CrossFitters talk a lot about community, so much so that sometimes I think it's become merely a buzz word. When asked what you like about CrossFit, you're supposed to say, "It's changed my life," "I can do things I never thought were possible," "the workouts are so challenging," and "I love the community."
Well, this weekend I was asked on camera why I CrossFit, and I'm pretty sure I said the same things everyone else says, word for word. I consider myself introspective, occasionally creative, and usually hilarious (although it's mostly just me who laughs at my jokes), so I was disappointed to hear the same "boring cliches" emerge from my mouth. The trouble is, I couldn't really think of anything else to say, because they are all true. And pretty much universally true. I believe this forms the basis for an exceptionally strong worldwide community - formed by sharing significant experiences. Life, for that matter, is that way. We all share experiences (good and bad) which build into a wonderful interconnected web which results in a supportive community so far beyond that which I had previously recognized.
This weekend I was blown away by my community, and was reminded that no one should ever think they live in isolation. I received messages of support from people I haven't heard from in many years, even people I thought would have forgotten me by now. I was surrounded in person by people who inspire and support me on a daily basis. I watched people cheering with great enthusiasm for perfect strangers, who just by working out, just by being them, were encouraging others to reach for healthier, happier lives.
I was blessed to have two moms and two of my coaches in attendance this weekend, along with many other family members and friends watching via the refresh button on the Games site. I was touched by how excited they were for me to compete and succeed. They've already endured a lot of CrossFit talk from me - descriptions of workouts and movements I'm sure they couldn't care less about, and yet they were excited to spend three days watching me do them.
I was blessed by my teammates - I watched each of them give everything they had - being brave enough to even compete at Regionals despite having some significant fears to overcome, to complete 15 reps of a recent PR weight, to dive underneath a near PR snatch without having been able to warm up properly, to compete well despite overwhelming soreness, to set PRs which had eluded them for years. I was also humbled by the genuine enthusiasm of the people who almost made the team - rather than detract from our community by being selfish and hurt (as I was last year, much to my chagrin), they were the #1 supporters this year, and I am so grateful to them for that.
I was blessed by the other competitors - I was so surprised to have so many people who inspire me telling me I inspire them. When I've watched CrossFit, it's always seemed, based on how friendly they are to each other, that there must be a bit of an "insiders" clique, yet rather than feeling like an outsider, I was amazed at how genuine the camaraderie actually is, and how it extended to me even as a competitive newcomer.
I am so grateful to all of the judges, volunteers, sponsors, CrossFit media and staff for making the event this weekend possible. Participating in Regionals made me feel more like a star than I did at the Olympic Trials (and that was an incredible experience). CrossFit has created something really special - and beyond HQ, the gyms, the coaches, and the competitors, it's also a credit to all of the people who are willing to give their time, talents and enthusiasm to media, logistics, programming, announcing, equipment, and everything else that goes into putting on such an awesome event.
I hope that everyone who was watching this weekend realizes that the competitors on the field are no different than the fans. We are all capable of so much more than we think possible - through consistent effort, good nutrition, and effective exercise we can all be healthier, stronger and more capable than we are right now. And we are each surrounded by a huge community of people who love to see us each succeed.
Monday, May 21, 2012
Friday, May 11, 2012
Super Hero
Sometimes after "3...2...1... GO!" you have to just go. Stop thinking about whether you can do it, whether you're fast enough, whether someone else is faster, whether you should slow down in case you get too tired later on. Sometimes you have to just GO and trust your training, your instincts, your body. Tell the mind that its job is to stand by and cheer as the body takes over.
[To be clear, while you are developing proficiency in a movement, or if you're nursing an injury, sometimes it's necessary to be cautious - this will likely be the subject of a later post. However, sometimes in the absence of a physical limitation people are still hesitant, and in that case I say (to myself first and foremost), just GO!]
As an Olympic Lifting coach I watch people try for PRs all the time. Some people PR by a few pounds practically every time they snatch. Some people hit mental roadblocks and stay at the same weight, two wheels for example, for months. Oftentimes the difference is what they say to themselves. The difference between "Oh my gosh, I've never snatched 100 pounds before" and "This is only 5 pounds more than I got last time, it's almost the same thing" is quite often the difference between a miss and a make. Victory vs. defeat.
I am sure to be inadequate if that's what I let myself believe. Before I can accomplish anything I have to convince myself that what I am going for is possible for me on that day. I'm tired of losing in my mind. It really doesn't ever happen that someone else beats me. Sure they might be faster, but only when I give up do I lose. And I never give up because of them, I give up because of me. Because I fear that I am inadequate.
