Sweatpants O' Clock

Hey all-sorry for the delay on my 2018 CrossFit Open debrief. I’ll likely have to do it in multiple postings. But this one deserves its own post.

I won’t make you wait to find out the happy ending to my 18.3 story.  It happened people.  Finally.  I got my first ring muscle up. I’ve got a long story about the process to get there, but I’ll try to keep it short.

I want to tell you about the power of hard work and commitment. It is truly unfair how hard it has been for me to learn this high skill movement.  But I can’t change my ability.  I *can* just keep putting in the work until my body finally learns what it needs to do. The day of this open workout, I felt excited to try--I had put in the work, and now it was time to see if today was my day (hint: it was).

I want to tell you about the value of being supported by a coach who cares. I cannot count the number of hours Joe Sarti spent with me, practicing the movement patterns, doing the drills, and building strength. And my CFPA coaches Graeme and Tim have given me numerous drills and cues to help me build the skills and awareness required for this task.

I want to tell you about the explosion of support I received before, during and after I hit this muscle up. M. answered my call to be my judge and encouraged and advised me with just the right blend of intensity and calm. K. gave me the perfect cue after I missed my first attempt. And SO MANY friends are screaming their lungs out to help get me over those rings.

And after I hit it? The celebration was mine, but it was also ours.  It was for my  CFPA community who has watched me try and come up short year after year.  It was for all the friends I’ve made along the way. And it was for all of us for whom things don’t come easily. It may not come when you want it, but if you put in enough work, it’s amazing what is possible.  In the words of Mat Fraser, #HWPO

My goal this Open season is to use these five weeks as a chance to grow in perspective. Historically, I’ve seen these five workouts as a tool with which I can measure my athletic improvements and status. At this point in life, I feel a little bit differently. My scores on five workouts, and how they compare to other recreational exercisers, has only a moderate relationship to the reasons I do CrossFit, and no relationship at all to my worth as a person.

Yet, sometimes it feels like it’s so much more important than it really is.  No matter how much my brain keeps wisely telling me that the scores don’t matter, my heart still looks to the leaderboard to tell me whether this past year has been well spent, and whether I’m a good enough athlete.

This year, I had hoped I would be different. I had hoped that I would face the Open as just another opportunity for fun workouts with my community. I had hoped that  I would remember that the leaderboard would take care of itself.

It’s definitely still a work in progress. I got pretty nervous on Friday night, and since the workout, I’ve been thinking about how I could have added a few reps here and there.  I think the score was fine, but I wish that my reaction could have been a little more even-keeled.

But I think this is actually where the growth can happen for me. We cannot grow without challenging ourselves.  I had considered sitting the open out this year, because I don’t like to make myself anxious, but I decided against it. I decided to face my fears and try to work them through in real time. So when I got anxious Friday night, I didn’t ignore the feelings. I reached out to friends and asked for help.

I was reminded that I get anxious because I care so much, and that I can treat the emotional growth as a chipper.  Just chip away at the feelings, and work them through little by little.  As each feeling rises, I am trying to take my time with it, notice it, and let it float on by.  Soon, before I know it, I’ll have more and more moments where I can just relax and enjoy the process.  

In other words, I think having perspective is a skill, no different than any other skill that I’d work on.  Just like I practice my muscle up skills at least 1-2 times per week, I need to practice my ability to measure my abilities in competition while still keeping perspective.  So the Open is a good opportunity for me to work on those abilities, because they are definitely a challenge

I don’t want to miss out on life because I sometimes (more than sometimes?) get a little anxious or obsessive about results. I want to dive into life experiences, and if they give me unpleasant feelings, then I want to take that opportunity to learn from it and get a little bit better at dealing with those feelings each time.

I do hope that the leaderboard is in my favor this year

But regardless of what the leaderboard says, I hope that I get better at remembering that I am so much more than my scores, better at trying to control what is out of my control, and better at enjoying all the fun that life has to offer. 

I haven’t signed up for the CrossFit Open yet.  I’m sure I will, but it’s been a surprise to me how reticent I’ve felt.  I realize how much stress the Open has brought me over the years--how much my sense of worth as an athlete (and sometimes, even as a person) is tied up in my results on five workouts.

And I just can’t and won’t do that to myself anymore.  I have to find a way to do my best, and then let go of outcome.  Whatever workout is announced, I want to show up, work hard, and then get on with my life.  I’ve worked really hard this year, as I do every year, and I’ve improved in some ways, and in other ways, I’ve made precious little progress.  And whatever the leaderboard says, I want to feel good about how hard I work, about how I encourage others, about the relationships I’ve built.  

My goal this year is non-attachment.  I want to do my best, and let go of outcome.  The outcome isn’t in my control anyway.  And so, I’m going to say it to myself over and over again, and I’ll ask you to remind me.  “Do your best, and let it go.” 

Will this be the year of my muscle up? Or of my triple digit snatch?  I’ve put in a ton of work, but they haven’t clicked just yet.  I want to be brave enough to try my very hardest, even though I don’t know if it will lead to success.  I want to feel good about all the work I’ve put in, because I *will* achieve those goals, even if I don’t know exactly when.

