The Unsung Heroes Living in My DNA

During a recent meditation session, my deep lower-belly breaths and silent prayers into the dark abyss behind my eyelids were suddenly interrupted by "Eye of the Tiger" lyrics blasting loudly in the back of my mind: "Rising up, back on the streets. Did my time, took my chances…" I welcomed this sonic intrusion on my yoga mat only because the iconic Rocky franchise (RIP Creed) is of supreme importance to my family history. My dad introduced my sisters and me to the 1970s blockbuster series when we were just little girls. Our fandom runs so deep that we have memorized all the lyrics to the Rocky IV soundtrack and are known for impromptu performances of "No Easy Way Out." Fast forward a few decades later, as I've started to investigate the aches and pains of my mid-30s, one of my most nagging ailments has been, ironically, a muscle spasm lodged in my left serratus anterior, known as the "boxer's muscle." It's the muscle group employed by the body when throwing a punch. My deep dive into my own chronic pain led me down a fighter's tale I didn't expect, starting with my own veteran grandfather.

Raymond Kelly Sr. was drafted into World War II as an army truck driver when he was 20 years old and living in Dayton, Ohio, according to documents I obtained through Ancestry.com. I didn't expect to burst into tears seeing my grandpa's handwriting, for the first time, on a tan-colored 1940s draft card as genealogist Nicka Sewell-Smith walked me through his buried life history. To my surprise, a well of untapped grief around never knowing my paternal elder had been living inside of me all along. Before I was born, my grandpa died at the age of 54, after suffering a stroke at 43—a little over 20 years after he was drafted into war. But, as the circle of life goes, my tears of grief turned to tears of joy when Sewell-Smith shared with me that she found a newspaper clip from the 1930s that listed a little-known fact about my grandfather: He was a lightweight entree into a Golden Gloves boxing competition in Dayton, Ohio. My dad cracked up when I shared the discovery with him, because, unbeknownst to my bloodline, Raymond Kelly Sr. was a young boxer before he was drafted. Two generations later, I can't help but wonder what unresolved ghosts from fighting and war are still lingering in my own chronic aches and pains.

