In March of 2000 my wife and I had dinner with our friend Mike Staires. Mike was the Executive Director of Shepherd’s Fold Ranch, a Christian summer camp in Oklahoma, and he was on a staff recruiting trip in Dallas. Sarah and I had been living in the Dallas/Ft. Worth area since 1998, and were making a meager living playing our music and selling CDs. Being nearly broke, we asked Mike if he needed anyone to lead worship at camp that summer. This was in the days when we could take on a summer camp salary and be fine. At least it would be steady work for a few months. Mike gave us the gig, and we moved to “The Ranch” a couple of months later.
As I’ve mentioned before, Shepherd’s Fold is where my wife and I met in 1993. In the early 90s, when I was in my early 20s, I worked three summers there. They were some of the best days that I can remember. Those were the care free days of suntanned skin, sleek muscle tone and young love.
It had been a long time since either of us had worked at camp. It’s strange when you return to a place where you hold so many great memories from your more youthful days. I expected that I would just pick up where I left off. In my first days back I was given definitive proof that I had indeed aged.
At SFR there is a low-ropes course that includes a feature called “The Wall.” It’s exactly what it sounds like. It’s a 12 foot wall that you and your team are supposed to climb over. The goal is to get everyone over… no matter what. When I was a camp counselor it was always interesting to see people get over this thing. Usually the boys could get over by merely getting a hand on the top. They’d just pull themselves the rest of the way over. The girls generally needed a little help from spotters stationed at the top of the wall. Then there were those that were in such shape that they had to be dragged up and over by spotters on the ground as well as the top. These people were to be pitied. They were usually the ones with a little too much pie on their plate at lunch time. I’m not trying to be cruel. It’s just the way it was.
When I was a counselor I was among those who could get over the wall on my own strength. It didn’t seem like a big deal. Grab the top, pull up and go over. Simple.
Flash forward six years and I found myself dangling from the front of the wall. Two spotters were gripping my arms while I kicked my right leg awkwardly upward for a third spotter to hoist my sorry ass over this effing wall. Terrible.
The funny thing to me was the fact that I was taken by such surprise. I had lived my life since camp under the illusion that I had not aged… that I had not gained twenty pounds, and that I had not been sitting behind a desk wasting away at work. I grabbed the top of the wall, pulled and watched my strength fail.
I’d like to say that I have taken steps to remedy the situation since then, but I haven’t… until now.
Last weekend I bought a pull up bar. It’s the kind that you mount in a doorway. The instructions show a buff looking fellow doing pull ups with weights strapped to his back. The instructions also say that a beginner should start off by doing one set of eight to ten reps. When I read this I thought, “Shee… I can do more than that.”
I did two full chin ups my first time out. That was all I had in me. I basically did four sets of two. On the last set I helped push up with my right leg. Again… terrible.
Why was I surprised again? Why did I think that I had more strength than I actually do?
In my head I am about twenty-seven or twenty-eight, even though I just had my thirty-sixth birthday. I am the age that my dad was when he bought our house in Bedford. I have three children and two mortgages. I’m a grown up. Wow.
I’m not discouraged though. I’ll be able to do three sets of eight to ten chin ups soon. I’m working on it, and I’ll get it done. I’m encouraged by the realization that real change takes hard work. It’s work that I’m up for. I’m there. I’m ready. There is something in the wind these days. I can’t tell you what’s coming, but I feel excited by the shift.
Next step… three reps.