In case you missed my last post, I figured out a way to leave shredding papers in the basement of my dad’s office and set my sights on a far sexier occupation: Iowa pool lifeguard.
Reasons why I wanted to lifeguard at Splash Landing:
• The pool manager was in his twenties, could grow a beard, and was the sexiest Ben Affleck look alike I had ever seen.
• Boys took their shirts off at the pool
• Everyone gets tan at the pool in the summer
Reasons why I was terrified to try out to be a lifeguard:
• I had to pass a swim test for Ben Affleck and while in my mind I was a sassy flirtatious queen, in practice I wouldn’t utter two words to Ben.
• I HAD TO PASS A SWIM TEST FOR BEN AFFLECK and I’m 15!
Trying out to be a lifeguard was the first time I cared about anything in a fewyears. Other than fighting a lot with my dad, writing sad mopey journal entries and wishing I was in my twenties so I could move to California, I now had a goal I cared about and set my plans in motion. First, I went down to the office across the street from the pool and got an application. I filled it out at the kitchen table, asking my mom for my social security number not even knowing what one was at the time. I had my driver’s permit so that upped my cool factor. I wouldn’t have to ask my mom to drop me off a block away in her embarrassing bright yellow car waving out the window, “Have a nice day, Han!” No, I could drive myself to the pool in my bad ass black Oldsmobile Cutlass pimped out with dice in the mirror.
When I turned in my application, I expected to go home and wait and be nervous like I’d just auditioned for American Idol. Instead, I handed the my application to a very practical thirty something, butch-looking, general manager who looked it over and without looking up said, “Be back here Saturday morning, 8 am for a swim test.” As an aside, I’m sure I still use too many words when I’m gaining understanding of something but her answer did nothing but elicit more questions: So, am I hired? How many laps is the swim test? Can you do it, instead of Ben Affleck? How many hours will this last? Should I be nervous? My list of internal questions went on and yet I answered, “Okay.”
Friday night before the big swim test, I laid out my speedo, goggles and cap in my lucky Jansport burnt orange backpack and anticipated the morning to come. I then studied an article in Seventeen Magazine on shading your chest with bronzer powder to somehow enhance your cleavage because procrastination helps calm me down. I painted my top boobs brown and didn’t see a bit difference in the bathroom and then wrote this in my mopey journal:

Dear Journal,
I don’t even know why I’m doing this stupid swim test. It’s not like any of the guys I love from Assumption are going to be there. Maybe this is just my way of branching out to new Bettendorf guys? I can’t wait to have a boyfriend. I doubt Midwestern boys even know how to swim. We used to swim all the time in Cali. I can’t wait to be twenty and move back there. Well, I’m thankful that even though I was fat, my mom encouraged me to swim for the Rockville Rays as a kid in Maryland. I may not be good at other sports but I can swim for a long time without feeling tired. Too bad this doesn’t count for being sexier in high school. Nighty, night journal!
The next morning, there was dew on the grass and the concrete of the pool deck was cold beneath my feet. I walked into the locker room, stripped off my sweats, sucked in my gut, grabbed my cap and goggles and tried to make sure no one could actually hear my heart beating like a drum up into the back of my throat. Out walked Ben Affleck looking all fine with his morning scruff and slouchy athletic sweats and a clipboard. He said something about how the butch lady manager was supposed to do this swim test but she called in so he now HAD to do it. Ouch, Ben, I thought to myself. I seriously thought you’d be happier to see me at 8 am in a Speedo.
I don’t remember how long the tests were, but I do remember we had to tread water, show proficiency in all the strokes and then do a timed race. Suddenly, I was trying out for Navy Seals. I wish I had known then I had a competitive streak because I could’ve been much more accomplished in high school had I channeled it. The game was on and I was ready to cut a bitch who drifted over in to my lane. I’d mow down this competition then throw it in reverse and back right back over you to be sure you understood the meaning of a dominant bitch. Well not really, but I was invested! The prize was an imaginary rose from Ben and I wasn’t about to go down without giving it my all. Now that I’m thinking about it, I’m pretty sure Ben was hungover behind his sunglasses. He was probably burping up last night’s Jägermeister wishing he were dead. Hell, he probably passed all of us so long as we could doggie paddle! This swim test was my only time to shine and I knew it. I have a nice buffer of mid-section fat (always have) that creates an incredible amount of buoyancy in the water. So long as I pull the sponge bob square pants that is my torso swimming has never been too hard.