Leading up to Femme Fit 2011 my PR in the clean was 225. I cleaned 240 that day. Leading up to NorCal Recovery Comp in April, my PR (and the last time I had jerked heavy) was from Nationals in March. I jerked 225 (because I accidentally added 10's to the bar instead of 5's and decided to go with it). Finally, last week my deadlift PR (a lift I'm convinced I'm not good at) was 335. Working up to that weight I was feeling strong and told Rob he could put whatever he wanted on there. I deadlifted 370 (surprising even him - he thought it was 360).
Had you asked me before those competitions if I could do those things, I would have told you maybe... someday. But in a competitive environment, knowing that people are watching - some cheering and some sending miss daggers - ambition can outweigh fear. This is one of the reasons I encourage people to compete. If you can create a training environment for yourself in which you can quiet your inhibitions and focus only on your achievements you can give yourself a clearer view of your capabilities, which, once known, can't be unknown. GO, and let your body blow your mind away!
[To be clear, while you are developing proficiency in a movement, or if you're nursing an injury, sometimes it's necessary to be cautious - this will likely be the subject of a later post. However, sometimes in the absence of a physical limitation people are still hesitant, and in that case I say (to myself first and foremost), just GO!]
As an Olympic Lifting coach I watch people try for PRs all the time. Some people PR by a few pounds practically every time they snatch. Some people hit mental roadblocks and stay at the same weight, two wheels for example, for months. Oftentimes the difference is what they say to themselves. The difference between "Oh my gosh, I've never snatched 100 pounds before" and "This is only 5 pounds more than I got last time, it's almost the same thing" is quite often the difference between a miss and a make. Victory vs. defeat.
I am sure to be inadequate if that's what I let myself believe. Before I can accomplish anything I have to convince myself that what I am going for is possible for me on that day. I'm tired of losing in my mind. It really doesn't ever happen that someone else beats me. Sure they might be faster, but only when I give up do I lose. And I never give up because of them, I give up because of me. Because I fear that I am inadequate.
Leading up to Femme Fit 2011 my PR in the clean was 225. I cleaned 240 that day. Leading up to NorCal Recovery Comp in April, my PR (and the last time I had jerked heavy) was from Nationals in March. I jerked 225 (because I accidentally added 10's to the bar instead of 5's and decided to go with it). Finally, last week my deadlift PR (a lift I'm convinced I'm not good at) was 335. Working up to that weight I was feeling strong and told Rob he could put whatever he wanted on there. I deadlifted 370 (surprising even him - he thought it was 360).
Had you asked me before those competitions if I could do those things, I would have told you maybe... someday. But in a competitive environment, knowing that people are watching - some cheering and some sending miss daggers - ambition can outweigh fear. This is one of the reasons I encourage people to compete. If you can create a training environment for yourself in which you can quiet your inhibitions and focus only on your achievements you can give yourself a clearer view of your capabilities, which, once known, can't be unknown. GO, and let your body blow your mind away!
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Winning Doesn't Feel Like Winning
This week in a remarkably profound email, my boss wrote a sentence which caught my attention, given the NorCal Regionals are now merely 9 days away. He said, "What's crazy about winning is that it doesn't feel like winning. It feels like a lot of hard work, because at any given moment, that's what winners are likely to be doing."
When I read that, it nearly made me cry. In my office... at work. Nearly crying because of a sentence in an email having nothing to do with sports. If that doesn't feel like winning, I don't know what does!
Seriously, I've spent all but about a few weeks of my life training in the hopes of winning something. Whether it was soccer, jumping, or hammer in the early days or now in 2012 first it was 5 weeks of the CF Games Open with USAW Nationals thrown in for good measure. Then, immediately thereafter it became CF NorCal Regionals. And, suffering from temporary insanity (or possibly superhero disorder), I spent a few weeks in there also training for the Olympic Trials in Long Jump. I know. Unrealistic. But jumping 19ish feet after 10 years away from the sport gets a girl to dreaming!
The problem with winning in sports is there is a lot of sacrifice involved in the journey - declining fun social invitations, being away from family, enduring physical challenges, making consistently healthy choices, and more, yet these sacrifices have to be made with no guarantee that they will actually result in victory. In 2008 I watched in disbelief as one of the best throwers in the country, one of my heroes, failed to make the preliminary cut at the Trials after training for over a decade. She was without a doubt deserving of a spot on the Olympic team and she didn't even finish in the top 12.
