Dangerous and Alive: Two, Victories

The grace of hope returns. A simple lunch with my father at the Broadway Market between CrossFit classes reminds me of the summit I have dreamed of, the redemption and satisfaction I so dreadfully desire. The tears pushing forward is his eyes during our conversation make real the scenario of regret from a dream not exhausted, from a pursuit not fully accelerated, from a mountain bare of scratch marks and blood and torn muscles resulting from strained grasp. Limbs are over-extended and strained in endeavor of the summit and the views upon the world that it allows. I will stay the course. I will continue this endeavor of my dreams. On this first day of Spring, hope has returned to my bones. I must do this. I must do my best in pursuit of this goal. If I do not do my best I will perpetually question, even beyond this life. But effort is what matters. Not results. Not the summit itself. The summit is only a culmination of the climb. It is an edge. It is a point at the boundary of a ridge. The climb creates the summit. And within that climb I will give my best. I will offer only my strongest steps, my most certain grip, my calmest breath, and my hopeful gaze. Hope now bleeds from my eyes as my rising hands and progressing legs shift them to the horizon of the climb and to the victories of mortality. The victories of mortals are the only other thing worthy of residing among the elevations occupied by the mountains of this world. Like a mountain, against Earth’s gravity, I grow. Against Heaven’s weight, I rise.