As soon as I got done, I pulled my swim cap off and checked to see if I remembered to take off the boob bronzer from practicing in the mirror last night. Ben then came up to each of us and asked us our availability for the summer. Again, I knew I had to put a filter on things for coolness sake because answering the question truthfully would sound like, “Well aside from fighting with my dad, writing mopey journal entries and practicing make-up and hair in the mirror I’m pretty much wide open.” My imagination often gets the best of me and I had a solid daydream moment where I wondered if this was code for Ben asking me out on date. “Hey, Hottie are you like, available?” Once I came to, I realized this was NOT what he meant. My real answer, “Um, yea. I can work like Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday…”
I drove myself home berating myself for that overly available answer and my earlier excitement turned into this rotten attitude of dread and embarrassment for putting myself out there like THAT. Please, God, my family better not ask me how it went because I want to die right now.
I came home and mom asked, “So, how do you think you did?”
“I think I swim well I just wish I wasn’t such a dork.”
“Han, you’re not a dork.”
“Mom, this means nothing because you’re my M-O-M. You’re forced to show love whether you got dealt a dorky daughter hand or not.”
A few days after, I got a call from Butch saying I got the job! I was excited for the prospect of having more chances to impress Ben and that I had earned a job on my own merit. It felt really damn good and was the proudest moment of my teenage life thus far.
Once I started, I realized life guarding was about as boring as watching paint dry. I looked forward most to rotating chairs, at which time I could stand at the base of the next chair and talk to whatever lifeguard was switching out with me. And while it didn’t earn me points with Ben or any of the other boys I tried impressing, I always volunteered to fish the kid poo out of the pool after it had been cleared of swimmers.
The poo alarm went something like this, a loud obnoxious child would scream up at a lifeguard, “There’s poo floating in the pool! Ew!!” From there the head lifeguard got on the mic and said, “It is mandatory all swimmers please clear the pool!” Cue me with a long pole with a net on the end. I truly enjoyed fishing kid poo from the pool because it was an activity where I could actually get wet and stretch my legs from that boring chair. Hannah, poo fisher woman to the rescue! Negative points earned on the sexy scale but I was too damn sweaty to care at that point.

Towards the end of the summer, Ben came up to me and I almost fainted from either heat stroke from 88 degree humid summer or because I thought Ben was finally coming to his senses and asking me out. He said, “Hey Hannah, I think you’re really hot and I want to take you out sometime.” False. He never said that. Instead he said, “Hey Hannah, technically you’re supposed to be 16 to teach swim lessons but one of our instructors has to go back to college early. Do you want to teach the tots class?” Ben could’ve asked me if I wouldn’t mind doing a back flip off the lifeguard stand and I would’ve done it. So without thinking about the fact that I hated babies and most children at this period I said, “Yea. I think I can do  that.”

Teaching babies really means putting up with moms. Moms treat their babies like they’re made of porcelain. With a ton of enthusiasm I sat in the tot pool and said things like, “Alright everyone, show me your bubbles! Blow bubbles!! That’s great! Now kick, kick, kick, kick.” It was very obvious to me that the babies didn’t care what I said to them, just touch their feet in water and it was like they knew they were coming home. They appeared to be tactile only, and loved the feel of recreating the free float they had in utero. It was the moms who cared if I liked their pooping, squealing, piglet babies. As the old saying goes, “Fake it till you make it,” and so I did. At the end of the 3 week class the moms filled out very nice evaluation forms on me and Ben and Butch pretty much let me do my thing.