Will I skyrocket up the leaderboard or finish lower than 2017 (which was lower than 2016)? I am a human being, so obviously, I’d prefer to have better outcomes, but I hope either way, I’ll notice the outcome, feel what I feel, and then get right back to the rest of my life.

Brace yourself, people. This post is *not* about CrossFit

I promise to return to my regularly scheduled obsessive musings about fitness soon, but today, I want to talk to you about my college reunion.

Last weekend, I flew back to Boston for my 25th college reunion.  I know, I know, I look far too young to be that many years out from college

But it’s true.  25 years ago, I moved back to California, and left most of my college history in my rear view mirror. I’ve stayed in touch with a few friends, and I have fond memories, but mostly, Harvard is just the (super awesome) place I went to school a long time ago.

I was totally looking forward to my reunion. I booked my flights and hotel room several months ago, and my roommate and I got excited about a great trip.  

That said, I had no idea just how great the trip would be.  

It felt like every time I turned around, I was bumping into someone I was delighted to see.  I couldn’t stop myself from smiling like a fool, and the usual internal chatter that can ride shotgun in my brain (do they like me? am I cool? did I say something wrong?) was silent.  All my inner dialogue was just joy. 

After the exchange of basic information, we dropped into the most wonderful, hilarious, and real conversations.  After 25 years, it felt like no one had anything left to prove, and we were genuinely interested and supportive of each other, whatever paths had been chosen.

Sharon Salzberg, who writes and speaks about love, described a relationship between a man and his dog that really resonated with me.  She said that, in most relationships, people each give 50%, but in his relationship with his dog, they each loved the other 100%. At the reunion, it felt like there was a whole lot of 100% loving going on.

It made me reflect upon how much time I spend thinking about the rules of engagement in relationships, and how all that thinking can keep me from a truer form of engagement.  This weekend, I didn’t worry about what the other person was going to give me back. I didn’t think about whether our relationship was reciprocal, or who was cooler, or whether we had hung out with the same people, or not to come on too strong (or not be too aloof).  All I knew was how happy I felt to be with them, and it felt like it was reflected right back to me.

Now, I know that a reunion is a rare experience, and I can’t expect my daily life to be like that.  But I do want to bring back a little piece of that experience --that feeling of being more free and more loving. I want to approach my friendships with more of a 100% attitude--not worrying what others will give back, or what people will think, just sharing my appreciation and delight in them without worrying about their response.

And even if it’s only for brief moments that I can bring my 100% state of mind with me, think of how glorious those moments will be.

Thank you to my Harvard 1992 classmates for being so authentic, interesting, and lovable, and for being my companions in delight on such a wonderful weekend. I always said that the best part of going to Harvard was the people--and you continue to be the gift that keeps on giving.

In my previous post, I talked about how grateful I am for all of the learning that comes with disappointing outcomes. The important thing about learning is that we use it and don’t forget it.

It’s easy to learn now when the disappointment of not pushing hard enough in 17.5, or blowing up too early in 17.4, or needing a 95#+ snatch in 17.3, or not having a muscle up in 17.2 is fresh in my mind.  I swear up and down that I’ll tighten up my mental and strategy game, that I’ll lock down those muscle ups, and that I’ll shore up my weaker lifts (deadlift, snatch), and build up my strength. But last year after the 2016, I swore that it would be my last year crying on muscle up day, and yet there I was in 2017, crying again on muscle up day. So am I really learning if I don’t change my behavior?

So here’s my suggestion to myself and to you.  If you learned something important about yourself, lock it in.  Figure out what you’d like to change, and what you need to do to create that change. Then, commit to the small steps that generate change.  

After 17.2, my coach and friend looked at me and told me that he knew I was disappointed, and that we had good reason for training other skills and lifts ahead of muscle ups, but that this was the year I had to get them.  He committed with me that we would work together towards this goal. Today, after class, my other coach hung out with me and reviewed drills and technique work that would help build the framework for my muscle up.

Before 17.5, I was completely burned out. I couldn’t rally myself to fight for one more workout. And I took a non-strategic approach to the workout.  I decided to be “nice” to myself, rather than push myself to compete at my best. I let myself take too many breaks, I wasn’t disciplined about my timing, and guess what? I had a score that did not reflect my true capacity, and I feel angry at myself for not being the best version of myself. I did something similar in 2015, for 15.5, and I was equally angry at myself afterward.  I had thought that going easy was what I wanted, but it was momentary relief accompanied by lasting disappointment. I remembered to push all the way through the finish line in 2016, but forgot by 2017, and I suffered for it.

So how to remember? I’m getting my community involved again.  I told the people who are my closest advisors that my 2017 self is asking them to keep me hammering until I complete the entire Open. And if my 2018 self tries to talk them out of it, I’ve told them to remind me that my 2017 self will not let me do that to myself again.  In other words, even if I weaken, I’ve got my coaches, close friends, and spouse on board to help me stay strong. I’ve set my backup plan in motion a year in advance, so I don’t have to rely solely on my own willpower.  

