On a crisp April morning in 2026, as dew clung to the grass outside CrossFit boxes from Brooklyn to Boise, athletes laced up their shoes not just for a workout, but for a quiet act of remembrance. The workout posted on the whiteboard that day—“Drew”—wasn’t merely another sequence of burpees, kettlebell swings, and pull-ups etched in sweat and chalk. It was a Hero WOD, a living tribute to Chief Warrant Officer 3 Andrew “Drew” Gunnison Cully, a 35-year-old Army aviator from Ozark, Missouri, who gave his life in service during a training mission over Fort Novosel in 2021. Today, as the clock ticks toward 18:21 on April 17, 2026, the ritual of “Drew” carries renewed weight—not only as a test of physical endurance, but as a mirror reflecting how military sacrifice continues to shape civilian communities long after the headlines fade.
The workout itself is deceptively brutal in its simplicity: 21-15-9 rounds for time of deadlifts (225/155 lb), box jumps (24/20 in), and burpee pull-ups. Named after Cully, whose call sign “Drew” echoed over radio frequencies during countless night missions piloting UH-60 Black Hawks, the WOD was first introduced in 2022 by CrossFit Ozark, the affiliate closest to his hometown. What began as a local gesture has since rippled through the global CrossFit network, with over 1,200 affiliated gyms registering the workout on their annual memorial calendars by 2025, according to data tracked by the Hero WOD Archive.
But beneath the surface of this fitness ritual lies a deeper current—one that speaks to how America processes loss, builds resilience, and forges unexpected bridges between the military and civilian worlds. In an era where fewer than 1% of Americans serve in the armed forces, Hero WODs like “Drew” have become rare cultural touchpoints where civilians can physically engage with the weight of service—not through abstract gratitude, but through shared discomfort, shared breath, and shared finish lines.
How a Missouri Aviator’s Legacy Took Root in the CrossFit Community
Chief Warrant Officer Cully wasn’t just a pilot; he was a husband, a father of two young daughters, and a man known among his unit for fixing fellow soldiers’ bikes in his garage during downtime. His death during a routine night training exercise—a stark reminder that peril doesn’t always approach from combat—left a void in the 1st Battalion, 227th Aviation Regiment, and in the tight-knit community of Ozark, where Friday night football and Sunday church gatherings still mark the rhythm of life.
It was Cully’s sister-in-law, a CrossFit Level 1 Trainer, who first suggested turning his memory into a workout. “We wanted something that felt like him—steady, relentless, and grounded,” she told Springfield News-Leader in 2022. The deadlifts represent the weight of responsibility he carried; the box jumps, the constant readiness to rise to the occasion; the burpee pull-ups, the unpredictable turbulence of flight and life itself.
What started as a memorial day event at CrossFit Ozark has evolved into something more systematic. In 2024, CrossFit HQ officially added “Drew” to its Hero WOD list, a designation reserved for workouts honoring fallen first responders and military personnel. That inclusion triggered a ripple effect: major affiliates in cities like Dallas, San Diego, and Norfolk began programming it not just on Memorial Day, but throughout the year, often pairing it with fundraising drives for veteran nonprofits.
“These workouts aren’t about performance—they’re about presence,” says Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Jennings, Deputy Commander of the 101st Airborne Division’s Combat Aviation Brigade, who has participated in “Drew” workouts at three different affiliates.
“When you’re sucking air on the last round of burpee pull-ups and your legs are shaking, you’re not thinking about your time. You’re thinking about what it means to show up, even when it hurts. That’s the connection.”
Her observation underscores a growing recognition within military circles that civilian fitness communities can offer meaningful, non-transactional ways to honor service.
The Unseen Economics of Memorial Fitness
Beyond the emotional resonance, the proliferation of Hero WODs like “Drew” has quietly spawned a micro-economy within the fitness industry. Specialized apparel lines—think limited-edition shirts featuring unit insignias or fallen heroes’ call signs—have emerged from brands like Grunt Style and Nine Line Apparel, with portions of proceeds often funneled to organizations such as the Travis Manion Foundation or Boot Campaign. In 2025, sales of Memorial Day-themed fitness gear grew 22% year-over-year, according to market analysis by Statista, outpacing general fitness apparel growth.
Meanwhile, gym owners report that Hero WOD days consistently drive higher engagement and retention. A 2024 survey of 300 CrossFit affiliates by BoxRox found that 68% saw increased membership inquiries in the weeks following a Hero WOD, particularly among individuals seeking not just fitness, but purpose-driven community. “People don’t just want to get fit,” says Marco Bellini, owner of CrossFit Iron Militia in Fredericksburg, Virginia, a gym with strong ties to nearby Quantico.
“They want to belong to something that matters. When we do ‘Drew’ or ‘Murph,’ we’re not just coaching a workout—we’re holding space for a story.”
This dynamic reflects a broader cultural shift: in a society grappling with isolation and fragmented identities, rituals that blend physical challenge with moral remembrance are filling a void. Sociologists at the University of Chicago have noted that such practices function as “civil religion in motion”—secular ceremonies that reinforce shared values through embodied experience.
Why “Drew” Matters More Than Ever in 2026
The timing of today’s workout is not arbitrary. April 2026 marks the fifth anniversary of Cully’s passing—a milestone that, in military tradition, often deepens the reflective nature of remembrance. It as well coincides with heightened national conversations about veteran mental health, recruitment challenges, and the widening civil-military divide. According to the Department of Veterans Affairs, suicide rates among veterans remain 1.5 times higher than non-veteran adults, a statistic that has prompted renewed focus on community-based prevention strategies.
Hero WODs may offer more than symbolic value. Emerging research suggests that structured, group-based physical activity can play a role in mitigating PTSD symptoms and fostering social reconnection. A 2023 study published in the Journal of Traumatic Stress found that veterans who participated in regular CrossFit-style training reported significant improvements in emotional regulation and feelings of belonging—effects amplified when workouts incorporated memorial elements.
“We’re beginning to understand that healing isn’t just clinical—it’s communal,” says Dr. Rachel Moreno, a clinical psychologist specializing in veteran trauma at the Cohen Veterans Network.
“When a civilian does ‘Drew’ and finishes with their hands on their knees, gasping, they’re not just completing a circuit. They’re saying, ‘I witness you. I carry this with you.’ That kind of recognition is powerful medicine.”
as the U.S. Military contends with its smallest recruiting pool since the Vietnam War—partly due to declining familiarity with military life among youth—initiatives like Hero WODs serve as unexpected ambassadors. They offer civilians a visceral, respectful entry point into military culture, not through glorification, but through shared vulnerability.
The Chalk Dust Remains
As the final athlete drops to the floor after the last burpee pull-up in a garage-turned-gym in suburban Chicago, the timer stops. Sweat mixes with chalk dust on the concrete. Somewhere, a phone buzzes with a text from a sibling in Ozark: “Did you do it today?” The answer, typed with tired thumbs, is simple: “Yeah. We remembered.”
In a world that often measures value in speed, scale, and spectacle, the quiet endurance of a workout like “Drew” reminds us that some of the most profound acts of respect are measured not in trophies, but in time—time taken to show up, time spent in discomfort, time dedicated to keeping a name alive not in marble, but in motion.
So the next time you see “Drew” on the whiteboard, don’t just see a challenge. See an invitation: to honor, to connect, to remember that strength isn’t only what we lift—it’s what we choose to carry for others.
What’s one way you’ve turned remembrance into action? Share your story below—we’re listening.
