I cannot describe my nerves going into the weigh-in day before--that kind of anxious that numbs your body from the hips up. The kind that makes you babble about any and everything, to the amusement or annoyance of everyone with me. The meet was only 20 minutes outside of Pittsburgh, but I restricted myself from almost all social events prior to the meet. I was worried about getting my rest, staying migraine free, eating the wrong thing. On the day of the meet, I was up at 6am, awakened by my cell phone alarm and the beautiful smell of fresh coffee. We stayed with my friend Joe who was kind enough to preset the brew, knowing I'd need it.
I quickly ate a small container of oats and yogurt, a small bagel. Packed the rest of my snacks for the day--the container of Pedialyte, jug of water, my weightlifting shoes, belt, phone, music, towel, baby powder. Items from a list I wrote weeks ago and meticulously checked off before departure. All that was left to do was lift the damn weights.
Once the rules were stated to all of the lifters, things moved fairly quickly. Warm up was a little chaotic--two areas with many, many competitors waiting their turn. The monolift took some getting used to--I didn't have to worry about the walkout, which allowed me to conserve an extra sliver of energy. Every crumb of it counts on a day like that.
I was first to lift in my flight, and as soon as my hands wrapped around the squat bar, I heard the beginning of "Ice Ice Baby" start to play over the speakers. Oh boy here we go. Squat came and went--I made all of my lifts. I jumped on the last one to match my all time personal best. A thought formed in my head: I had nothing to compare this experience to, therefore I had nothing to lose. I could roll with that. I could take some risks. We went outside and I demolished some rotisserie chicken and looked onward to bench.
Bench is my "worst" lift, as in my weakest of the three. Warm up felt okay, but rushed due to the sheer amount of us trying to get our reps in. Everyone says to focus on making competition day as close to a training day as possible, but they easily felt light years apart. During competition there are extended periods of rest, followed by a flurry of getting warmed up which dominoes into the actual lifts(which go rather quickly themselves). Training can be a lot of "wait until you're ready." Competition is more of the "you better be ready when it's time" scenario.
My actual bench attempts felt great so I took another big jump on the last one--10 pounds, giving me an all time personal best. The lift was a grinder--the rule for bench is that once you start pressing, the bar cannot start descending--that will be a no lift. Halfway up my press the bar wouldn't budge, and I refused to let it drop until that sucker was fully extended and complete. 3 white lights, good lift. Probably my most exciting lift of the meet. Afteward, J told me that's when he realized I was not there to play around. The look in your eye when you decided to go for it, he said.
I drank diluted Pedialyte for the duration of the meet--I was pretty damn tired by the time deadlifts rolled around. I was also getting more irritated and therefore more assertive with the warm up area situation. Deadlift is a fickle beast. Some days the bar feels incredibly light, and other days 200+ pounds feels more like a ton. Technique, proper position is everything. I warmed up to just over 200 and then let myself relax. It's too easy to blow it all on warm up and I felt fairly cashed already.
Deadlift pulls felt like butter. There's nothing like moving heavy weight and moving it well. I made another big jump on my last lift--I was going to use every last bit of energy I had, so why not go all out? The lift was good and I hit another all time personal record.
In summary, my goals were accomplished and surpassed. I went 9 for 9(all of my lifts were good), matched one all time PR(squat) and obtained two new ones(bench, deadlift). I was first in my division. I was the lightest(weightwise) and oldest woman competing, which gave me a bit of pride. The meet lasted just over 8 hours.
Listen. There were days I showed up to the gym and felt like I was simply going through the motions. Days when I did not want to be there. Days that I didn't want to be anywhere else. Days when I left in tears because I couldn't hit an easy number. 99% of the time I went and lifted alone, and sometimes the loneliness sucked. I had to say no to a social life, to staying up late, to junk food. Tuna and rice, tuna and rice, over and over again. Every inch of my body has ached at some point or another. I listened to so much old school hip hop, punk, cuban music, silence. Over time I grew the courage to talk about my goals with strangers at the gym. I formed friendships in between sets. I bruised and bloodied myself--ripped the skin off my palms multiple times. It grew back thicker and thicker. When I started out, my father would offer with caution "be careful, don't overdo it," but as competition day grew closer he started to ask me about my max numbers, telling me a little wistfully that he wishes he could be there to see it. I sent him videos of all my lifts and he's still showing them proudly to random people.
I was so fucking proud of myself, and still am. I decided to compete, and I worked hard for months to get ready. And I did it. I showed up and I lifted and did my best. I put in the work. I put in the effort. I loved all of it. I love the lifting community--the excitement, the camaraderie, the absurdity of all these incredibly strong folks in singlets with chalk on their thighs and hands and delts. It was incredible to think how every person there spent countless hours preparing--you can explain it to outsiders but unless you do it yourself, outsiders will have a hard time understanding. The very why of it baffles people. Why not?
I managed a full four days of rest(the most I've had in 4+ months in a row) before I was right back in the rack. This time a little more wild-eyed, a little more certain, much more hopeful and hungry.
No comments:
Post a Comment