So this happened today

While lifting tonight at the rec center I couldn't help but notice the woman behind me in the free weights area going through what had to be her first or second weights session with her trainer. The guy was calm, encouraging and offered correction as needed for form, but she was clearly struggling with the workout. Not physically, she had plenty more to give there, but mentally she was stuck. I smiled and nodded encouragement between sets a few times. When she made a comment about this, I smiled and said, "I always love to see another woman learning to love weight lifting." The trainer, Christopher, out of politeness asked me, "Why is that?" ...

Little did he know just what an opening he offered me. I stopped moving around the cage to change weights and took a minute to really LOOK at the two people that were about to be my unwitting audience for a moment. Chris is young, tall, fit and confident. Rhonda (I later found out) was middle-aged, heavy, in ill fitted clothing, and very much unsure of her choice to try this new thing. " I used to be nearly  300lbs and had a number of health issues."

A quick round of "Really??"s went around.

"Then I found strength sports, or rather, they found me. First throwing the Scottish Games, then gradually lifting. It has changed my life, for the better. It is hard, and brutal on the body some days, but I always feel better for having done it. It has lead me to a better community to share my improved life with. And, it will for you too. Struggle on with it, you will improve." Handshakes and introductions all around and back to our workouts.

Chris approached me later to ask some additional questions and to offer me another very sincere handshake of thanks.

Some days it is good to look back and remember how hard it was to start - keeps me from quitting.

The Long Road to "Only Six"

“Only six women in this February’s Kick Off Games, huh?” This phrase or something very like it was said in all innocence to me recently. After my surprise passed it occurred to me that it was a good thing that one of our new throwers saw that as a smaller women’s class. The assumption of “Only Six” is a clear indicator that Texas games have a healthy number of women throwers these days.

The key to that last sentence is contained in the final pair of words “these days”, this was not always the case. Let us use the WABAC machine and go back to 2008. This was the year I began traveling to more games, mostly within Texas. To my surprise I discovered a distinct dearth of female throwers, and several contests that simply didn't have a women's class at all. *blink blink* Checking my calendar for a year stamp I was simply astonished to find that no, I hadn't fallen through a time slip and wound up back in the 50s, these guys really didn't think women wanted to play.  Frustrated to find festivals within driving distance that did not allow me the chance to compete I researched alternative locations that threw on the same weekend to attend the next season. Stubborn can be a virtue where I come from. 

It get's better, y'all.

A little birdie informed me that women's classes had been referred to as "Bad Product" and unreliable. Something along the lines of we would show up once or twice and then just disappear. Meaning the ADs would have a class of 4-5 one year and none the next, so they couldn't plan or budget accordingly. Fair enough, I can see the business side of that. With the idea of proving I was serious in mind I took my show on the road - Texas, Oklahoma, Indiana, and Louisiana in 2009. Took all my own gear, came early, stayed late, judged, shagged weights, pulled tape, shook hands, talked up the crowd, threw as the only woman on the field and kept improving my game. The next year was more of the same 14 games and 5 states, including the Big Show at Pleasanton. No one could say I wasn't serious about my game, and the folks that called me bad product before started asking me for help on recruiting more women. 

For the last two years I have maintained 13-14 games a season, with at least one new state a year. Lots of thank you letters have been written. Numerous training trips to folks that know better than me how to get this done. Continuous outreach to the female strength community locally and on line via blogs, NASGA, Facebook and direct email has yielded numerous new throwers . Taking time to explore other strength sports, venues and festivals to find new converts and new avenues to display our sport has been rewarding as well. One on one coaching with the folks that express even an inkling of interest in the games has also buffed up our ranks. The unending support of my local crew with North Texas Heavies and TCAA has helped tremendously. (also have to make a nod to Mike Baab here)

The road from "bad product" to "only six" has been an uphill rough climb. It was worth every blow to the ego, busted callus and torn kilt, because no other woman is going to run into that same barrier in my home state. 

Making a meal full of memories

Thursday nights are my evenings with my godson. This usually involves homework, reading fun books, silly cartoons and my cooking dinner. It may be the only day in a given week that this particular chore falls to me, rather than Glenn.

Tonight's meal was full of random memories of loved ones. I decided to grill up some lean beef burgers  and used some Bourbon Pepper Spice - a gift from Amy (who will forever be MyRollerDerbyAmy in my head) for a past Yuletide. My mind wander through a myriad of events and shades of orange (our signature shared color) as I mixed the spices together and shaped the burgers.

The kid knows that veggies are a must in my house, and today he picked lima beans. Yes, he picked lima beans out of a half dozen choices, this is how I know I have had some influence on the kid. For those that have eaten any holiday meal with me in the past 10 years, this should spark the memory of my polarizing dish of 3-bean-casserole. It is a love it or hate it item, but gets requested every year. I can clearly recall the first panicked phone call to my mother on "how do I make this?" at 3pm one Thanksgiving day. The first time Linnea gushed praise that it was her new favorite dish is a fond memory. Quickly countered by the quirky relocation that my younger brother still can't stand this dish due to his strange aversion to cheese and the year I disowned him for announcing he liked neither cheese nor pie.

Looking through the fridge I discovered a pair of lonesome abandoned yellow squash, and decided they should be a part of today's thrown together hash. How to prep them? Well, I am a limited cook, as I mentioned, and I know only one way to cook them up. Pan seared with a touch of oil and a dash of salt. This method was learned sitting on the edge of a formica counter top peering over the shoulder of one of my oldest friends, Tommy, while he scolded me for not knowing how to cook up "country style veggies".  Now I know both his beautiful daughters, we are pen pals.

A meal full of memories, shared with a boy who is quickly becoming a young man that I hope to make tons of memories and meals with!

