Bri Cicirelli sent us an email sharing her reflection after watching 16.3 on Saturday.
It was too good not to share.
Earlier (while watching 16.3), I took a very short video for my Snap Story.
(Yes, I’m a basic millennial. I’ll own that.)
It’s not long, maybe 10 seconds.
And it’s not really the greatest quality.
But I’ve probably watched it 20 times since I’ve gotten home.
That was an hour ago.
Every time I’ve watched it, my heart has warmed.
I’ve smiled and thought fondly of different people I saw giving their best this morning.
So proud of these men and women and the different ways they’ve struggled and grown, both as individuals and together.
Thankful that these beautiful, quirky, sometimes uncoordinated (but always supportive) people have woven their lives together and allowed me to have a place within that vine.
I remember walking into this box just over two years ago wondering how in the world I was going to compete with anyone here.
The truth was: I wasn’t.
Because we aren’t here to compete with each other, at least, not nearly as much as we’re here to compete with our own thoughts.
Lies we’ve believed for so long we can’t remember what it’s like to not believe them.
Hardships we’ve endured as a result of being part of this world.
Weaknesses and shame we’ve carried since we were branded with them in our youths.
Words can’t begin to come close to wrapping themselves properly around the feelings of gratitude I have when I step into this place.
When I first walked in here, I walked in with a trail of lies behind me and a mountain of doubt in front of me.
For the first couple months, I daily had to tell myself I could do this.
Remind myself that even if the people around me were judging me, I needed to stick with it.
Slowly, I began opening up to a few of the people I regularly saw.
Started admitting some of my mental pitfalls to the coaches.
Began to see that if I wanted to change, I needed to embrace the moment and all the pain and work that came with walking up to your fears and crushing them.
And realizing that no one here was judging me, except for myself.
And this morning, as I sat there injured, watching everyone participate, I wasn’t even a little bit sad I wasn’t able to join in.
(Okay… I was a little bit bummed.)
Because it didn’t matter.
I was still part of this family.
I still had innumerable people come up just to say “hi,” to encourage me through my current situation, to stand by me as we cheered on the people we’ve grown to cherish and respect.
This place is infectious.
You are infectious.
You’ve shown me there’s a place outside of fairy tales where dragons are slain and fears are vanquished.
And that place is here.
It’s every single day when we show up.
Every day as we push our selves and our uncertainties aside and we somehow make it just one rep further, just ten seconds faster.
It’s every day we when we say a few encouraging words, inquire about each other’s troubles, and celebrate each other’s victories in and out of the box.
That’s what this place is about.
What we have is exceedingly rare.
And it takes every single one of you to make this place more than just a place.
It’s a home.
One I love coming to.
Thank you, Uncommon, for being truly uncommon.