When the summer wrapped, I was sad to say goodbye to the pool. While I came in thinking I was going to get a boyfriend. I left thinking I’m a pretty darn good swim teacher and I had grown in confidence and gotten outside of my own insecurities.
That fall I got a call from Butch saying they had a request for a private swim instructor for a “sensitive situation” and would I be interested? Well, I thought. What is the situation? There was a 26 year old local grocery store manager who was brutally embarrassed that he never learned how to swim. He had just become a father and wanted to learn so he could swim with his kid. Did I want the weekend job at the indoor pool? Without thinking about how awkward it would be to try and float a 6 ft white male I said an enthusiastic, “Yes!” I left thinking I was about to get Brad Pitt for private swim lessons. SCORE!

Currently, I advise college students on their academics and discuss their potential job prospects in the fashion, retail and marketing industries. I look over their resumes and aim to guide them to gain “relevant” experience towards their ultimate goal. I am a liar. I also realize I was lied to. I had no ultimate goal and my career journey has been working jobs I don’t like, working jobs with some things I like, then trying to find a job that has more of what I liked and less of what I didn’t like at the last job. I always have the hardest time telling them they need to deal with the parts of their job they don’t want to deal with if they ever want to get somewhere in life. A student asked me, “What did you learn from your first job?” I laughed and replied, “My first job taught me I hated my first job.” Okay, so this was true but I couldn’t even access the WHY.

 
My first job ever was working at my dad’s office. His office staff was all female and it appeared that a prerequisite for getting hired was hair cut above your chin, a sweatshirt or sweater with iron on appliques, a love of baked goods and a general fake pleasantness. One that could fool your male boss into thinking you loved your job but not your fellow female co-workers or the newest hire (fifteen year old me). When you’re at your first job and your brain isn’t fully formed, you don’t know it’s hard to get a job and you don’t know why your dad’s staff would be put off at the idea of having the boss’s daughter there to do bitch work they don’t want to do. The second part, I’m still unsure of. I’d like to think they probably didn’t like my dad very much because when he walked me in the ladies were all smiles. But the moment my dad headed out the smiles stopped and the head office lady made a point to give me the un-sexiest tasks imaginable. I was hoping I would sit up front and file. I wouldn’t have to talk to scary strangers but I could still see patient interaction. I had seen Romy fake how she was business woman in Romy and Michelle’s High School Reunion. I had practiced saying my best Romy voice, “I invented Post Its” before my first day. It was a learning curve to even understand what business casual dress meant.

 

It was here that I first learned middle aged, church going women are not to be trusted. The office manager smiled and never wavered from her sweet as pie tone as she led me to the unfinished office basement with an electric paper shredder on its way out of this world. The cement floor was cold and there were cardboard boxes of old medical files piled to the ceiling. She told me to start in the corner and work my way across the room with shredding the oldest files first.

“The shredder is delicate. It can only handle up to 4 pages at a time or it jams. We have had this shredder for a long time and kept it in good condition. Don’t jam it.”

 

So here’s what my first job taught me:
It is necessary to test out rules under the radar. Immediately after she walked up the stairs and shut the basement door I stuck 5 sheets of paper into the shredder and what do you know the thing jammed! I spent the next ten minutes wrestling paper shreds from its locked jaws.
You shouldn’t let any boss treat you poorly. Even if you’re fifteen and you probably didn’t deserve the job in the first place. I was aware my boss didn’t like me solely because she didn’t like her boss. Thanks, Dad. I was also aware that this was not my fight to pick but that I wouldn’t take my dislike for one person out on another when I became a boss. I also would always be nice to the new hire.
If you are so low on the totem you are viewed as an afterthought by your boss, figure out how to continue to teach yourself. I love other people’s stories. I learned a lot about these patients who had passed away. I shredded enough paper in the morning to pass a mid-morning check. Did I have a pile of hamster litter shreds in a wire garbage can? Check. She’s doing her job. After lunch, there were no checks on me. I dug into the medical files and tried to read EKGs. Thumbing through Ethel’s old medical charts, I remember wishing there was a required diary entry patients filled out while they stayed in the hospital. I became obsessed with wanting to know what these people died of and who they were when they were still alive. Did they want to die? Were they ready? Had they lived lives they were proud of? You know, the normal things a 15 year old ponders. I created entire back stories for these characters who were actually real people who were dead. I imagined knocking on the doors of their loved ones conducting interviews on how they were remembered. I knew what ailed them and the rest I made up.
If you don’t like your job, you’ve got to make moves.
And make moves I did. I was just starting to get attention from boys and really that was the only thing that motivated me in life at age 15. Everything in my life was divided into two buckets at this time: Sexy and Not Sexy (just ask my journal during these years). In the Sexy bucket was being tan, J.Lo, flirting with boys, blond hair, being at the right locations where flirting with boys was even a possibility. Not Sexy included working in my dad’s office in the basement shredding paper, my mom dropping me off anywhere, being seen with my entire family anywhere ever. As soon as I focused in on my priorities, I set my sights on finding the sexiest work environment I could. I wanted to be a lifeguard at the local pool.