Run and hide your crazy and start actin’ like a lady

Go and fix your make up, girl, it’s just a break up
Run and hide your crazy and start actin’ like a lady
'Cause I raised you better, gotta keep it together
Even when you fall apart

Well, dear readers, it appears that I am having a bit of the nutty of late (hold all sarcastic remarks if ya know what is good for ya). Lack of focus and full of doubts. When in doubt, go right back to your roots. Means lots of cooking and listening to country music to find my center.

Turns out, what makes me happy is getting things done. Better still when there is a physical result of the work to witness after the fact, a clean house, cookies on the counter,  or a real sense of organization.

Yesterday's debate was rail against the wind, or just plow on as an example of how I think it should be done. As it happens the end result is to trudge ever onward with what I believe to be a worthy thing. That means pulling up my big girl panties and doing what needs to be done without complaint.

Leave it to another loud-mouthed short-stack Texas girl to blare a message that resonates the heart of what I needed to hear. Yea, the song is about a break-up, but the idea of pulling yourself together no matter what has put you off your game and act with intergity holds true.


Powder your nose, paint your toes
Line your lips and keep 'em closed
Cross your legs, dot your I’s
And never let 'em see you cry

Go and fix your make up, girl, it’s just a break up
Run and hide your crazy and start actin’ like a lady
'Cause I raised you better, gotta keep it together
Even when you fall apart

~ Miranda Lambert

*PS. Maybe it has something to do with the name, but Mirandas always seem to speak the truths I need to hear in a voice I can hear.

Thief of my joy!

I was asked to write a quickie blurb for a composite article over on Strong and Far about how to overcome a common pitfal to success as an athlete. I feel like this applies to so much of my life that I should post it over here as well.

 

Comparison is the thief of joy, and my cardinal sin as an athlete (and a woman). For years my internal monologue was a series of unflattering contrasts between myself and others on the field. Being so chock full of “advantages” for a thrower – short, heavy, older and untrained – it was a long list! Until, one day a blunt and well-meaning pixie laid it all out for me in the midst of an invitational game (yea, you heard that right, I was at an invite only show and still certain I didn’t have the chops). She pointed at every woman on the field and listed their pedigree of colleges, awards, All-Americans and a couple of Olympic hopefuls like herself and said, “And here you are.”

Talk about a gut check. Just breaking it down to brass tacks for me to get on over my little feels and get back to the business of throwing things. Since then the goal has been to not compare to others, just against myself. Last meets numbers, last year’s bests, personal bests – in the gym, on the track and on the field. Me vs. Me and My Demons.

To that end, I have become a numbers junky. An ever expanding spreadsheet holds the data for every game day throw I have taken since I got into the sport. I keep a running tab on my averages and bests. This is posted on my gym wall, my office wall and in my throws bag. This prevents me from looking across the field at my competitor/companions and playing the “What If” and “If Only” head games, and draws me back to improving the only thing I have control over – me.

 

 

 

No more schools, no more books...

A song I sang as I walked across the stage to crazy yells from my friends and family in August of 2001, under the assumption I would never return to formal education again. More the fool I for thinking so!

After a dozen years off I have thrown myself back in the educational pool! My thought was that an online course would be a nice reintroduction into the student lifestyle. No set times, no travel, no social distractions, easy right? BAH! This "little certification" class is no joke, and I will be hitting the books something fierce to get it done by the 6 month deadline. There will be a flurry of flash cards, a covey of charts and a veritable herd of notes. Four pages of notes in a 20 min lecture. Time for me to relearn how to study and nail down my time management skills.

"Have I bitten off more than I can chew?" When this little gem rolls through my mind I just recall that the only way to eat an elephant is one bite at a time. It may not be pretty, or quick, but it will get done.

I drank the Kool-Aid

 
To say that I am hesitant to write about my latest “gym” experience on this particular site is a wild understatement, but it happened, so here it is. As part of my holiday gifts and festivities I ended up with a short term membership to a local CrossFit. Being an open minded kid, I thought, it can’t be as bad as the press it gets from the strength community, so I will give it a shot.

After a few classes I can say I get the appeal to the masses. The attitude is one of acceptance, and as positive as a muppet covered in rainbows. The class times work with my schedule most days. The format is simple enough to follow, and instructors/trainers are thick on the ground to help with any questions. This particular location offers oly lifting twice a week, and the instructor has some cred. (Caleb Ward) One of the other trainers has done voice work as both Batman and Superman, lemme say that can be a bit of a laugh during workouts. The folks that attend are friendly, welcoming and helpful, for the majority. We all know every gym has a fair share of jerks, but they are the exception not the rule.

Like all workouts, you get out of it what you put into it. Trust me when I say, I get a sweat going and am fully winded by the end of the sessions. The drawback to that is simply that the sessions are too short for me to feel like I have done a full workout.

With all that in mind, why won’t I be sticking around for all the kipping and WODs I can stand? The limitations of the facility and the workouts. I need more lifting time in a week than they offer to make my goals this season. Not to mention the cost, 250 a month at this box, and that is without one-on-one training or the oly classes. It is Resolutionist Season, and they place is packed, so learning names and faces is tough on the staff, I get it. However, after a few weeks I am DONE explaining to these folks that “No, as a matter of fact, that isn’t too heavy for me to start with.” There isn’t a slam ball in the facility that is too heavy for me to get through the whole WOD, so hush darling, mama is working here.

Would I do it again? You bet, it was fun! I always left with a smile on my face.

Would I let it be the only method I used to get to my particular goals? Not a chance.

Will I steal whole-sale some of the WODs and use them as warm-ups or replacement cardio? Regularly.

Would I recommend it to others? Depends on their end goals.