I’m going to be honest, when The Miss Fits all got together and had our final prep before the meet last weekend, I was nearly in tears. My confidence was shot, and while I love watching the other girls train well, I was frustrated that I didn’t see the progression in myself that I saw in them.
We got to the meet Saturday morning, and I don’t know why but I don’t really get nervous. I get goofy, anxious, maybe a little loopy. I completely blew the turn giving directions and almost caused my roommate to do a very illegal U-turn on the interstate. I am forgetful, and honestly just try to find the humor in the fact that the male onesie left very little to my innocent mind. So by the time I was done warming up and avoiding eye contact with any male in said onsie, I felt pretty good. I felt great actually. My squat was killer and when I got on that stage to lift, my adrenaline started flowing.
As people get to know me, they realize that I have a tendency to be a “space cadet.” So I went up to squat and my opener felt like a breeze; my second squat (probably around 190 lbs) was just as easy, and my third squat, around 209 lbs, almost felt like a joke. So when I walked the bar to the rack and puffed my chest out in confidence, my heart sank as I saw two red lights (meaning disqualification). I hadn’t waited for the official “rack” command. Squat was the ONE lift that I felt I’ve improved the most. I’m not kidding, all I wanted to do was break 200 lbs, and while I did it no problem, something about the DQ threw me off for the rest of the day. I was crushed.
When I moved on to the bench, it was great. I opened with my previous PR, and while I failed at my 3rd attempt, I had to go for the heavy benches at some point. So failing at 105 was just fine by me.
Now, the deadlift started off a little shaky, as the NASA officials fumbled to play my song request (Circle of Life from the Lion King) and I tried to high-five the official only to realize her hand was in the air indicating it was time for me to pull. Talk about awkward. I ended up pulling 272 compared to last October’s 265, which I’m happy about—but not enough that I would go in for a post-pull congratulatory high-five from the official.
The hardest part of this meet for me wasn’t the training, the diet or the weights themselves; it was me. I was my own worst enemy. I was so hard on myself with the expectations I created that I couldn’t allow myself to enjoy my accomplishments. The raw truth is that weight lifting isn’t going to allow massive PRs every meet; if that were the case I’d be squatting in the Olympics in a few years. Lifting weights is just as much mental as it is physical. Yes, I wanted to bench 100 lbs, squat 200 lbs and deadlift 300 for a meet total of 600. Did I do it? No. I was even jealous of my amazing Miss Fits who did, but not as much as I was PROUD of them for reaching their goals. I guess I’m just
not there yet; I haven’t reached my goals, and it’s OKAY to not be at the finish line yet.
As women, we tend to put the weight of the world on our shoulders, and tear ourselves apart when we fail to meet our expectations. I humbly learned this weekend that just because I’m not the strongest doesn’t mean I’m weak; it means I’m human.