View in Browser  Rising up, back on the streets. Did my time, took my chances…" I welcomed this sonic intrusion on my yoga mat only because the iconic Rocky franchise (RIP Creed) is of supreme importance to my family history. My dad introduced my sisters and me to the 1970s blockbuster series when we were just little girls. Our fandom runs so deep that we have memorized all the lyrics to the Rocky IV soundtrack and are known for impromptu performances of "No Easy Way Out." Fast forward a few decades later, as I've started to investigate the aches and pains of my mid-30s, one of my most nagging ailments has been, ironically, a muscle spasm lodged in my left serratus anterior, known as the "boxer's muscle." It's the muscle group employed by the body when throwing a punch. My deep dive into my own chronic pain led me down a fighter's tale I didn't expect, starting with my own veteran grandfather. Raymond Kelly Sr. was drafted into World War II as an army truck driver when he was 20 years old and living in Dayton, Ohio, according to documents I obtained through Ancestry.com. I didn't expect to burst into tears seeing my grandpa's handwriting, for the first time, on a tan-colored 1940s draft card as genealogist Nicka Sewell-Smith walked me through his buried life history. To my surprise, a well of untapped grief around never knowing my paternal elder had been living inside of me all along. Before I was born, my grandpa died at the age of 54, after suffering a stroke at 43—a little over 20 years after he was drafted into war. But, as the circle of life goes, my tears of grief turned to tears of joy when Sewell-Smith shared with me that she found a newspaper clip from the 1930s that listed a little-known fact about my grandfather: He was a lightweight entree into a Golden Gloves boxing competition in Dayton, Ohio. My dad cracked up when I shared the discovery with him, because, unbeknownst to my bloodline, Raymond Kelly Sr. was a young boxer before he was drafted. Two generations later, I can't help but wonder what unresolved ghosts from fighting and war are still lingering in my own chronic aches and pains." title="During a recent meditation session, my deep lower-belly breaths and silent prayers into the dark abyss behind my eyelids were suddenly interrupted by "Eye of the Tiger" lyrics blasting loudly in the back of my mind: "Rising up, back on the streets. Did my time, took my chances…" I welcomed this sonic intrusion on my yoga mat only because the iconic Rocky franchise (RIP Creed) is of supreme importance to my family history. My dad introduced my sisters and me to the 1970s blockbuster series when we were just little girls. Our fandom runs so deep that we have memorized all the lyrics to the Rocky IV soundtrack and are known for impromptu performances of "No Easy Way Out." Fast forward a few decades later, as I've started to investigate the aches and pains of my mid-30s, one of my most nagging ailments has been, ironically, a muscle spasm lodged in my left serratus anterior, known as the "boxer's muscle." It's the muscle group employed by the body when throwing a punch. My deep dive into my own chronic pain led me down a fighter's tale I didn't expect, starting with my own veteran grandfather. Raymond Kelly Sr. was drafted into World War II as an army truck driver when he was 20 years old and living in Dayton, Ohio, according to documents I obtained through Ancestry.com. I didn't expect to burst into tears seeing my grandpa's handwriting, for the first time, on a tan-colored 1940s draft card as genealogist Nicka Sewell-Smith walked me through his buried life history. To my surprise, a well of untapped grief around never knowing my paternal elder had been living inside of me all along. Before I was born, my grandpa died at the age of 54, after suffering a stroke at 43—a little over 20 years after he was drafted into war. But, as the circle of life goes, my tears of grief turned to tears of joy when Sewell-Smith shared with me that she found a newspaper clip from the 1930s that listed a little-known fact about my grandfather: He was a lightweight entree into a Golden Gloves boxing competition in Dayton, Ohio. My dad cracked up when I shared the discovery with him, because, unbeknownst to my bloodline, Raymond Kelly Sr. was a young boxer before he was drafted. Two generations later, I can't help but wonder what unresolved ghosts from fighting and war are still lingering in my own chronic aches and pains."> The Unsung Heroes Living in My DNA During a recent meditation session, my deep lower-belly breaths and silent prayers into the dark abyss behind my eyelids were suddenly interrupted by "Eye of the Tiger" lyrics blasting loudly in the back of my mind: "Rising up, back on the streets. Did my time, took my chances…" I welcomed this sonic intrusion on my yoga mat only because the iconic Rocky franchise (RIP Creed) is of supreme importance to my family history. My dad introduced my sisters and me to the 1970s blockbuster series when we were just little girls. Our fandom runs so deep that we have memorized all the lyrics to the Rocky IV soundtrack and are known for impromptu performances of "No Easy Way Out." Fast forward a few decades later, as I've started to investigate the aches and pains of my mid-30s, one of my most nagging ailments has been, ironically, a muscle spasm lodged in my left serratus anterior, known as the "boxer's muscle." It's the muscle group employed by the body when throwing a punch. My deep dive into my own chronic pain led me down a fighter's tale I didn't expect, starting with my own veteran grandfather. Raymond Kelly Sr. was drafted into World War II as an army truck driver when he was 20 years old and living in Dayton, Ohio, according to documents I obtained through Ancestry.com. I didn't expect to burst into tears seeing my grandpa's handwriting, for the first time, on a tan-colored 1940s draft card as genealogist Nicka Sewell-Smith walked me through his buried life history. To my surprise, a well of untapped grief around never knowing my paternal elder had been living inside of me all along. Before I was born, my grandpa died at the age of 54, after suffering a stroke at 43—a little over 20 years after he was drafted into war. But, as the circle of life goes, my tears of grief turned to tears of joy when Sewell-Smith shared with me that she found a newspaper clip from the 1930s that listed a little-known fact about my grandfather: He was a lightweight entree into a Golden Gloves boxing competition in Dayton, Ohio. My dad cracked up when I shared the discovery with him, because, unbeknownst to my bloodline, Raymond Kelly Sr. was a young boxer before he was drafted. Two generations later, I can't help but wonder what unresolved ghosts from fighting and war are still lingering in my own chronic aches and pains. READ MORE   Jodie Turner-Smith Opens Up About Divorce From Joshua Jackson "There are so many different moments in our life where we look at ourselves and say, 'Who am I and am I being true to that?'" 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