Eating my feelings

So I tripped and fell in a food hole and ate my feelings – for two whole weeks!

Does this happen to other people? Do you ever find yourself at the wrong end of a packet of Tim Tams and instead of dusting yourself off and saying “Geeze, I took that a little too far,” you instead go and raid your four year old’s Easter Egg stash while he sleeps? And then, instead of going to the gym after work the next day like you usually do, you come home via the pizza takeout shop and smash a six pack of delicious beer.

I find it so easy to fall into a cycle of bad food and guilty feelings which always seems to snowball out of control at the speed of an avalanche.

I’d like to blame the stress of my job but I suspect it is a chicken and egg situation. It’s hard to pinpoint which came first – a bad day at work or a bad day of eating which amplified my feelings about my bad day at work. Same with the migraines.  Did they rear their ugly head because I am stressed out, or because I inhaled all the chocolate in a five kilometre radius?

I have issues.

At least you can’t accuse me of being boring.

Apparently I need to get better at being a little naughty and moving on. I need to look into the 80/20 philosophy.  Because being good all the time really isn’t for me.

Anyway, I am pleased to report I have pulled myself partially out of the hole. I am back in training. And mainly eating how I should, around 80% of the time.

So go on, dust your shoulders off.

And I have an appointment with a guru about my bodgy knee this week. Because I need to keep eyeballing all of my excuses.

Stay strong amigos.

 

 

 

#formidable

Inspiring fear or respect through being impressively large, powerful, intense, or capable.

It is hard to imagine myself as anything but awkward in the gym. I get the wiggles and shakes. My squats aren’t deep enough. My toes and chin just won’t reach that bar.

In order to earn the right to use #formidable, I am going to have to spend a lot of time with my awkward self, doing awkward things. And soon, maybe those things won’t feel so awkward.

So I guess I need to turn to a different hashtag for now.

#consistent

It’s not sexy but it will get me where I want to be.

 

 

 

 

Leaderboarding – is that a verb?

So the results are in! And ouch – that stings like a muthafucker.

17,921st out of 19,859 women in the 40 – 44 age division worldwide.

1265th out of 1,415 women in the 40 – 44 age division in Australia.

 

I have been reading a lot about how you should only be competing with yourself and that The Open is a time to reflect on where you are at in your fitness journey.  Blah blah blah.  I say “Fuck that.”  It sounds like defeatist talk to me.

I am the only person I know I can do better than. I can already beat the 2018 Open version of myself. But how will I do against Rachel Smith next year? She came in one place higher than me and she didn’t even complete two of the events. If I only compete with myself I don’t think I will push as hard. So instead I plan on kicking Rachel Smith’s ass. Sorry Rach – nothing personal, I’m sure you’re really nice and all.

But I want to aim so much higher than that, even though it may be perceived as overly ambitious. The further you stretch, the more of your neck you expose, which in turn leaves you vulnerable. But I am ready to be that vulnerable person now. I have spent so many years trying to maintain a veneer of composure and control. I am ready to strip back to a naked and raw version of myself who is ready to admit I have dreams which are not what might be expected of me. But I am tired of being what people expect – it is exhausting.  A wise person I know says that if you write down and plan your dreams they become goals.  And goals are something you can work toward achieving. Make a plan. Put in some work.

So why not write them down in a public forum – be openly accountable to my goals?

I don’t want to just do better than I did this year. I want to be internationally competitive.

I want to finish in the top 200.  I want to participate on the Online Qualifier.

Have I lost you now? Was that the point when you thought to yourself “She is dreaming.” Maybe. Maybe you just went from a supporter to a detractor. Articulating an idea from a dream into a goal can be polarizing.

But just imagine if I can pull it off…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

’twas the night before 18.5…

My love of CrossFit came about purely by accident.  In April last year I lost my Dad to a brain tumour. From the day he dropped the carton of milk – the day he figured something was wrong – to the day we said goodbye around his hospital bed, it was less than twelve weeks. To deal with the day to day agony of those weeks I indulged. I drank quite a few beers every night to fall asleep. I stacked back kilos I had worked so hard to strip off. I cried in front of my son – a lot. And I lost myself, the version of me that I liked. The version that Dad liked, too.

The day after his funeral I decided to stop drinking for a while.

The week after his funeral I decided I needed a new healthy hobby among people that didn’t know I had just lost my Dad, among people that didn’t feel sorry for me. I signed up for a four week program of Beginners Boot Camp classes at Complete Health Personal Training. It was perfect. I didn’t know anyone and it was bliss to be anonymous among such a positive, energetic vibe.