Hubs has rearranged the garage gym and set it up so it’s super easy for me to just get in there, do a little barbell work and get out. The garage used to be so jammed that it was like a game of Tetris to get at any of the barbells or racks, so I’d end up just hopping on the rower or airdyne and calling it a day. Getting the rack set up to squat or jerk was just not worth it, but now, there’s no excuse. My strength needs to grow, and I’ve got all the tools I need.

Hubs has also thrown down the demand that I get my nutrition and digestion under control. I have a brutal time with digestion, so I get the majority of my calories from modified protein shakes.  Obviously, I’m not able to build muscle and strength the way I’d like to when I’m not getting my nutrition from actual food. He’s told me that it’s time for me to take control, with just as much intensity as I show towards my workouts, and he’s right.  I am not going to get appreciably stronger if I’m not getting nutrition and digestion under control. If I don’t want to have another year where I can’t show off my technique and skill because my strength limitations have held me back, I need to take ownership, and I’ve got hubs helping me by insisting that I do so.

It’s been a bummer of an open for me.  After how much I’ve improved each year in the open, I was sure that this year would be the same.  In addition, I stunned myself with a mid-pack performance at the always competitive NorCal Masters, so I figured that this year’s open would show a continued rise up the leaderboard.

The final standings aren’t in yet, but this year’s performance has been disappointing.  I’m lower on the leaderboard in my box, and lower in the standings in my age group worldwide.

Each year, I have had at least a few magical moments, where I surprised myself, and exceeded my expectations. It’s part of why I love to do the Open--when I challenge myself, I sometimes find out I’m capable of more than I thought was possible. This year, none of those moments found me. 

The Open workouts didn’t particularly favor me, and I didn’t particularly excel at any of them.  And they were measured on an unforgiving leaderboard of people who have been getting better and better.

Before you start to try to cheer me up, my brain totally understands that I am miles ahead of all the people who never get off the couch. My brain also understands that, compared to where I started, I’m crushing it, and I totally should be proud.  But sometimes, the rest of me doesn’t listen to my brain. 

It’s weird.  In theory, I should understand that sometimes I will perform better than I had anticipated, and sometimes worse.  I should know that competing means that I put myself out there, and that the outcomes will not always match expectations.

But each week’s workout would get announced, and I’d begin to think about how I might do well, that this might be my week where I made my move up the leaderboard.  Then I’d do the workout, and watch, saddened, as my score didn’t hold up well, and my name fell down the leaderboard. And then, I’d start thinking that the next week would be my week to explode back up to where I thought I belonged.  But now we’re out of weeks, and it just didn’t happen.  

While my score is perfectly fine, it’s not where I wanted to be. One week I went out too hard, another week not hard enough, another week the big lift was just a few pounds out of my reach, another week, I didn’t quite have the right strategy. It was like the Goldilocks and the Three Bears experience--too fast, too slow, but never just right.

So what is there to say to myself, and to all of us, who had hoped for more? I was talking to Mr. Sweatpants tonight at dinner, and he pointed out that I’ve always had great difficulty accepting the results of competition.  He’s right. But I reminded him that I’ve gotten much, much better (I hardly ever cry at competitions any more).  I told him that I reserve the right to feel bad today, and maybe even tomorrow, but that pretty soon, it’s going to be in my rear view mirror.  

I am willing to go through the personal discomfort that competition can bring, because it’s a mirror that reflects back to me the ways in which I still need to grow. I sometimes equate too much of my value with my performance outcome, and forget that my worth is completely separate from my aptitude.  I get too attached to how I compare with others, which can rob me of the joy of my own experience and growth.

Am I more skilled and strong than last year?  Absolutely.  My goal for myself is to remember that, no matter what the leaderboard says, I’ve improved.  And even more importantly, in my mid-40′s, I’m staying fit, having fun, making friends, and challenging myself to grow every day.  Even if I never competed again, all of that would be true, and so much more important than my score.

I think sometimes when I do well, I get over excited. I feel like this happy accomplishment is now who I *am*. Sometimes, when I don’t achieve what I want, I get overly disappointed, and also feel like I’m somehow less good than I was before.  The truth is somewhere in between. I’m the same me either way, who either had a positive or negative outcome.

And that’s the growth I’m working on right now.  I am trying to grow my awareness that I am the same person, regardless of my performance.  I can give the best I have at that moment, and that even if my best effort in that moment is not exactly what I might have wished for, it’s not a reflection on me, it’s a reflection only on what was happening at that moment, and an opportunity to learn something for the next time. And as long as I keep trying to grow as a person, an athlete, a friend, mother, wife, and psychologist, I’ve got plenty to be proud of.  

I’ve said it before, and I’ll keep saying it until I can really soak it in.  I am *not* my performance. I am *not* the leaderboard. I am *not* whatever currently has my attention.  We all are so much more than any individual experience.

This has not been a great Open so far for me.  In each past year, I’ve dramatically exceeded my expectations-blown my own mind by finding out that I’m better than I had ever imagined.