Reasons why I wanted to lifeguard at Splash Landing in Bettendorf IA:
• The pool manager was in his twenties, could grow a beard, and was the sexiest Ben Affleck look alike I had ever seen.
• Boys took their shirts off at the pool
• Everyone gets tan at the pool in the summer

Reasons why I was terrified to try out to be a lifeguard:
• I had to pass a swim test for Ben Affleck and while in my mind I was a sassy flirtatious queen, in practice I wouldn’t utter two words to Ben.
• I HAD TO PASS A SWIM TEST FOR BEN AFFLECK and I’m 15!

 

Motivation: It ebbs and it flows. I believe the key is not to listen to it when it’s not there. Just go to your gym at the usual time anyway. In times of lowest motivation, it helps me most to reach out to my community. It helps me to express to those lifting around me that “I’m just not feeling it today.” Sometimes I’m met with a sense of relief from others who agree but have still kept the commitment to themselves to put in the work. Other times, the person I share my bad gym attitude with feels good and motivated and they give me a little boost saying something like, “You’ll feel better once you sweat. Get warmed up and let’s get lifting.” Remember it starts with one person, that’s all you need. He or she doesn’t have to be a best friend. They simply have to be someone you feel comfortable with who typically works out at the same time you do.
As I wrapped up 2015 I was feeling adrift in the gym. I had gone to Nationals and had a great experience and was also feeling a bit burnt from training all year. My coach saw it and put me on a strength maintenance plan. I felt like I was rising in strength the entire year and now I was put on a still tough programming but essentially one where I wouldn’t peak and the goal was to maintain the strength I had built. Ummm…. What’s motivating about that???
I need goals. I’m like a hyperactive border collie. With goals I’m productive and happy working to achieve without them I’m tearing up the sofa. I’m not happiest once I’ve achieved a goal. I am happiest when I have a goal in sight and I’m slowly building my way towards it. Over the holidays, I had plenty of time to think about what I loved about my year of powerlifting, what I missed about CrossFit, endurance sports, and I dreamed about the sports I have yet to try and have always wanted to try: Dancing and Masters Swim I’m still coming for you!
I also thought a lot about my ego. Would I be okay stepping back from competitive powerlifting this year? Have I done all I’ve wanted to in the sport? Am I okay with losing strength? Where does it end? Does it have to end? Being new in a competitive sport is great because in the beginning you are improving so quickly. So long as you are committed to your training and have solid programming you see results and the momentum is hard and fast. It’s quite addicting. Now, the greater challenge is if I do want to stay, how do I continue to evolve while still staying fresh both mentally and physically?
I can get to the point where I paralyze myself due to over analysis. I know this about myself, so I stopped my mind after a bit. I decided, I don’t have to know right now what this year holds for me competitively. What I find most meaningful after having achieved the goal of qualifying and competing in Nationals is the team. I love the camaraderie and fun we have together. There it is: FUN. Fun is what kept me coming back for a$$ beatings in CrossFit. I was a part of a tight knit group who kept each other text accountable and who I loved competing against and who pushed me to explore my limits as an athlete. That crew disbanded due to people moving away and focusing on other sports BUT if it was possible to re-create the feeling again, I wanted it. And the Anti-Fluff Squad was born!

