An Insurmountable Mountain
A few days ago, I had my worst episode/IBS flare-up since the ER, and it left me feeling truly vulnerable and weak. Squats and deadlifts had been going well, so my coach decided that I could do a paused single on deadlifts at 285 instead of 280 and that my backdown sets would be paused sets at 265. Paused deadlifts in general are hard because while regular deadlifts themselves take an enormous amount of focus and strength, paused deadlifts entail suspending the entire weight as soon as you break the ground and then h o l d i n g it there for a second before locking out. So now, instead of having to focus on not breaking your back and staying tight throughout the entire lift, you have to worry about pausing 285lb in the air for a few seconds before completing the lift. Just a few days earlier, I had lifted 290 for the first time since August and barely pulled that off because my muscles had been so tight. Anyways, I had been feeling a bit queasy the entire week, which should have been my first indicator that something was off, but as soon as I had a few scoops of the new pre-workout I had been trying, I knew I was done for. For the entire two hours that I was at the gym attempting to deadlift, I was nervous and shaking and shivering and finally just had to send myself home because I couldn't stand up straight.
This moment, to me, almost seemed to be a culmination of all the misery I had been experiencing the past few months. While I already stay clear of most powerlifters online because I get so caught up in their progress I'll start comparing it to mine, I had started to notice that almost nobody seemed to have the same mentality as me. For one, almost every powerlifter seemed to have an inspiring back-story in which they had overcome an eating disorder or bad relationships once they discovered powerlifting and "found their strength." They all yelled and clapped their hype squads on the backs when any of them achieved the smallest PR and raged about how "hungry" they were and how they only felt whole when they were "one with the bar." I found myself becoming resentful because these lifters not only weighed 80lb more than and lifted comparatively less than me, but because they also were able to do what I could not: lay their achievements out on the line and be proud of themselves for everything they had accomplished. And this was the moment that I realized that what I had been chasing was validation, not sincere happiness.
When I transferred schools a year and a half ago, I knew in my heart that this opportunity was a second chance for me to rediscover myself and do what I hadn't been able to do at my last school. Chemical Engineering, while truly a beautiful and incredibly important field of study, had left me drained, hopeless, and unsure of my self-worth, and I hoped that switching majors to Industrial Distribution Engineering would allow me to really learn about this field and its future and help me to become better at studying and time management. Around the same time, a friend informed me that Collegiate Nationals was going to be held at Texas A&M and to sign up so I could see him there. Before his call, I had never even taken powerlifting seriously or considered it to be a viable hobby. My friends had told me that I was comparatively stronger than most girls, but I didn't understand why anybody would compete just to show off how much weight he or she could fling around. I mean, who honestly cared? In my opinion, if you were at the gym, you were there for self-improvement, and the only person who should ever be concerned about that was you. Besides, why would I want to be up on the stage and have everybody watching me if I made a mistake? But I told him okay, anyways, because I missed my friends and wanted to see them. Of course, at the time, I had no idea what I was getting myself into.
* * *
Powerlifting is hard. It's really fucking hard. Lifting heavy weight while retaining perfect form is already incredibly difficult, but then you have to factor in the constant pain from muscle tightness and the countless hours you spend outside of the gym just stretching and rolling and working on mobility so you can go back to the gym and do the exact same damn thing all over again. So honestly, why would anyone do it? When I started powerlifting, it was a way for me to prove everyone else wrong. I wanted to show the abusive friend that I could be both mentally and physically strong and a badass in my own right, my friends that I had what it took to be a national champion, and my parents that I had something worth working for. And while powerlifting gave me a medium and safe space in which to achieve these goals, I came to realize that doing something to prove others wrong isn't necessarily the same thing as doing something for oneself and that it could actually be just as harmful as the very insecurities I was running from.
This moment, to me, almost seemed to be a culmination of all the misery I had been experiencing the past few months. While I already stay clear of most powerlifters online because I get so caught up in their progress I'll start comparing it to mine, I had started to notice that almost nobody seemed to have the same mentality as me. For one, almost every powerlifter seemed to have an inspiring back-story in which they had overcome an eating disorder or bad relationships once they discovered powerlifting and "found their strength." They all yelled and clapped their hype squads on the backs when any of them achieved the smallest PR and raged about how "hungry" they were and how they only felt whole when they were "one with the bar." I found myself becoming resentful because these lifters not only weighed 80lb more than and lifted comparatively less than me, but because they also were able to do what I could not: lay their achievements out on the line and be proud of themselves for everything they had accomplished. And this was the moment that I realized that what I had been chasing was validation, not sincere happiness.
When I transferred schools a year and a half ago, I knew in my heart that this opportunity was a second chance for me to rediscover myself and do what I hadn't been able to do at my last school. Chemical Engineering, while truly a beautiful and incredibly important field of study, had left me drained, hopeless, and unsure of my self-worth, and I hoped that switching majors to Industrial Distribution Engineering would allow me to really learn about this field and its future and help me to become better at studying and time management. Around the same time, a friend informed me that Collegiate Nationals was going to be held at Texas A&M and to sign up so I could see him there. Before his call, I had never even taken powerlifting seriously or considered it to be a viable hobby. My friends had told me that I was comparatively stronger than most girls, but I didn't understand why anybody would compete just to show off how much weight he or she could fling around. I mean, who honestly cared? In my opinion, if you were at the gym, you were there for self-improvement, and the only person who should ever be concerned about that was you. Besides, why would I want to be up on the stage and have everybody watching me if I made a mistake? But I told him okay, anyways, because I missed my friends and wanted to see them. Of course, at the time, I had no idea what I was getting myself into.
* * *
Powerlifting is hard. It's really fucking hard. Lifting heavy weight while retaining perfect form is already incredibly difficult, but then you have to factor in the constant pain from muscle tightness and the countless hours you spend outside of the gym just stretching and rolling and working on mobility so you can go back to the gym and do the exact same damn thing all over again. So honestly, why would anyone do it? When I started powerlifting, it was a way for me to prove everyone else wrong. I wanted to show the abusive friend that I could be both mentally and physically strong and a badass in my own right, my friends that I had what it took to be a national champion, and my parents that I had something worth working for. And while powerlifting gave me a medium and safe space in which to achieve these goals, I came to realize that doing something to prove others wrong isn't necessarily the same thing as doing something for oneself and that it could actually be just as harmful as the very insecurities I was running from.
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