it at all." (Insert Scooby-Doo screw face). I immediately start to defend my prior movements, as

he nods and folds his arms while preparing to take me to church. If Will apologizes for his wealth of

knowledge and passion, you know it’s about to be a Come to Jesus Moment.

"Take a step back, away from the bell. Then try again."

I obliged. And he stopped me again.

The breakdown went like this. “I said, don’t bother bringing the kettlebell down, because that’s part of

the exercise. If you don’t want to bring it downstairs, you’re not going to want to do the exercise. When

you were bringing it downstairs, did you carry it like a kettlebell? Were your shoulders tucked, abs tight,

holding weight approx. three inches from your side?" (See haphazard above). "When you pick it up, is it a

bag of groceries, a weight or is it still a kettlebell?”

I paused my response, as I walked back to position myself on the couch.

Yea, let that marinate for a minute.

Then take a deep breath and smile on the exhale when it hits you.

HOW does this story translate into your everyday life?

What’s your lightbulb moment?

Approach everything you do, with purpose and compassion. Act like you give a damn. Put some respect on it! Every time. Everything. Or don’t bother doing it at all.

Kettlebells= Life.

Thank you, friend for inspiring the light in others by living your passion.

*Names have been changed for privacy.

If you want to be great, you must be greatly purposeful in your actions. – Soultry by Alysse

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