Some things we do because we love them and can’t imagine life any other way (writing, backpacking, music, running); other things we do to develop particular skills (cycling, shooting); some because we were told they were good for us (weight lifting, taking vitamins); and then, finally, there are things we do for the person we love (yoga, branding cattle).

Cyndi and I spent last weekend with lots of family, branding calves. We were near Des Moines, New Mexico, firmly in the Great Plains, in the shadow of two ancient volcanos, Sierra Grande and Capulin.

It’s stunning country. The dominant view is infinite grassland and open skies. Looking north you see nothing standing between you and the Arctic Circle except the curvature of the earth. This is country where all things are open and laid bare, where you can critique a misplaced fence line for miles while standing in one place.

Cyndi and her three cousins started this cattle raising venture and have referred to it as the Four Chicks Ranch. Since one cousin doesn’t want anyone calling her a chick, I suggested Three Chicks and a Hen. She didn’t like that name, either.

During the branding operation it was my job to pin the calf down from the front by pushing on its neck with my right knee and pulling up on the top front leg, while my cousin-in-law Bob grabbed both rear legs and pulled outward. We held the calf on the ground while it was tagged, vaccinated, branded, and castrated, hoping no one got kicked in the process. It was my first time to use these new knees for something besides walking, hiking, or cycling, and it all went better than I expected. I could even walk normally the next morning.

Maybe the reason my knees performed so well was I didn’t have to think about it. Once a calf was roped everything occurred too fast. There was no time to consider whether I should jump up or down. No time for trepidation. Is it possible I’ve babied them too much?

I assumed they gave me the head of the calf because the job depended more on body mass than skill level. I changed my mind after watching the real cowboys. Even Ginger, Cyndi’s cousin, a young mother of two, flipped calves better than me, and I outweigh her by 100 pounds.

I told Cyndi I would add branding to my bucket list so I could check it off. Was it on your list before today? Oh no, of course not, I never considered it, but I’m taking credit for it now. Maybe I’ll also make a life goal to learn a new skill every year since 2016 is accomplished.

Bill Farrel writes “It’s a sign of maturity when you admit you’re not good at some things.” I would add it’s also a sign of stupidity to claim you know more than you do – about anything.

I learned early, when I first joined this family, not to pretend I knew anything about ranching life. Now, after 37 years, I’ve at least acquired enough terminology to hold a conversation, not that these cowboys talk much. Unfortunately, I’ve learned few skills. However, I doubt any of them can wrangle a spreadsheet like I can, so I can be proud of that.

I wonder what’s next. We hiked Guadalupe Peak one weekend, and then branded calves two weekends later. My knees appear ready for anything. It makes me happy to have so many options open I once considered closed.

I’m not sure where learning to flank calves fits into my life plan and 100 Life Goals and all that, other than I want to say Yes more often than I say No. But I’m certain all of life matters every day. Everything we do, tells the story God has put into our hearts. We have to embrace the adventures God puts in front of us so that his message spills out of us as we engage in life.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

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At the intermission when the lights brightened and I could no longer hide the tear tracks on my cheeks I asked Cyndi, Why am I emotional? I don’t even care that much about going to Carolina?

She said, When someone sings clear and pure it pushes straight through to your heart, no matter what they are singing.

The secret of love is in opening up your heart.

We were in Lubbock at the United Arena for a sold-out James Taylor concert, and it was amazing. He sang two hour-long sets with a twenty-minute intermission. His voice sounded like it did the first time I heard him sing on TV in 1970. How does he do it? (Maybe he was given the choice to give up his hair or give up his voice. If so, he chose wisely.)

 I’ve been wandering early and late from New York City to the Golden Gate, and it don’t look like I’ll ever stop my     wandering.

I’m always inspired then someone takes over a room simply by throwing themselves into their music. That usually occurs when the music is loud and confident and bold.

But James Taylor took control of the entire arena singing softly while playing his acoustic guitar. He came out with no introduction, sat on his stool, and started playing while the band slowly worked their way onto the stage. Amazing.

I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain. I’ve seen sunny days that I thought would never end. I’ve seen lonely times when I could not find a friend, but I always thought that I’d see you again.

After he sang Fire and Rain the entire arena got out of their chairs and clapped for three minutes. It was a standing ovation for longevity as much as for that one particular song.