Two out of the five workouts of the 2017 season are complete, and I’m performing worse than I had planned.  I’m working hard, giving my best efforts, and the leaderboard is just not giving me the results I had hoped for.

Today was the “Make H cry” annual workout. I still don’t have a muscle up, and each year, when it shows up, I try, and have not yet been successful. So I cry. Why? Because I really want it. Because it hurts to try so hard in front of my friends and community and not be successful.  I suppose I should know how to try and not cry with disappointment, but I haven’t mastered that skill yet either.

So I’ve given some thought to the question-why do the muscle up workouts at all? Why not scale the workout, and just decide not to try in an Open workout until I know I have the skill? Why even do the Open at all? Sure, it’s fun when I’m doing well, but it feels pretty bad when it doesn’t go my way.  I could hang out, judge my friends, cheer everyone on, and just enjoy my regular fitness as scheduled without putting myself on the line to try to achieve something I don’t know if I can do.

Part of why I do CrossFit is because the challenges force me to grow in ways I probably wouldn’t otherwise.  And I don’t want to miss the learning.  I don’t want to hide from life. I can’t pretend to feel differently than I do, or deny my wishes. I want to show up for life, just as I am. I want to be willing to try, willing to show what I want, even if I might fail. I want to learn from my disappointments and be stronger for it.  

I know that the goal of life isn’t to be happy all the time. It’s to be present for whatever life brings--to experience the good, bad and in-between of each experience, for all of its richness and depth.  But even though that advice sounds good, it can be hard to follow sometimes.  Even with all the learning available in tougher times, happy times sound a lot more fun.

If I tell you that today was a disappointment, that would be true, but it would be an oversimplification.  If I truly pay attention to the whole morning, there were other feelings too.  There were some great laughs with friends. There was the celebration of hubs crushing THREE bar muscle ups (and many other people achieving first muscle ups or pullups). There was a recommitment between me and my friend/coach to seriously apply some attention and effort to locking down the muscle ups this year. 

Maybe most importantly, there were some honest and connected moments between me and my long time friends, which really can only happen through sharing of vulnerability. They knew I was disappointed today, and they shared their support with me without belittling my desire or disappointment.

And that, for me, is one of my big learnings.  I have developed some really wonderful friendships through CrossFit. These friends know how badly I want to improve, and they party like it’s 1999 when I do well, and they truly understand my grief when things don’t go my way.  

Life can be hard, and disappointments happen. We have to feel the feelings, whatever they may be. But we don’t have to do it alone. Walking this path with friends makes it an entirely different experience.  It still hurts, but it also feels good.  It’s easy to have friendships when things are going my way. But to have the richness of friends really, really seeing me when I’m feeling down, to feel their compassion and support, to let them lift me up, or even better, walk with me where I am? It’s not a muscle up, but in many ways, it’s even better. 

A muscle up will come, with focused work and training.  But the emotional growth and personal connection that comes from trying, not achieving my desired outcome, and letting my friends support me through it is pretty special too, and will serve me much more than any muscle up ever will. The Open season will be over soon enough, but the friendships and personal growth are mine forever. 

So here’s my call to you.  If you achieved or exceeded your goals today (or any other day), congratulations! Enjoy! Celebrate!

I wasn't planning on doing NorCal Masters this year. I competed in 2015, and there were many,many tears about how hard it was, the shame and embarrassment I felt about not being as good as the other competitors, and my fear about whether I was even good enough to be able to participate. 

 Last year, I was a last minute scratch, due to an unexpected and sudden bout of pneumonia. And this year, I just couldn't get myself to commit. This world has enough challenges-I don't need to go looking for more suffering. As I like to tell people, I'm probably not going to win the CrossFit games this year, so maybe I can ease back the throttle on the stress and intensity. 

When I did the 2015 NorCal Masters competition, I had to pr on FIVE different movements (16 kg kettle bell snatch, 16 kg kettle bell weighted pistol, 24 kg kettle bell overhead swing, 95 pound thruster, and chest to bar pull-ups) just in order to participate. Even though I pushed myself to the outer limits of my capacity, I finished second from last. It was an incredible growth experience, and I treasure the friendships I made and deepened. But I'm not wanting to suffer and struggle like that right now, even if it means sacrificing some of the possible gains that come with that level of intense competition. So I told myself I wouldn't sign up until/unless I felt like I could show up with an attitude of openness, fun, and celebration of friendship and fitness. 

Time kept passing, and I was aware that not making a decision was rapidly becoming a decision to not participate. In early January, I started to change my mind, but found that registration had closed. I decided that was the cost of waiting too long, but that I couldn't have forced myself to feel open and ready until it was there. And I was ok with it. Then fate struck, in the form of an email from my gym mate, who was unable to use his entry, due to a minor injury. He asked if I wanted it, and without giving myself much time to think about it, I just said yes. So, about two weeks before the competition, I was in. 