Here’s what I missed about CrossFit: The camaraderie and the post workout HIGH. The Anti-Fluff Squad is a few guys and girls I see on a daily basis who all mainly train powerlifting or weightlifting. Did I mention they are beastly strong? There had been some chatter that while it’s really fun to get insanely strong it’s not fun to lose metabolic conditioning.  Sometimes the CrossFit workouts are complimentary and sometimes the lifting required in them on top of barbell programing would set one up for injury. So the anti-fluff meet up is a collection of body weight workouts aimed to blast fat and not impede the heavy strength training sessions. Not everyone can workout at the same time but the meet up allows us to hold ourselves accountable and have support in reducing the fluff. What is absolutely required to attend? A great sense of humor! Let’s just say one cannot be easily offended by fat jokes.
This meet up is completely selfish. It allows me to connect with at least one other person who has finished the lifting programming for the day and sweat to a body weight style workout. I also got really tired of hearing you can’t be both strong and conditioned. That eventually something has to give. We will see about that 😉

Action Steps:
1) If you’re feeling unmotivated (which is completely normal) seek out motivation from those you look up to or simply feel most comfortable around.
2) Sometimes taking some introspective time to re-evaluate your goals can help you train smarter not harder.
3) If the FUN in training is what you miss, bring it back! For me that includes fat jokes and friends who I can laugh alongside while dying for air doing burpees. But to each his own.

A friend of mine last night said, “Here’s a blog topic for you: How to get your girlfriend to lift.” I laughed and we continued lifting but the seed had been planted. As I was driving home, my fiercely pro independent women voice kept asking why the title was giving me a visceral reaction. I began thinking maybe there’s something inherently WRONG with the statement itself: How to Get Your Girlfriend to Lift. Then I experimented with substituting the action with another action to see if my knee jerk reaction held any weight: How to Get Your Girlfriend to Cook More, How to Get Your Girlfriend to Bake a Thanksgiving Pie, How to Get Your Girlfriend to Move to Chicago, How to Get Your Girlfriend to CrossFit.

The above titles are all bridges Larry and I have crossed none of which ended well for Larry. To prove my point I lit the bridge on fire burned it down afterwards. I’m sorry Larry, I’m working on it. I really am. The thing is, if you have a cool independent girlfriend she doesn’t want to be told by her partner what to do. Period. She can think for herself, make decisions, and she knows what she likes. Based on the above titles, I can tell you I haven’t cooked more, baked a Thanksgiving Pie, or moved to Chicago (yet), but I did try CrossFit almost 3 years ago. How did Larry persuade me? He didn’t. He had been discussing how much he liked while living in Colorado. He mentioned multiple times that he thought I’d get into the high intensity often competitive nature of the thing. And like Charlie Brown’s interpretation of his teacher’s voice, I heard, “WOH WAH WOH WAH, WOH WAH WAH WAH.” Months after he had dropped all the benefits of trying CrossFit and gave up on me wanting to try it my bestie Shannon started telling me about this gym CrossFit Humanity that had just opened. She said, “It’s not exactly in our neighborhood but my favorite coach, Phil, just opened it and I’m leaving CrossFit OB to go there.” All she had to say was, “HAN, I think you’d love it! If you want to go with me and try a class I’ll go whenever you want!” And that weekend we went and tried the free class. Larry’s response, “SERIOUSLY?!??”

If you want your girlfriend to lift, connect her with the female community at your gym and have the women take it from there. If you’re really smart you’ll lay the groundwork with the girls at your gym in the off chance one day your girlfriend wants to try it. I understand the female fears of being new in a gym. It can be cliquey and high school like until you connect with the one OG member who reaches out with a friendly “hello.” Whenever I drop into a new box I feel most nervous about being accepted by the ladies. I don’t really think about the dudes at all. Having grown up attending many schools and moving I know what I have to do socially to “fit in” but it doesn’t mean it’s any less anxiety provoking as an adult.