In the time we have here; This time we have it all

During the intermission, Taylor sat on the edge of the stage and signed autographs and posed for photos. He stayed at it until his backup singers pulled him away, and even then he kept grabbing one more poster to sign. The man is sixty-eight years old, he’s won five Grammy Awards and sold more than 100 million records worldwide, he’s been touring for more than forty-five years … and he’s still giving himself away to his fans, his people.

Isn’t it amazing a man like me can feel this way,tell me how much longer, it could grow stronger every day.

James Taylor is a significant contributor to the soundtrack of my life and Cyndi’s life. We discussed this while lying in bed after the concert, after driving the two hours home to Midland, after watching the clock pass 1:00 am, about how blessed we are to share music. It’s one more strand that ties us together. A strong and resilient strand.

Every day, it’s getting closer, going faster than a roller coaster. A love like yours would surely come my way

I don’t fear getting older (at least at this point, while I’m healthy, I’m looking forward to it) and I don’t fear dying (although I don’t look forward to that (I still have too much investment to make into grandchildren)), but what I fear is living a life that doesn’t matter. I fear getting to the end of it all with regrets for holding back when I should have stepped further up and further in. Listening to James Taylor communicate with clarity and joy after all his years on the road stirred hope in my heart that my own voice will be unambiguous and hopeful for the next twenty, thirty, or forty years.

The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time. Any fool can do it, there ain’t nothing to it. Nobody knows how we got to the top of the hill. But since we’re on our way down, we might as well enjoy the ride.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

I need your help. The primary reason people read these articles is because people like you share with friends, so please do. And thank you. Also, you can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

Back when I served in government people often asked how to pray for me. I quoted a Bible verse, from a story about men who pledged loyalty to David, men “who understood the times and knew what Israel should do.” (1 Chronicles 12:32)

That was my request: pray that I understand the times and know what to do.

When I read the verse again this morning in my Daily Bible it occurred to me I’d forgotten it during the eight years I’ve been out of office. Did I think I needed other things besides understanding and knowledge? It seems to be a silly notion now that I think about it.

Yesterday afternoon I visited the dermatologist’s office for the second time in my life, the first being nine years ago. Both times were for the same reasons most men to go a dermatologist – their wives tell them to.

In particular I asked the doctor about some spots on my cheek that appeared surprisingly invisible in his office but looked like leprosy only a few weeks ago in my bathroom mirror. I told him I didn’t know the difference between normal effects of aging and serious issues that must be treated, and now that I’m a certified grown-up I try to avoid the traditional male response to physical concerns which is to wait them out.

I once said the same thing to a young phlebotomist who planned to take my donation as soon as she recorded my blood pressure. She asked, Sir, do you have a headache? Yes, I have had a small ambient headache for several weeks. She said, It’s because your blood pressure is 205/134; go to your doctor now. She wanted me out of her cubicle before I erupted.

That was sixteen years ago and I’ve taken blood pressure medication ever since. I also check my blood pressure at home almost every day, again tying to be a grown-up, and of course, I plot the results in Excel. (I’ll email a copy of my plot if you’re interested, but I won’t include it in this post because someone I live with will roll her eyes at me.)

The dermatologist poked and stretched my face. He asked if I had issues on my back and I said none that Cyndi has complained about. He diagnosed seborrheic keratosis growths on the outer layers of my skin which are non-cancerous and can be treated with moisturizing lotion. He mentioned other treatments that included the phrase “stripping off the top layer of skin” but I passed on those. He gave me a handout which said the growths are common and often referred to as the “Barnacles of Life.” That’s what I have: barnacles.

After my doctor visit I drove back home for a three-mile walk before joining friends for Taco Tuesday. It was a great walk, one of my best, and I pushed my pace on alternating blocks, logging my best time in, well, ever, for walking. It made me happy. It started me dreaming again of long races and could I walk fast enough for another marathon, and like that.

I’ll admit health care is not something I know well. Our family has been fortunate that we required  few doctor’s visits, and our expense have been low.

But here are some things I do understand and know. You should: (a) regularly repeat the practices that draw you closer to God; (b) be a lifelong student of significant things; (c) grow strong in community by giving yourself away every day; (d) passionately and persistently pursue your love; and (e) lean forward in life as a person of hope.