 Oddly, I never did get very nervous. They don't announce the workouts until shortly before the competition (only 36 hours before the athlete check in this year), so I couldn't practice anything in advance. I also tweaked my lower back the weekend beforehand, so I was mostly focused on healing my body. 

 I know sometimes people say to not compete with others, and to only compete with yourself. I realized that I don't want to compete with ANYONE, including myself. Competing makes me tense and squeezes the joy out of life experiences for me. 

But, even though I don't like that feeling of anxiety that comes with competition, one of my favorite things to do is to spend the day working out and hanging out with my friends. On those days, I barely know what my scores are, and I definitely don't care. Although I guess we are technically competing with each other, it doesn’t feel like it.

So I decided to approach NorCal Masters like it was a Sunday Funday with my friends. Just do some work, have some fun, and don't worry too much about the outcomes. 

 Were there goals? Not many. I hoped that I might not finish in last place, but if I had a good time competing with friends, I was really okay with whatever the leaderboard showed. I just didn't want to spend another competition feeling tense or self doubting. If I managed to enjoy myself and relax, then I really didn't have any other major goals. 

 Wanna know what happened? 

 First, and most importantly, I had a great time. As always, TJ's Gym always puts on a well run event, which has been aptly described as a family reunion. I spent lots of time hanging out with some bad-ass athletes who happen to also be incredible people. 

 And what about the leaderboard? I finished tied for fifteenth out of twenty four competitors, with my best finish a tie for ninth place in the weight vest run. 

I have no idea how any of that could possibly have happened. 

I thought I knew who I was and how I would perform, but as luck would have it, I was wrong. How fun is that? I had an opportunity to find out that I was better than I had thought.

So what does it all mean? For once, I'm not really sure. I felt freed by not worrying about the leaderboard. Since I wasn't trying to win anything this year, I was able to just show up and do my best.

I'd like to do more of that going forward. I don't think it will always lead to such unexpectedly positive results, but I don't need to be the best. I do want to feel my best though, and I'm excited I was able to achieve that goal. 

 As I prepare for the open, I hope to bring that attitude along with me. As my wise friend K told me one day when I was freaking out about a competition, I can only control myself (and barely that), but I can't control who else shows up. 

So who knows what the leaderboard will show? If it's all muscle ups and 300 pound deadlifts, then it might not be my year to rise up the leaderboard. If it's pistols, L-sits and overhead squats, you might see some cool stuff happening for me. 

But either way, nothing has changed. I'm still me, I'm as good as I am, regardless of whether I'm the windshield or the bug. The leaderboard isn't a measure of my goodness as a human. It's not even a measure of my progress as a CrossFitter. It's just a measure of how I did on five saturdays in May. 

 So this is my Declaration of Independence from the leaderboard.

There are only 39 days until the CrossFit open,or, as I call it, blogging season. It's often a season of stress for me, and sometimes for others too. It's also a season of growth for me, both physically and emotionally.

One of the great things about the open is that you get tested. We can tell ourselves all kinds of stories about our performance or improvement,  but there is no hiding from the measuring stick. Although we are somewhat beholden to the whims of Dave Castro, if we have trained well over the past year, we should be able to meet the challenges with improved outcomes.

So then our progress for the year is crystallized into five simple scores for the five workouts. It's brutally simple and lets us know exactly how this year’s performance compares with last year’s performance. It's an easy recipe for getting terribly anxious: what if I'm not as good as I had hoped? What if I do worse than someone I want to beat? What if I don't measure up to my expectations?

So far, each year has been better than the one before for me, and I hope to have the same results this year, because I have improved since last year. However, past years' performance is not necessarily a promise of how I (or anyone else) will perform this year. In spite of the fact that I believe I have improved, I may not get the results I hope for. And this may be the truest and most important lesson of competition, one which I am trying my hardest to digest.

You do your best, but then you must release your attachment to results. You may get the flu or a bad night's sleep. Castro might program a workout that is a grand assembly of your goats. 

You might just have an off workout or two or five. It happens. You might capture lightning in a bottle and explode past your wildest fantasies (Dave, if you're listening, I'd like a ten rep max overhead squat, taken from the rack).  But whether you are the windshield or the bug, you are still the same person you were before the open.

You can celebrate a wonderful accomplishment (yay 16.4!) or cry over a disappointing outcome (darn you muscle ups!), but your results do not define you. You have strengths and weaknesses; you may have areas of growth that you want to focus on. But if you worked hard this year, if you've improved in some areas, then celebrate that, regardless of what the outcome may show.

I’ve been listening to a sports mental training app called Lucid. It’s awesome—it’s got a little bit of mindfulness/meditation, some visualization, and finishes with positive affirmations. I figure that I train my physical abilities, why not train my mental abilities too?

It’s awesome, and I love it and find it helpful, but that’s not why I’m writing this post. I’m writing because it gave me a very useful tool that I want to share with you.

One of the affirmations that I was given about two weeks ago was something like this: “I welcome discomfort. It’s how I grow.” I LOVE THIS PHRASE.  It’s my new mantra.