 

Men, take note: The best way to “get” your girlfriend to do anything and have it stick–

1. a) Let it be her idea
2. b) Let the suggestion come from anyone else but you
3. c) Be encouraging and patient
4. d) If it’s exercise you are trying to motivate her to do provide vocal reassurance that you love her body exactly how it is right this very second and it’s not about THAT

 

 

I had my first wedding nightmare last night. I was looking at a wedding with dripping flowers, perfect place settings, ambient lighting and I start bawling. Bawling because all I really wanted was pot stickers and Chinese flare. I had been talked into this Father of the Bride looking wedding which was Kimberly Williams perfect wedding, not mine.In the nightmare I proceeded to light the tables on fire and then walk away from the venue like Usher’s “Let it Burn” video. What the hell is happening to me? I feel like teen wolf unable to control the rate at which my fangs and back hair are growing in.

I woke up and hopped on Pinterest in the middle of the night searching Chinese weddings. I got blue and white vases, Asian symbols, all kinds of ideas. It’s not too late, I told myself. I emailed off all sorts of mismatched décor ideas to my mom with reasoning behind each of them.

Hi Mom,

Wouldn’t the blue and white Chinese vases thing be cute? We could change the flower colors, the linens, the lighting just for these. Great ideas by your favorite daughter, right?

Love,

Han

P.S. I know it’s early in the morning that’s why I’m emailing not texting. Love ya!

 

 

Dear Han,

Why are you so concerned with Chinese elements. You’re only half Chinese and your groom is white. Technically you are 3 quarters white wedding.

 

Love,

Mom

I have spent the past 9 months exploring the world of powerlifting. In that time, I have competed and medaled in three meets and qualified for Raw Nationals in Scranton, PA on October 16^th. I decided to go because YOLO and this may be the only time in my life I get so lucky to have an opportunity like this. It is surreal to think I didn’t even know what powerlifting was a year ago. I remember jumped on board at the last minute to sub for a girl who could no longer compete. There was a new lifting coach at Humanity. From what I had observed he was soft spoken and kept to himself and his female entourage of lifters. I said “hi” to them each day I came into Humanity to work out. One day, Sal approached me and asked me if I was interested in competing. Without missing a beat I said, “Sure. I like competing in general. How long do I have to train?” Truth, was I didn’t even know what he meant.  “Two weeks,” he said. “Even better! No expectations!” I replied. I had been doing CrossFit at that time for almost two years and was ready to try something new. This seemed like the perfect opportunity to get my feet wet. I could go and experience a meet without any expectations surrounding my performance. I was just a sub. Once I registered for the Fall Classic time sped up. I had a lot to learn. For example, up until that point I thought a singlet was a classical music piece. A teammate loaned me her old singlet and I was grateful to not have to invest in the most unflattering piece of clothing I had ever laid eyes on.

Coach Sal “highly” suggested I get used to my singlet and lift in at least once before the meet. I didn’t want to walk out of the bathroom to the gym’s platform that day. Ladies, there is no hiding from the singlet. I lifted that day in practice resembling Sponge Bob in a wrestling unitard and wanting to die from embarrassment. Once you do your first meet in one you’ll definitely feel more comfortable. Now, I love my singlet. Looks be damned! I view wearing my singlet as an old friend. My buddy who gets me into the club and on stage. Truly, I’d head to happy hour in my singlet, pose for a photo shoot in it, and pick up a long lost friend from the airport in it.