Here is another thing I understand and know. There is lasting value in exploring your calling from God. It is a lifelong pursuit, and in my case, has been refined as I pass through the seasons of life. I am hosting a men’s weekend at my house April 29 – May 1 with Gary Barkalow from The Noble Heart Ministry, and it’s designed to help you understand your calling and know what to do. It is an excellent workshop and you should consider attending. It will change your life.

For more information, or to register, go to http://thenobleheart.com/midland-tx-calling-intensive-workshop. You won’t be sorry.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

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Yesterday I rode 17 miles on my bike, my regular route, a route I’ve ridden dozens if not hundreds of times. My phone says the wind averaged 14 mph from the west, but the gusts made it much harder than that. To be honest, I’ve ridden in fiercer wind many times, but this time I pushed into it instead of backing off. Maybe because of something I read in a small cycling book titled The Rules. The author was writing about cycling uphill, but I substituted wind because, well, you know …

“Everyone talks about (wind) being hard, but (riding in the wind) is, in its essence, a simple matter of pushing harder on the pedals. There is an art to it, make no mistake, but going fast (in the wind) comes down to the strength of your will, and with what fury it can make your legs piston the pedals.”

So yesterday afternoon I rode hard and pushed every time I felt the wind in my face, which was all the time. I know there is more to cycling that simply pushing harder into the wind. There is downshifting to keep cadence high and prevent early onset oxygen debt, there is riding with hands on the drops for improved aerodynamics, and had I the opportunity to ride with a group, there is the energy-saving technique of drafting behind other riders. But even with all those, it eventually comes down to pushing harder on the pedals.

I was reminded of a scene from the movie The 13^th Warrior, a historical fiction story set sometime in the Middle Ages, when an Arab diplomat, a highly-educated intellectual, surprisingly found himself going into battle with alongside a tribe of Viking warriors. When handed a Viking sword he said, “I cannot lift this,” to which his Viking trainer simply said, “Grow stronger.”

It makes no sense to complain about the wind. I have no excuses. I’ve lived in windy West Texas for 51 of my 59 years; only a fool would be surprised about something as permanent and persistent as the wind. (It’s like complaining about long lines when Christmas shopping … either get over it, or stay home … but don’t act surprised.) The decision is whether or not to ride, and if I decide to ride, know the wind will be part of it.

Besides, we have no hills around here, so there is no climbing. The wind is our only natural adversary other than the voice of resistance in our head that encourages us to stay home and take it easy until conditions improve.

I started this current phase of cycling a few years ago, once my knees submitted to arthritis and I could no longer run fast enough or far enough to work my heart and lungs. I first noticed I was losing endurance when hiking in the Guadalupe Mountains. I needed a new aerobic workout if I intended to keep moving.

So I stepped up my cycling game. I started riding further and faster and more often. And I grew to love the time I spent on my bike. So far, it hasn’t been as meditative as running, which is what drew me into running for 38 years, mostly because I have to stay mentally engaged to ride well and avoid traffic. But I am learning to appreciate how it speaks to me. I fully expect cycling to find a long-term place in my mental and spiritual health during the next 38 years.

I finished yesterday’s ride exhausted and breathing hard. Cyndi tried to talk to me about making plans for the evening but she eventually gave up. She said, “I’ll wait until you catch your breath and the blood returns to your brain.”

I was a happy man. I felt the subtle burn in my lungs and legs until bedtime. It was my first time to work so hard since knee surgery last summer.

There are few things as satisfying as the exhaustion following a hard workout. It feels like accomplishment, like improvement, like I am the Comeback Kid, like I am Super Man, like I can do anything, like I conquered the “No” voice. I can’t wait for my next ride.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

I need your help. The primary reason people read these articles is because people like you share with friends, so please do. And thank you. Also, you can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

“When the world was all dark, your music got me to the sunlight.” I heard this on a TED Talk podcast, and while I haven’t had a lot of darkness in my life, most of my sunlight has come through music.

I was in Tyler, Texas, last Saturday, for an event called the Instrumental Convergence. Eight of us traveled from First Baptist in Midland to join about 100 other musicians for an opportunity to play through the latest church instrumental music. It was my first band trip since the 1979 Orange Bowl.

It was a wonderful experience … to play with other good musicians … to be directed by an excellent clinician who not only inspired us to play well, but worship well.

We were led by composer/arranger Camp Kirkland, who said he no longer thought of himself as a conductor, but as The Unifier. He said all of us were the ones making music; his job was to unify our efforts.