In CrossFit, I have heard phrases about “getting comfortable being uncomfortable,” and “embracing the suck,” but none of those phrases have touched me like this one.  Instead of just telling myself to hunker down and accept the misery, this phrase tells me to welcome it, because it will help me grow.

We seldom grow, whether in fitness or in life, when we are comfortable.  And most people, including me, love being comfortable. Isn’t it fun to sit around and admire how good things are going and how awesome we are?  It’s the best.  

But I don’t improve that way.  When something causes discomfort in me, I’m forced to look inward, dig a little deeper, and explore how I can rise to meet these new challenges. And I grow, but it can hurt.  

We can’t avoid hard times, but we can offer ourselves compassion and empower ourselves as we suffer. Sometimes, I look at the weight on the bar or the time remaining in an AMRAP (or at the challenges in my life), and I think it’s all just too hard-that I can’t meet this challenge, and I start thinking about quitting or hiding from the challenge. Even if I keep working at the challenge, the internal struggle depletes me.  When I tell myself that this suffering has a purpose, that suffering is the price I pay to come out the other side stronger, I feel engaged and even a little bit excited.

Sometimes the discomfort teaches us that we need to make a change (do I need to practice more? Ask for help? Change a dynamic that causes pain?). Sometimes pain tells us to STOP (feel like you’re going to pass out? Feel like you injured yourself?). Sometimes it teaches us that we’re better or stronger than we give ourselves credit for--that we can hold on to that bar for one more rep, that the weight we think is too heavy is actually within our grasp, that we’re tougher than we were the day before.

I don’t like to suffer. I don’t think anyone does. But I have found these words to be helpful to me during challenging times in the gym and in my life outside fitness. 

I’m currently debating whether to sign up again for NorCal Masters.  It’s an awesome two day competition, filled with some incredible masters athletes. The programming is quite challenging, and I’ll likely finish at the back of the pack, even if the entire weekend is a PR parade for me.

I worry that I’ll be uncomfortable in many ways. The workouts will be very difficult for me, and I might be embarrassed by how much I struggle with events that are easy for my competitors. So maybe it will be useful for me to go, face my discomfort, and celebrate the growth that will surely come.  Or maybe, it will be useful for me to choose to not participate, even though I’ll feel discomfort at not being a part of the event, but I will have the opportunity to grow through accepting my limits and protecting myself from something that may just be too hard for me.  I haven’t figured out which way I’ll go, but either way, I’ll have a chance to grow through the discomfort that arises, and that’s a good thing.

I’ve been thinking a lot about how quickly we can lose our identity.

As many of you know, in addition to being a candy-loving crossfitter, I’m also a licensed clinical psychologist.  Recently, I was sitting with a client who was having a rough time at work, and she was feeling really beaten down by the things she wasn’t getting good feedback about. But when we examined those areas more closely, we realized that she was spending her energy apologizing for what she wasn’t, rather than celebrating and playing up what she was.

It happens to all of us sometimes. We get so caught up in what we’re not, that we forget who we ARE.

How many conversations have you been in, where you compliment someone about how strong, or smart, or attractive, or successful they are, and they respond with a deflection about what they aren’t (”oh, I know my squat is strong, but my pull-ups are just the worst”). And how many times have you listened to a friend bemoan a weakness, while you’re sitting there thinking about how small that weakness seems compared to all of their awesomeness (”sure, you don’t fit into a size 2, but who cares? You rock!”)

I feel like I’ve been hearing more and more stories from friends about how frustrated they are that they haven’t achieved a certain goal, and that frustration seems to color their views of themselves. Suddenly, instead of being an awesome person who is working on a goal, or someone who has accepted that she can’t be great at everything, we feel like failures. 

I fall victim to it myself, though I’m getting better at it. After 6 years of CrossFit, I sometimes feel like my accomplishments are pretty small.  I am disappointed that my deadlift and snatch aren’t better, and I still don’t have a muscle up.  But then I remind myself who I am. I’m built for yoga, not CrossFit (seriously-I can contort myself into some pretty cool party tricks), I’m on the south side of 40, and I have no athletic background. To come from nothing to where I am is pretty cool, and a reflection of my tenacity, commitment, and growth. In addition, I’m so much more than my CrossFit skills. I’m a mom, a wife, a psychologist, and a friend, and I think I’m pretty good at all of them. I would guess that when you look more closely at yourself, you’ll see that you’re so many things, and not just the small areas that are disappointments right now.

So I invite you to consider, when you get stuck in beating yourself up-have you forgotten all the awesome things about yourself? Have you gotten so focused on what you aren’t, that you have forgotten all the many awesome things about yourself? When you get caught up, try to remember who you are--all of it. Sure, you aren’t perfect, but how much energy are you giving to the stuff that isn’t how you’d like it? What if you gave a little more focus and energy to what your gifts are? Instead of bemoaning my weaknesses,  it’s way more fun to reflect on how unexpected it is for someone like me to be able to do pull-ups and handstand pushups and pistols at this age than to be complaining to myself about the slow pace of my strength gains.