Coach Sal put a lot of time into me giving me the rundown of what to expect at the meet.  I’d get three attempts at each lift: squat (there’s only one type in powerlifting: back squat), bench press, and deadlift. He told me there would be a judge on each side of me looking for technical violations such as not hitting below parallel on my squat depth, or looking to see if my butt comes off the bench during bench press. I joked, “You mean there’s a specific judge just to stare at my a$$ during a meet?” If any violations were seen each of the three judges had a remote that linked to board of three lights. One violation meant one red light, two white lights. All I could really picture was an episode of family feud when he mentioned buzzers and lights. Sometimes my imagination takes over and I get lost in daydream. Coach Sal said to make it a goal to get 3 white lights for every lift. We would keep the jumps in weight conservative to allow for a positive first meet experience and my job was to focus on the cues and do what I do. I guess upon meeting me he knew focusing would be my toughest issue.

The Fall Classic was at Cal State Fullerton on a Saturday morning. I drove up to my grandma’s in Long Beach after work on a Friday night and she watched Frankie for me on Saturday. I remember being so tired crawling into bed on Friday questioning why I volunteered to drive, pay money and get up before 6 am on a Saturday. At that time, the pros didn’t outweigh the cons. I told myself I committed to this and I didn’t want to let the others down. So, early Saturday morning I headed out past the Anaheim Angels stadium to Cal State Fullerton. By the time I found the gym the check in and weigh in lines were long. This was my first time witnessing and participating in the formalities of a meet. Pre-meet formalities include:

1. When you arrive, you sign a waiver saying I’m choosing to risk injuring myself therefore I won’t sue ___________ federation. Also, I don’t do drugs. You give this to the check in desk along with your photo ID proving ONLY you would choose to do something like this all day on a Saturday.
2. Then you get in two lines to get your rack heights: one height for the squat rack and two heights for the bench press (one is the rack height, the other is the safety bar height).
3. After that, you head to a ladies restroom to get weighed in kilos. If you’re starving because you’re trying to make weight
4. Lastly, there is gear check. Just like airport security you put your gym bag on a table and show everything you will be wearing IN the meet: leather lifting belt only (Velcro belts not allowed), lifter shoes, tall socks (required for the deadlift).
5. Then you hydrate and eat breakfast and wait for your flight to be posted. A flight is the order of lifters by weight class. What I didn’t understand is after each attempt for each lift the list gets re-ordered based on scores. So if you screw up your lift round one chances are you will be one of the first to pull in the second attempts. Conversely, if you make a huge jump in weight you’ll probably be towards the end of the next flight during the second attempt.6
6. Towards the end of the flight before yours you have to get to the back weight room and start to warm up to your opening lift. This was the most stressful part because bars and space were limited. I didn’t want to be an A-hole but I also didn’t come here to not be warmed up before my first lift. I watched as girls approached groups already warming up and asked if they could be “worked into the rotation.” I followed suit and had to stay focused on being consistent with warming up with the same jumps in weight I did in practice.

During the warm up, my nerves kicked in. I was about to walk out on stage from a back room chalk my hands, remember my cues, stay tight, and lift for a crowd? No, Hannah you’re lifting for you. You’re lifting just like you did this entire past week. Big breath. Stay tight. Jitters are a good thing. They show me I care about what I’m doing and they truly help me focus on the task at hand. When I’m on the platform I don’t hear anything but what I’m supposed to hear, the cues. Sports in general help me to relax because mentally I have to block out the rest of the world in order to perform.

After each lift there is one minute given to report your next attempt weight to the judge’s desk. I relied heavily on Coach Sal. Not yet being able to know my body as a lifter under pressure. I couldn’t decipher if what I just squatted was heavy, super heavy, or even light? He suggested an appropriate yet conservative jump in weight as it was my first meet. The point was to have a good experience. It was not about risking it all and failing again and again.

Being the social creature that I am, in between lifts I enjoyed getting a sense of the other female lifters in my flight. Most were really nice, a few were keep to themselves, and a choice few were intimidating. I later found out that the ones who stomped loudly under the bar before de-racking it and flipped their ponytails over it dramatically, were title holders. Once I learned this, I felt I at least understood them better. I would imagine that defending a title would be the most pressure one ever could feel in any competition. Both Katy and Cathleen were the experience lifters I looked up to representing Humanity. They showed me the ropes and were very kind to me during my first meet. I feel grateful to them for being a major reason WHY I had a good first experience competing: a solid connection with my female teammates.