That was part of why I quit throwing hammer, although obviously it's a complicated equation. I couldn't imagine spending four more years training, working and sacrificing - giving more than I was willing to give - if ultimately I couldn't be sure that I would win. For me the sacrifices required to win didn't match up to the likely outcome (to be a math nerd for a second: reward for winning * likelihood of winning = expected reward < necessary compensation for sacrifice). Now, on the flip side, even knowing that I may not ultimately perform as I expect or hope in a CrossFit competition, I'm willing to recommit myself to the life of a semi-professional athlete. The difference now is that the sacrifices I'm making as a CrossFitter and an Olympic Weightlifter are sacrifices I'm willing to make with no guarantee - even if I don't win I know that my life is better because of the quest.
Now, 10 days away from Regionals, even though I'm scared, every muscle in my body hurts, I'm exhausted, and I'm not sure I'm good enough, I haven't and won't quit because I believe that I will be better, having gone through this struggle. There's a good chance (probably most people think there is 100% chance) that I will not be competing in Carson in July - after all, I'm in NorCal, I only finished in 30th in the Open, and I am up against some really talented women. But, having trained, focused, and fought for this opportunity, I know that I am better than I was, and on some level I have already won.
My broken wing is almost as good as new - wanting to compete at an elite level provided an incentive to restore my arm completely, rather than accepting partial function as good enough. I am mentally stronger - I have shown myself time and again that I can fight through fear and pain, I can keep moving when my body says stop, and I can show up even when I don't want to. I'm struck daily by how difficult life can be at times, and I know that the strength I develop as an athlete carries over to strength in other areas - whether or not I compete well next weekend I will be better prepared to face obstacles which I'm afraid of later on in life. I may not win, but in working to win, I improved.
At this point in time I am doing lots of hard work. I hope this is what it feels like to be winning.
When I read that, it nearly made me cry. In my office... at work. Nearly crying because of a sentence in an email having nothing to do with sports. If that doesn't feel like winning, I don't know what does!
Seriously, I've spent all but about a few weeks of my life training in the hopes of winning something. Whether it was soccer, jumping, or hammer in the early days or now in 2012 first it was 5 weeks of the CF Games Open with USAW Nationals thrown in for good measure. Then, immediately thereafter it became CF NorCal Regionals. And, suffering from temporary insanity (or possibly superhero disorder), I spent a few weeks in there also training for the Olympic Trials in Long Jump. I know. Unrealistic. But jumping 19ish feet after 10 years away from the sport gets a girl to dreaming!
The problem with winning in sports is there is a lot of sacrifice involved in the journey - declining fun social invitations, being away from family, enduring physical challenges, making consistently healthy choices, and more, yet these sacrifices have to be made with no guarantee that they will actually result in victory. In 2008 I watched in disbelief as one of the best throwers in the country, one of my heroes, failed to make the preliminary cut at the Trials after training for over a decade. She was without a doubt deserving of a spot on the Olympic team and she didn't even finish in the top 12.
That was part of why I quit throwing hammer, although obviously it's a complicated equation. I couldn't imagine spending four more years training, working and sacrificing - giving more than I was willing to give - if ultimately I couldn't be sure that I would win. For me the sacrifices required to win didn't match up to the likely outcome (to be a math nerd for a second: reward for winning * likelihood of winning = expected reward < necessary compensation for sacrifice). Now, on the flip side, even knowing that I may not ultimately perform as I expect or hope in a CrossFit competition, I'm willing to recommit myself to the life of a semi-professional athlete. The difference now is that the sacrifices I'm making as a CrossFitter and an Olympic Weightlifter are sacrifices I'm willing to make with no guarantee - even if I don't win I know that my life is better because of the quest.
Now, 10 days away from Regionals, even though I'm scared, every muscle in my body hurts, I'm exhausted, and I'm not sure I'm good enough, I haven't and won't quit because I believe that I will be better, having gone through this struggle. There's a good chance (probably most people think there is 100% chance) that I will not be competing in Carson in July - after all, I'm in NorCal, I only finished in 30th in the Open, and I am up against some really talented women. But, having trained, focused, and fought for this opportunity, I know that I am better than I was, and on some level I have already won.
My broken wing is almost as good as new - wanting to compete at an elite level provided an incentive to restore my arm completely, rather than accepting partial function as good enough. I am mentally stronger - I have shown myself time and again that I can fight through fear and pain, I can keep moving when my body says stop, and I can show up even when I don't want to. I'm struck daily by how difficult life can be at times, and I know that the strength I develop as an athlete carries over to strength in other areas - whether or not I compete well next weekend I will be better prepared to face obstacles which I'm afraid of later on in life. I may not win, but in working to win, I improved.
At this point in time I am doing lots of hard work. I hope this is what it feels like to be winning.
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