If you forget what’s good about you, ask someone who loves you to remind you. You’re SO MUCH MORE than you think you are--remember that.

Yesterday’s class had 1 rep max for snatch, followed by 1 rep max for clean and jerk, and I had a pretty good feeling that we would see the same today. I was anxious already when I went to bed--snatch is probably my weakest lift, and I hate testing one rep maxes in general. I tend to perform better at moderate weights for multiple reps than grinding out single reps at max effort.  I also don’t like the pressure of it all--if I’m just training and happen to hit a big weight, then yay for me.  But with all the pressure of “today’s the day” and seeing so many other people hit big pr’s makes it feel stressful, rather than just working technique and strength and finding out where that brings me.

I was just coming off a huge PR on Cindy on Monday (20 minutes, as many reps as possible, 5 pullups, 10 pushups, 15 squats), and was still feeling pretty sore (and proud). I wanted to hold on to that great feeling of the PR from Monday, and didn’t want to feel disappointment.  But I also knew I couldn’t guarantee what my body and mind would give me on the barbell today. So I tried to to convince myself to just focus on form and not worry about whether a PR would come or not. And surprise, surprise, I hit a one pound PR on snatch! It’s still below where I’d like it to be, but progress is progress. I’m currently nine pounds away from my big goal, which has felt unreachable, but who knows?

Then, I lost my way.  My commitment to myself to leave my ego at the door and just focus on the process (rather than on some future goal) evaporated.  I started to get greedy, figuring out that I should plan on AT LEAST hitting my max clean + my max jerk. I started pushing the weights, getting heavy in a hurry, so I could get to the big numbers before time ran out.

Well, it didn’t work out that way. My jerks were a little wonky, starting at 105#. Instead of staying at 105# until I worked it out, I stubbornly plodded forward, insistent that the lifts should match my plan.

Guess what happened? Just like every other time that I get stubborn and rigid about my plan, rather than focusing on my form and just letting the results work themselves out, I finished well below my expectations--about ten pounds off.I was so bummed and mad at myself that all the glow from the improved snatch evaporated, and I was just left with the bitter taste of the repeated failed jerks.

So rather than let my bad feelings eat me up, I tried to catch myself and talk myself through it, so I could learn from it rather than just feel bad.  This is the process I try to use for myself as well as for my clients. I’ll share how I worked it through, in case it is useful for any of you.

1) Feel all the feelings, no matter how bad or unreasonable. (It’s not fair, All my gains mean nothing, why do I even try etc.) Even if the feelings are completely absurd and defy logic, feel them all, and do not limit them.

2) Give myself compassion, because it feels rotten to feel unpleasant feelings (I’m so sorry you feel that way, that’s the worst. It’s so disappointing when things don’t go the way you want). Do not talk myself out of it, or explain why the feelings are wrong or irrational.  Feelings are feelings, and all we can do is empathize.

3) Ask self, is there something I can do or learn from this experience? Is there something I need to change? If so, a plan can be made now, or I can just make a note of awareness of a problem that needs addressing. (Maybe I need to work on stringing cleans and jerks together. Maybe I can remind myself to focus on form and process even more rigorously. Maybe I need to do jerk drills.)

4) And then note that even though it feels rotten now, it will not feel this way forever, and soon enough, I will totally forget about this feeling. So until the feeling passes, try to be good to myself and not dwell too much on the crappy feeling. (Meditate, chat with friends, get some work done, go to yoga, etc.)

So that’s what I did.  And while I’m still (obviously) not delighted about the disappointing jerk performance today, I’m actually kind of excited about this opportunity to really focus in on a hole in my physical game that I had not really noticed before (jerks) and in my mental game (insisting on a certain outcome, rather than focusing on process). I feel like, if I work on improving my skill and my approach, I have potential to really improve my performance.

You’ve heard me natter on before about how hard athleticism is for me.  If they sold athletic ability or ability to acquire muscle mass on the black market, you know I’d be down there in a trench coat trying to get some.

But I as we all know, I am what I am.  I cannot change the fact that if I want to get stronger or improve my skills, I have to put in a lot of work, often for painfully slow and unpredictable gains.  How is that even fair? 

Because I work so hard, even when I pr, or do something that is an improvement, it feels a little bit tainted, because it costs so much effort and is so small in relation to the amount of work I put in.  I admire the more gifted athletes so much--I imagine it must be very fun to have a body that understands what to do, and that it must be great to put the best time or score on the board on a regular basis, and to improve by leaps and bounds with a little bit of coaching or extra practice.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the stories we tell ourselves and others-the way we construct meaning out of events that happen.  It’s kind of a revolutionary idea-we convince ourselves that the stories we’ve created are the Truth, but are they really?  What if we looked more skeptically at our stories, and began to consider whether the stories still serve us, and what other stories might also summarize our experiences in a way that is more accurate and more supportive. 

The story I tell is one of lots of effort, leading to small but consistent gains. I tell people that I’m not as good, but I just try hard and pace well.  I quickly point to those who are better than I am, and minimize (and often don’t even see) my accomplishments. But is there another story? Is there another way I can take my athletic experiences and create different meaning?