After the Fall Classic wrapped, I was hooked. I was to find out how a full training cycle could improve my strength and I wanted another opportunity at competing after putting in a ton of work. I really have no idea what a national level meet looks like and I’m excited to be the new girl taking it all in. I have no real goals other than to continue to improve during this strength training cycle and to go into the meet well rested, hydrated and fueled. Powerlifting will not be the only new sport I discover in my lifetime but while this wave lasts I sure am enjoying the ride!

 

 

I feel so ashamed it’s been such a long time since I’ve last posted. My life has been filled with exciting happenings and a few new stressors I’ve never experienced before. Outside of working as Education Coordinator and CrossFit Coach here’s what I’ve been busy doing on the side:

Teaching Writing Skills

Training for Power Lifting Nationals in October

Working on updating my IL teaching credential and getting it transferred to a CA credential

Working on wedding planning (here and there)

Carving out more time to see my fiancé and working on making him more of a priority amid a busy day to day schedule. This includes traveling once a month for a weekend.

In addition I’ve been seeking opportunities to grow in both coaching and teaching and have some upcoming projects I’m psyched to work on!

All of the above is a standard level of busy-ness for me (minus the wedding planning).

What has caused me huge amounts of stress recently and stifled my ideas for writing is feeling the threat of having to give up a very meaningful dream I built for myself moving to San Diego seven years ago.  For me, marrying Larry, having a home and a family someday, is a DREAM come true. But I’ve always viewed it as a dream: Great if it happened but I would not feel like a failure or live an unhappy life if it didn’t.  In my past relationships, I grew increasingly restless because I knew I wanted a different lifestyle. After years of my boyfriends coming first and lifestyle second, I I finally got the confidence to go where my heart was telling me to go, and everything I had manifested came true. My life clicked into place and I felt happy being on my own.

I spent over half of my childhood as a Navy brat moving and being new in school. I couldn’t wait to be in charge of my own life and go where I wanted to go. I was fortunate to see the entire country and live in every region but the south while growing up and it helped me determine the lifestyle I wanted to lead as an adult.

My life is not glamorous, it’s not even impressive on paper but it’s everything as an independent woman I’ve ever wanted. I built it and continue to build on in it. I am only a short drive from my extended family and now my mom.  I’m not doing so well with a traditionalist mindset I get met with when people ask me when I’m moving away. It makes me feel like I have no say in the matter and suddenly I’m expected to move away and that I’m a selfish wife if I don’t. I am not betrothed to Larry with a dowry and a cow! This is 2015!  Judge me as selfish, as a bad future wife, but I truly don’t agree that a change in status (going from long term dating to marrying) means I immediately, upon marrying, leave my life behind.  I’m not sure what coming together looks like, but I know in my heart we won’t stop being creative with it and when we do live together again I hope we never take it for granted. Maybe it’s gradual, maybe it is splitting time (50/50 or 70/30) between locations. Of course, I miss Larry every day and wish our lives were simpler, but I also didn’t want to stifle his personal ambitions and dreams. I have always encouraged them because that’s what I’d want from the person I love.  I’m proud of our trust, communication (even when we don’t see eye to eye), and commitment to each other. I come from a line of strong ladies but the downside to this is I’m uncomfortable processing sadness and fear.  I hope that by coming clean I continue to feel the urge to write and in turn be able to access my emotions and really FEEL: feet on the ground, face towards the sun.

 

My Action Steps:

1. Putting time and energy into work projects that will benefit me for the long term and saying “no” to commitments that will not.

2. Not acting so tough all of the time. Allowing myself to be sad or feel lonely and not view it as a sign of weakness. Allowing myself to feel the range of emotions humans feel and observe them instead of suppressing them.

3. Guarding myself against outside opinions of what a new marriage should “look like.” So long as my fiancé and I are okay with our plan that’s all that matters.

4. Enjoying and being grateful for every single imperfect day I’m apart from Larry because when we do live together again it will be that much sweeter.