Speed skater Kristen Talbot made headlines in 1992 when she gave up her Olympic dreams to donate bone marrow to her critically ill brother. Talbot proved that she wanted to keep her brother in her life and was committed to doing everything she could to support him during his physical illness, even at the expense of the hard work and practice she had put in on the ice over the years. She demonstrated extreme personal sacrifice to benefit someone she loved.

Often we take our brothers and sisters for granted. We do not carve out time from our schedule to spend with them. We don’t invite them to join us in activities. We don’t ask about their days or show interest in their lives.

All athletes have experienced it. The day after a hard work out, we roll out of bed barely able to move. Aching pains shoot like firecrackers through our bodies, making us feel 100 years old. The fact is, during those hours spent in the gym, running, or at practice, we were literally pulling our muscles apart. The resistance of weights and movement caused the muscles to tear and the soreness felt is the body struggling to rebuild those fibers, stronger than before. Isn’t it crazy the pain we endure for a desired physical result—that six pack of abs and a set of pythons to make the Rock jealous? But what are we willing to suffer to be conditioned spiritually?

I’ve been out of college for two years now. I haven’t changed much (at least I’d like to think), but there is one aspect of my life that I’ve let slip: my physical workouts. I did all right in the summer and fall, but once the winter months came, I wanted to stay inside where it was warm. After a long day at work I didn’t want to exert any more energy than I already had. Unfortunately, this way of thinking became a habit, and I could feel my body losing all the muscle and stamina I had worked so hard to gain. Still, I made excuses. “I’ve done my time,” I reasoned. I gave my body everything I had for eight years straight, pushing it through multiple sports in high school and college.

BUSTED! You know what I mean. You're 3 years old, not quite tall enough to reach the cookie jar yet; but you want one! So, being the sneaky and bright little kid that you are, you push a chair up to the counter, climb up and reach as far as you can to pull the cookie jar closer. When you get it, you smile that accomplished little smirk just before removing the lid, happily glancing down into the jar and putting your little fingers down inside. Just as you find the PERFECT cookie, Mom walks in. Yep, you've just been caught!