The coach, Bon, took us through the basics – things I thought I already knew – and taught me to like how it feels to be in my skin. I found myself lying in front of the TV at night, activating my glutes (AKA squeezing my butt cheeks.) I loved the feeling of aching muscles when I was in bed at night – aching because I had pushed myself hard.

Six weeks later I signed up for private PT sessions and entry to The Battle of The Cup. The Battle was a friendly competition between CHPT and NXT Level Fitness – a Crossfit Affiliate Gym based 40 kilometres away.  It was to take place on a Sunday and consist of 4 WOD’s. I had no idea what any of it meant but I was keen to add a little competition to my training. I have an extreme competitive streak and love to win. However, win I did not! What a rude awakening! It is so thoroughly frustrating to try your absolute best and still be the slowest and least strong in the room by such a substantial margin. It was like the first time I tried to smoke a cigarette. I coughed and spluttered and almost threw up.  And I said to myself, “Goddamn it, I will get better at this.” And sure enough, I was chain smoking Marlboros before I knew it – all it took was a little perseverance and commitment.

Flash forward to the beginning of February, 2018. I am a thousand times stronger than I was in July. I have stuck with the weekly Bootcamp classes, weekly PT sessions with my coach, Kate, and also added in some extra training for the rematch of Battle of the Cup. And I lost again. But this time it was different. This time I felt competitive. This time I knew to expect the unexpected and to throw my whole self in. And this time I left the building with the Coach’s award. What a rush. There was talk of the upcoming CrossFit Open. I vaguely knew that it was the qualifier to the CrossFit Games – the annual test of the elite. I Googled. And I wanted in.

CHPT were gracious enough to offer to host Friday Night Lights, I registered online as an unaffiliated athlete, and here we are.

As I write this, it is the night before the final workout of the 2018 CrossFit Open. 18.5 will be announced tomorrow morning. I will go straight to the gym after work, warm-up and give it my best.  I know that in the scheme of things, when ranked against a world of CrossFit athletes, my results seem trifling. When I publish them here next week, I hope you won’t scoff. Because right here, right now – they are the sum of my efforts. They are the sum of my determination.

I wish I had better knees.

I wish I had more time to train.

I wish I had more time to spend with my son and husband.

I wish I was ten kilos lighter.

But I am proud of how far I have come. I will not give up. I will fight for every rep. When I am lying in bed tomorrow night, feeling the aches in my muscles, I will like how it feels to be in my skin. I will like this version of me. Dad would like this version of me, too.

“Goddamn it, I will get better at this.”

 

 

The Upsidedown

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On Wednesday I managed a handstand.  I even managed a handstand push up – or a HSPU.  It was about an inch – a little down and a little up – so more a mini handstand push up – MHSPU. Since then I’ve been sneeking in pike push ups all over the place – because I want to convert my MHSPU to a regular HSPU. Which I am hoping to then convert to multiple HSPU’s. I haven’t been able to wipe the smile off my face. Right up until Dave Castro announced 18.3 – the third workout in this years CrossFit Open.  I was feeling so good about my MHSPU that I had fooled myself into thinking that maybe I’d be able to RX this next workout – that I could dig deep and pull it off. But noooooo! Muscle Ups???!!! I can’t even do a pull up. And what is the scaled version of a muscle up? A pull up. Damn. Not a jumping pull up – just a regular one. Well – twelve to be exact. Hmm. Wish me luck!

*Photo credit Bonnie Grylls-Graham of CHPT

 

It begins…

I am an amateur CrossFit enthusiast with high hopes of creating some glory days to reminisce about when I am older and greyer – but still slanging weights like it ain’t no thang.

The idea of this blog came about while I was preparing to participate in the 2018 CrossFit Open. Overwhelming, exciting, ego-destroying. So much to learn and so much to say!  Better I say it here than risk my marriage with my obsessive blah blahing.

So – I am a forty something wannabe.  In this years Open you will find me languishing near the bottom of the 40-44 Masters division’s leaderboard. Scaled. Big sigh. But on the flip side, the only way is up!

So strap in. The next twelve months are going to be better than a roller coaster. Because I have no intention of staying scaled. And I have no intention of hanging around the bottom end of next year’s leaderboard.

Bring on the pain. Bring on the RX. Bring on the calluses.