For me, he was exactly that. He unified my love of playing good music with good musicians, with my life-long faith and Christian practice.

Camp quoted from the 1981 movie, Chariots of Fire, about Eric Liddell, the Olympic runner who later served as a missionary in China until dying in a Japanese internment camp in 1945. In the movie, Liddell told his sister: “I believe God made me for a purpose. For China. But He also made me fast. And when I run, I feel His pleasure.”

That’s why we all gave up an entire Saturday to play together, because music is one of the ways we feel his pleasure.

Camp Kirkland said he regretted that most people stop quoting the movie at that point, but Liddell went on to say, “To give it up would be to hold him in contempt.”

It isn’t enough that we feel His pleasure … but  we are obligated to give back to God what he has given to us. Poet Jane Kenyon said it well when she wrote that we should “be good stewards of our gifts.”

The last line from Liddell in the movie scene is this: “To win is to honor Him.”

We are not only obligated to give back to God, we are also directed to perfect our art, to learn the skills, to honor God. Psalm 33:3 instructs us to “Sing to him a new song; play skillfully, and shout for joy.” (Special emphasis on the word “skillfully”)

So Saturday morning, as I looked around the room of musicians, I noticed at least half of them were older than me. I was firmly entrenched in the median age of the group. That was encouraging – reminding me I have lots of playing years left.

I told Cyndi that I was sitting with an entire row of vintage trombones held by vintage trombone players. (As for me, I was holding my favorite (of four trombones that live in my house), my King Silver Sonic 3B that I’ve played since 1970 (manufactured circa 1965). Cyndi has now decided my new Trail Name should be Silver Sonic, which is much better than my old Trail Name …Crotchety Bad-knees Gray-Head.)

As leaders, we wonder when we will age-out of personal ministry. I ask myself that all the time. How will I know when it’s time to step down from teaching and let the young bucks take over? But seeing so many fellow mature (in age, if not behavior … we were trombone players, after all; hardly known for mature behavior) musicians reminded me of what Dallas Willard wrote: “Aging is not loss; it is a time to add spiritual substance to the soul.”

I thought of Moses, whose life crashed at age 40, who was called into full-time ministry at age 80, and whose retirement plan consisted of leading the nation of Israel until the day he died.

Let’s all of us keep running fast and playing long, giving back to God to honor Him, for the rest of our lives. To do any less would be to hold him in contempt.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

I need your help. The primary reason people read these articles is because people like you share with friends, so please do. And thank you. Also, you can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

Monday at noon I hoped to take advantage of a beautiful day, 73* and no wind, by riding my bike for lunch. I was about halfway home when Cyndi phoned to say, Berry I think I broke my wrist.

Where are you?

I was working at the studio and …

I am on my way.

She wanted to tell me the whole story over the phone but I had already shifted into problem-solving mode and no longer listening for details. When I arrived at the studio there were three students for the next class helping Cyndi wait for me. She was resting her wrist on a yoga block and had a plastic bag of ice on top.

I drove her to the Emergency Room and dropped her off at the door since I was in the ambulance entrance and had to move my pickup. By the time I parked and walked inside they had Cyndi in a wheelchair and ready to move down the hall. We went straight to her room and they put her in a bed and started installing lots of tubes and wires. She wouldn’t let them cut her Midland Yoga Works t-shirt so she pulled it off with her one good hand. The doctor asked questions, they did x-rays, and he confirmed the end of her left radius bone was broken.

They put Cyndi to sleep temporarily while the doctor manipulated the bone back into place. She appeared to be asleep but talked to the doctor all the way through the procedure. She kept telling him to be softer. Curiously, she also leaned forward toward me and said, Berry, I think you should buy that Specialized S-Works Tarmac Di1 road bike you showed me in the magazine.

I was surprised at her grasp of details in such a traumatic time as this; even more surprised that she no longer has any memory of the conversations with me or the doctor.

They released us to go home about 3:30 pm. We picked up her pain meds, went to Rosa’s for iced tea, and discussed how to get her car home from the studio. Since the studio is only about 3-1/2 miles from our house I decided to walk to the studio. Cyndi wanted to join me; so, left arm in a sling, she walked with me, maintaining her regular three-foot distance in front of me in case anyone wondered which of us was the faster walker.

We got her car and I drove to her satellite location so she could teach the beginner yoga class. I told her this was her chance to develop her own style, Riverdance Yoga, where you use your feet and not your arms.

