MOTHER FUCKING NINJAS

I’m sitting the base of Columbia towers in Seattle Washington. Waiting for this complete badass lover of mine to climb sixty-nine flights of stairs. One thousand three hundred and fifty-six steps of tenacity. Seven hundred and eighty-eight feet of grit. The Scott Fire Fighter stair climb supports the lymphoma leukemia foundation. It’s raised about five million dollars over the last two years to help support children and adults coping the vicious form of cancer. The Fighters that come here take each hard fought step as they pass pictures of patients that have over come a few fights, and some that have not. More motivation to drive them when their legs are shaking, and their mind is telling them that it’s okay to rest. They volunteer, amass in in their gear, and once again fight on the line for a community of people that can’t fight on their own. In return some of us get to give a small monetary donation in their name, and maybe be fortunate enough to cheer them on as they help a cause that is worth fighting for, in a time when it’s hard to find people willing to fight.

 

I’m lucky. I get to be by my partners side as she checks in, gets her gear settled, and finds the zone she often finds when she is about to slay another obstacle. I get to sit here, listening to the orchestra of voices and cheers from family members and various loved ones who have gathered in support of their person who is making the climb. If you ask the fighters, the climb is not that important. While the company is great, the side competitions are always fun, the challenge is worth mentioning, and lets face it, sweating it out with your team is always worth a few steps; it is the service that draws them here. It’s doing something Uncommon in support of a greater cause, in support of something that makes a difference, a service that may at some point make a difference for someone they know and love. It’s the same call that drew them to serve with their brothers and sisters in the first place. A greater voice that pulled at them, drew at them relentlessly, and they knew exactly what it was saying when they listened. “I was fucking made for this shit.”

 

It’s something that people who live in the service line don’t take for granted. LEO’s, Fire Fighters, EMS, Military; Badasses like Kelsey Chase (the fighter I’ve been talking about) and her Crew at Chelan County 1 live by it. Humans beings doing Uncommon things, like Ryan Sutton with the Uncommon Breed, and Zach Filer with his Mod Squad at Northwest Strength and Performance. Living Uncommon isn’t a tag line, it’s survival, a way of life that permits them to wake up breathing and fighting another day. A constant practice at being a better human being, and then helping others find their inner ninja so they can do the same. Like Kurtis and Laurie at Rainer Crossfit, or my family that I get to coach with here at Crossfit Wenatchee. Or any other countless people out there that affect change, and build a better place to live. Not loud and thunderous, but like mother fucking ninjas, silent operators, architects – designing change and erecting it without the pomp and circumstance that is so fickle this days.

 

It’s sad really, that more don’t get to serve. But I guess that’s why you’re Uncommon and they’re not.

 

Hard Times Make Hard People. Live Uncommon.

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