Every Memorial Day, the workout hits a little differently.
Yesterday marked what I believe was my 13th time doing Murph. And honestly? I wasn’t chasing a PR. I wasn’t trying to prove anything. I wasn’t worried about my time, my pace, or whether I could still do it the way I once did.
I was there for a different reason.
I was there to honor.
To remember.
To be grateful.
At CrossFit Viroqua yesterday, we gathered as a community to do something hard on purpose. We ran. We sweat. We struggled through pull-ups, push-ups, squats, and another mile run. Some members wore weighted vests. Some scaled the workout. Some walked portions of the run. Some partitioned the reps differently. And every single version of Murph mattered.
Because Memorial Day was never about the leaderboard.
It’s about remembering the men and women who sacrificed everything so we could wake up in freedom yesterday morning.
Freedom to gather.
Freedom to move.
Freedom to work out in a gym surrounded by people we care about.
Freedom to go home afterward to our families, fire up the grill, laugh with friends, and enjoy a day together.
That freedom came at a cost.
And sometimes I think Memorial Day gets misunderstood. It can easily become just another long weekend. Another day off work. Another excuse for burgers, camping, or getting things done around the house.
But underneath all of that is sacrifice.
Real sacrifice.
Families who never got their loved one back.
Parents who lost children.
Children who lost parents.
Spouses who had plans and dreams that changed forever.
That’s why Murph matters to so many in the CrossFit community. Not because it’s “cool” or because it’s one of the hardest workouts we do all year.
It matters because for one hour, we willingly choose discomfort to remember people who endured far more than discomfort.
And as I’ve gotten older, my perspective around Murph has changed.
Years ago, I cared a lot more about my finish time. I wanted to push harder, compete harder, and see where I stacked up. There’s nothing wrong with that. Competition can be healthy. Pushing yourself matters.
But age and experience have a way of shifting your priorities.
Now, I care more about simply being able to do it.
I care that my body still allows me to run.
I care that my shoulders still allow me to hang from a pull-up bar.
I care that I can move well, recover, and continue showing up year after year.
That perspective is something many people wrestle with as they age. Goals evolve. Your definition of success changes. And that’s okay.
Actually, it’s more than okay.
It’s healthy.
At some point, fitness stops becoming about trying to impress people and starts becoming about preserving your quality of life.
You stop chasing workouts to prove your worth and start training so you can continue fully living your life.
You work out so you can hike with your kids.
Carry groceries without pain.
Play with your grandkids someday.
Respond when someone needs help.
Stay independent.
Stay capable.
Stay alive longer and better.
That’s one of the reasons I still believe so deeply in CrossFit and functional fitness. Not because it makes everyone elite athletes, but because it helps ordinary people continue doing extraordinary things throughout their lives.
Yesterday was a reminder of that.
We had people of all ages and abilities doing Murph together. Different speeds. Different scales. Different goals.
But one common purpose.
To honor.
To remember.
To continue building bodies and minds that are resilient enough to carry us through life.
And maybe that’s the lesson I continue learning after 13 Murphs.
Fitness isn’t really about becoming someone else.
It’s about becoming more capable of living the life you already have.
So if your goals have changed over the years, that’s okay.
If your PR days aren’t your top priority anymore, that’s okay too.
Keep moving anyway.
Keep taking care of yourself anyway.
Keep showing up anyway.
Because the ability to move your body is a gift.
And the freedom to do it is an even greater one.
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