Later, as I distributed our day’s story among the family, our daughter Katie wrote: This explains the pool of strong independent woman DNA I come from.

I would add that Katie has not only inherited that DNA, she’s passed it along to her own two daughters. Young Madden was visiting us last summer when she fell on the climbing bars at the playground across the street from our house. We found out later that she had a small hairline fracture in her collarbone, which we were totally unaware of. Even after falling she complained only of a sore shoulder when she took swimming lessons afterward. Tough girl.

Our son Byron wrote: So she does a handstand on top of Guadalupe Peak … no problem; but moving boxes … broken wrist. Mom doesn’t really do “ordinary.”

Our nephew Kevin once asked who was stronger, me or Aunt Cyndi? I said, It depends whether we are lifting weights or doing sit-ups and planks. Not only is she physically and psychologically strong, and tough, she is wide-open bright and creative. I am a lucky man.

After receiving a few eyebrow-raising texts about Cyndi’s decision to walk three miles straight out of the emergency room, I replied, it is our family tradition to not coddle each other, and not coddle ourselves.

Here’s the thing. It’s easier to be strong and tough and determined when you live with someone who believes in you all the way. Cyndi does. And I do. We are better, brighter, more creative, more loving, and happier, as a team, than either of us could even approach alone.

She will probably have surgery on her wrist next week. We are already changing plans for this spring to accommodate our new future. It should be exciting times ahead.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

I need your help. The primary reason people read these articles is because people like you share with friends, so please do. And thank you. Also, you can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

Wednesday morning at Body Pump (a group weight lifting class that focuses on small weights but lots of reps, designed for overall body fitness rather than increasing muscle mass (and we all know more mass is not anything I need), and which, at least the class I go to, is taught by my lovely wife Cyndi at Hero’s Gym) we worked out to legendary music. I am referring to the song “American Woman.” My relationship to that song goes all the way back to the original release by The Guess Who in 1970.

When I was a freshman at Kermit High School, an upperclassman friend used to give me a ride home from school in his powder blue Ford Mustang. Being the youngest the car, I always sat in the back seat behind my friends. They loved an 8-track by The Guess Who, and it always seemed to be playing American Woman at the time when they dropped me off at my home on Shannon Drive. It was loud. The entire neighborhood could hear the music as I climbed out of the car. I remember the pained expression on my mom’s face as she wondered what was happening to her little boy now that he was in high school and hanging out with those guys.

I’ve loved that song ever since then.

But Wednesday morning we worked out to Lenny Kravitz’s cover of the song, which is an excellent recording in itself, and the pained expression this time was my own while trying doing endless bicep curls. Lenny seemed incapable of saying “Bye bye” to his girl quickly. We all suffered because of his slowness.

And if that wasn’t enough, Cyndi lead our stretching and cool down with the song, “I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends” as sung by Joe Cocker, which tops my list of songs by the Beatles but the cover version is significantly better than the original. When Joe Cocker sings, he really wants your help. He even screamed at the appropriate time during a hip flexor stretch. This song went on and on, too, but Cyndi cut it off since the class was over and everyone (at least the few grownups who stayed for stretching) wanted to put up their equipment and go home. It made me sad, though, because, well, it was Joe Cocker. How could she cut him off?

At a recent men’s retreat, one of the speakers was my friend Rabon Bewley, king of music at Midland College and the most fun guy to talk with music with. He played several pieces of music to illustrate how they mold our thoughts and emotions, even our hopes and dreams. And then, rather than asking the question, what is the heartbeat of this song, Rabon asked, what is the song of your heartbeat? What music illustrates where your heart resides? He asked us to list the characteristics of our heart, and then find a song that told the story of those qualities.

My first reaction was the same song that’s always my first answer when the question is about music, “It’s Too Late To Turn Back Now” by The Cornelius Brothers and Sister Rose. It’s been on my list of top five favorite songs since I first heard it in the summer of 1972. “It’s too late to turn back now; I believe, I believe, I believe, I’m fallin’ in love.”

But following Rabon’s instructions, I made a list of the characteristics of my heart: hope, belief in the future, optimistic to a fault, a light touch. Then I looked through the playlists on my phone and immediately landed on another song that told the story of my heart better than I’ve been able to tell it in 800 blog entries and three books. The song is “Life Less Ordinary” by Carbon Leaf.

