My family and I watched the U.S. ice skater crank out quad everythings.

As he made four full rotations before landing on one foot, I marveled at how effortless it looked, as if it weren’t hard enough for some of us to do even a single rotation on carpet with socks on.

What kind of rigorous, all-in training has he undertaken to pull off the hardest jumps in figure skating time and again? What dedication to his trade does he have to stand out even among the best of the best in his field? What kind of discipline does he impose on himself to routinely land a jump previously thought impossible just a few years ago?

That kind of excellence is so inspiring and attracts others to want to strive for greatness as well.

At my age, the Olympics are probably out of reach for me, although maybe I could be in the backseat of a bobsled if my only job was to hang on for dear life.

But we are in the midst of the biggest training season of the liturgical year — Lent.

Wouldn’t it be cool if we held ourselves to Olympic standards when it came to our Lenten practices of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving?

Wouldn’t it be inspiring if we collectively decided to go for the gold, achieving previously unheard-of levels of holiness through rigorous discipline rooted in charity?

What if we pulled out all the stops and sought every opportunity to renounce the self in order to grow in love of God and neighbor?

Some Ideas

If you need ideas for what that would look like, I’ve got a few quad axel-grade Lenten practices for us to consider:

Are you a coffee lover? Is that first sip one of the best parts of your day? Not anymore.

This Lent, let’s intentionally ruin our coffee breaks. We could make our coffee weaker than usual. Instead of shoveling grounds into the filter, we could use a teaspoon measure.

No one will notice, except our nerves. Or, better yet, we could switch to tea, which is made from herbs and tears.

Stopping at a gas station? That’s fine, we can get coffee, but we’ll keep it black. We’re going to march right past the chocolate, caramel, and vanilla pumps and the whipped cream station and bring our bitter drinks out to our cold cars with hearts on fire for the Lord.

After all, we don’t need the sugar. We have something better, the Word of God: “How sweet are thy words to my taste, sweeter than honey to my mouth!” (Psalm 119:103)

And in case us coffee drinkers have forgotten: “The spirit of God has made me, and the breath of the Almighty gives me life” (Job 33:4) — not coffee.

Self giving

A bit stingy with your stuff? Do you hesitate when your friend asks to borrow your favorite book because you know they’re going to dog-ear the pages and keep it for a year?

For these 40 days, let’s strive for radical generosity in imitation of the Father.

We can drop that book off at our friend’s house — it might be just the reprieve they needs to get through a rough patch.

Did our sister ask to borrow a sweater? We’re going to hand it over with a smile and not even include a warning about not spilling anything on it.

And what’s that? Our kids asked for two bites of our four-bite brownie? We’ll be so happy they asked! And we won’t eat ice cream in the garage to avoid sharing, either.

Our selflessness will make the love of God tangible to those around us.

“You will be enriched in every way for great generosity, which through us will produce thanksgiving to God” (2 Cor. 9:11).

Attached to comfort? This Lent, we’re only wearing turtlenecks. They’re the modern-day hairshirts. Or, we’ll slip on socks made from an unnatural material. I once went grocery shopping in polyester socks. By aisle seven, my feet were on fire, and it added an unnecessary layer of urgency to my errand.

Is the couch beckoning after a long day? Before we put our feet up, let’s tackle one more household task, like putting away that load of laundry that would otherwise sit forgotten in the dryer, bringing up that pile of whatever that’s been ignored on the steps, or picking up ten pieces of paper — or socks, hair ties, and pencils — off the carpet, like we used to do in grade school.

Strive for greatness

We can use our discomfort to become more sensitive to the suffering of those around us, and find true comfort in God, not our favorite squished-in section of the sofa.

“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort” (2 Cor. 1:3).

Let’s train hard so we can enjoy our place on the podium with the Greatest of All Time, when we celebrate His victory over death on Easter Sunday.