I've always worn my wedding band when I'm working out. A few

Hear the words of Rich Froning Jr., champion of CrossFit and man of devotion: “I’ve always worn my wedding band when I’m working out. A few years ago I realized how dangerous wearing a metal band could be and switched to silicone.” Though he speaks of rings and training, the wisdom of these words reaches far beyond the gym. It is a reflection on love, on devotion, on the balance between strength and safety, and on the ways in which tradition must sometimes yield to wisdom so that its meaning may endure.

For the wedding band is no mere ornament. It is a circle of covenant, a sign to the world that one’s life is bound to another in loyalty and love. To wear it even in the midst of sweat and strain is to declare that this bond does not rest only in times of ease, but remains through labor, discipline, and trial. Froning, by keeping it upon his hand during training, shows that love is not left at the door of the arena—it is carried with him into every lift, every struggle, every victory.

Yet he came to see that a metal band could be perilous when iron meets iron. A simple slip, a caught edge, a crushing weight—these could wound the hand that bore the symbol of love. What use is a token of devotion if it endangers the very body that wears it? Thus wisdom speaks: the symbol must serve life, not imperil it. Froning’s choice to switch to silicone is not the abandonment of tradition, but its renewal. It is the recognition that what matters most is not the material, but the meaning it holds.

This truth echoes in the stories of old. The Spartans carried shields not for vanity but for protection, yet the shield itself could change in form so long as it fulfilled its purpose. The samurai carried their swords with reverence, but they also adapted their armor as war demanded. In every age, the wise have known that symbols are sacred not because of their substance, but because of the spirit they embody. So too with the wedding band: whether of gold, iron, or silicone, its worth lies in the vow it represents.

Froning’s words also remind us that strength must walk hand in hand with wisdom. Many cling stubbornly to tradition without thought, believing that to change form is to betray meaning. But the truly strong are not rigid; they are adaptable, discerning when to hold fast and when to bend. Froning did not cast away the band, but he chose a safer form, preserving both the spirit of devotion and the safety of his body. In this, he teaches that love is not found in unyielding stubbornness, but in wise endurance.

The lesson is clear: in all things, honor the meaning more than the form. Symbols are powerful, but they must serve life and purpose, not endanger them. Whether in love, in labor, or in faith, remember that the true essence lies in the vow, not the material; in the spirit, not the outward show. By adapting, we preserve what is most sacred. By clinging blindly, we risk losing both the symbol and the truth it was meant to guard.

In practice, this means: cherish the signs of love and loyalty in your life, but do not let them become prisons. Adapt when wisdom requires it. Hold fast to devotion, but be willing to change its form so that it may endure. Let your rings, your tokens, your symbols always point to the living truth they represent, never becoming idols that endanger the very life they honor.

So let Froning’s words be passed down as a quiet but profound teaching: the strength of love is not in the metal of the ring, but in the spirit of the vow. Whether forged of gold or shaped from silicone, what matters is the hand that wears it, and the heart that remains true behind it.