“Live a life less ordinary, Live a life extraordinary with me. Live a life less sedentary, Live a life evolutionary with me.” These lyrics are an invitation to live an extraordinary life together. Perfect.

Music is an amazing force-multiplier. It’s no accident that that longest and richest book in the Bible is a collection of songs. God speaks directly into our hearts through the music that surrounds us, even when we are doing endless bicep curls to rock and roll.

Amy Grant wrote and sang, “It’s not a song till it touches your heart; It’s not a song till it tears you apart; After what’s left of what’s right and what’s wrong, till it gets through to you, it’s not a song.”

What about you? As Rabon asked, “What is the music of your heart? What is the song where your heart resides?”

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

I need your help. The primary reason people read these articles is because people like you share with friends, so please do. And thank you. Also, you can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

Most of time I get into a bind it’s because I won’t ask for help. I take too long trying to fix it myself.

I hurt my right shoulder last June, before the two knee surgeries, when I fell in the garage after cycling. It turns out I injured it way more than I suspected at the time.

I should have known I was in serious trouble when I couldn’t raise my right arm above horizontal without using my left arm to lift it. I couldn’t turn on light switches, push the garage door opener, put my keys into the ignition, adjust the radio, or reach across the table for chips and salsa. It was pathetic. However, in spite of the pain and inconvenience, I assumed it was merely a bruised or strained the muscle and would get better with a little time.

Two months later, after mid-summer distractions of knee surgeries, I finally asked Cyndi what I should do about it and if she knew anyone who could help. She sent me to Paul Hamels at GreenTree Day Spa, who specializes in neuromuscular therapy.

He said, You don’t have a torn rotator cuff because you’re too young, you haven’t been in an auto accident, and you aren’t a professional athlete, and you don’t have any broken bones since there’s no swelling. He knew exactly what was wrong with me. The long-head bicep tendon had slipped out of its groove in my shoulder, leaving my bicep without the leverage necessary for my arm to function.

Using his hands, he pulled the tendon back into place, a procedure that sounds more painful than it was, and I regained my range of motion immediately. My shoulder was still sore due to the lingering trauma, but my arm worked. He told me to ice it and be careful.

So I started working out in the gym and apparently pulled the tendon out of place again. And again I waited too long before recognizing the seriousness of the problem and returning to Paul to fix it. I finally went back, and he put me back into place. Again.

I went back to working out as usual and, I hate to admit this but, it seems I pulled the tendon out a third time. I went to Paul in December and he fixed me again as well as lecturing about strengthening it slowly and now that I’m older it takes longer to heal whether I like it or not. You will not heal this with willpower, he said. Bummer.

I uncharacteristically followed his instructions this time because I didn’t want to waste another six months. I stayed completely away from Pump class, the one that Cyndi teaches, and worked my biceps at home with only five pounds each arm, just like Paul told me.

My next follow-up visit was better; the tendon was still in place. So by mid-January I eased back into Pump class using only five pound weights. If felt silly to have so little weight on my bar, hardly worth the drive to the gym. Even with squats and chest I kept the five pounds since I had to use my shoulders to hoist the bar. For flys and shoulders I used only 2-1/2-pound weights.

After I got over my embarrassment from working out with unmanly weights, I discovered I felt great the rest of day. I was finally on the road to recovery.

Then I went to yoga for the first time in forever. In fact, it was only my third class since new knees. I had been nervous about putting my knees on the floor, which happens a lot in yoga, but I decided I was babying myself too much and it was time to get over it. The yoga class was hard, and everything we did hurt because it had been so long since I’d tried, but I enjoyed it and felt better afterwards than I expected I would.

So the next morning I went to Pump class again. Three workouts in three days, something I hadn’t done in months. I kept the low weights, deciding my manhood could stand this for a few weeks longer.

It has now been a full month and I’ve gradually increased weight and my tendon has stayed in place. Even Paul Hamels said he was proud of me.

The reason I’m writing about this is to point out how my shoulder injury was exaggerated and even encouraged by my failure to take it seriously sooner. I should have realized right away it was a debilitating injury and gone for help. Has something like that ever happened to you?

Why did I make such a mess of this simple injury? Because I didn’t ask for help sooner. I should’ve learned better by now after all these years.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

I need your help. The primary reason people read these articles is because people like you share with friends, so please do. And thank you. Also, you can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.