I’d like to create a new story.  I’d like to say that I’m someone who is trying something that I historically wouldn’t have tried, something that is outside of my natural sweet spot. I’m someone who appreciates the heck out of gains, since I earn every single one of them. School always came easily to me, so I never felt that excited when I received an honor roll citation. But when I PR at CFPA? I ring the heck out of that PR bell, and blow up my text lines letting my loved ones know about my victory. I would never get that level of joy without the effort and commitment that I put into it. 

I don’t think I’ll ever inspire anyone with my natural gifts like my heroes Sam Briggs (the engine)

 and Sam Dancer (of the 650 pound deadlift)

But maybe my story can be special in a different way. For all of us who are working hard in activities that we love, which may not come naturally to us-whether CrossFit or something else, let’s tell the story of how much courage and grit it takes to show up, work hard, do our best, and keep on grinding.  Let’s tell the story of doing something for the sheer love of it, without the natural reinforcement of it coming easily to us. Let our stories be about heart and commitment, and let our victories be those of growth and self-challenge and becoming the best versions of ourselves that we can be.

I’ve always thought that the best way to approach a challenge, especially one that I want as much as athletic success, is to set a goal and then to throw all my resources at achieving that goal. I’ve talked before about blue lips, and if you’ve read my blog, my intensity will be no secret to you.

But during the 2016 CrossFit Open, without meaning to, I felt myself start to resist setting goals. Of course, I had approximate ideas of what I might hope to achieve, but I tried to actually downplay them in my mind and just stay open to what might happen in the workouts.  Don’t get me wrong, I certainly did my share of worrying about what might happen, but I tried not to get attached to specific outcomes.  

It was a good Open for me, and I think some of my success can be attributed to the fact that I refused to set parameters for what success would mean to me.  When I started going down the rabbit hole of what I wanted to achieve to prove that I am better this year than I was last year, I tried to remind myself that I am better than I was last year, regardless of what the scoreboard said.

So when I would get ready for a given week’s WOD, I really had very little idea about what my desired outcome would be. Really, since four of the five WODs were completely new to me, and the fifth was from two years ago (and I’m certainly at least somewhat stronger than I was then),  I had no idea what to expect. 

I’ve always admired the sorts of people who set goals for their athletic performance and then make it happen no matter what. Mr. Sweatpants is like that. The roar of the crowd can add a good 15% to his performance. And if you’ve ever watched most elite athletes perform, they will show you that refuse to lose attitude. They have intensity, and they have planned goals and approaches to achieve specific goals. They visualize success, they commit to what they need to do to get there.

But when i set goals, I find that I tighten up, and my performance suffers.  

So this year, I tried to just focus on this rep, and then the next rep, and not worry too much about where I would finish. The only workout where I had a specific goal (16.3, obviously, a bar muscle up would have been success, no bar muscle up felt like failure), was the workout I felt worst about, in spite of the fact that I tried so hard, and gave everything I had, which is all I can ever do.

In the other four events, I truly wasn’t sure how much I could expect from myself.  I had a rough idea of what I thought I would achieve, but just showed up and did work, and in the words of my friend and judge for all of last year’s open wods, I tried to “surprise myself.”

I put myself in the hands of my judges and my community. I let Sara and Owen (judges) and my CFPA family (relentless cheerers and encouragers) exhort, inspire, and make me better than I thought I could ever be. I trusted the last eleven months of training, trusted my coaches, and most of all, trusted that I didn’t need to prove that I was better. Instead, I trusted that I was already better, and that I just had to show up and do work. This year’s Open helped me to BE open. Instead of trying to force my outcome to fit my vision, I waited to discover what I am right now.

That’s where my biggest learning came from. If you asked me to describe myself as a CrossFitter, I’d probably lead with words that aren’t very kind. I would use words like unathletic, lacking muscle mass, no muscle up. I’d tell you about the people I’m not as good as, and about how far I am from who I want to be. I’d tell you about the things I can never be or do. Am I good at crossfitting? Nope. I just try hard.

And then, this happened.

That’s my ranking among all women 45-49 years old who participated in the CrossFit Open this year.  I’m in the top 8 percent of female participants in my age group, worldwide.  I would never have thought that could happen. By showing up and not trying to be anything but myself (whatever that is), I somehow am the kind of person who is in the top tenth of participants. I still can’t really integrate this result with my vision of myself. 

And that’s exactly the reason I put myself out there in competitions--I get more information about myself.  My ideas about myself are sometimes old and inaccurate--but by putting myself out there and being open to new information, I can challenge old perceptions and open myself to new possibilities about who I am and who I can be. Am I still the kind of person who can’t do muscle ups? Yes, and that still feels crummy, and I’m still committed to putting in the work every day to get there.

But I’m also the kind of person whose unglamorous, paced, grinding style of crossfitting leads to pretty decent results. I’m the kind of person who is still getting better--so who knows where my limits lie? I’ve told myself a story about my limits, but maybe that story is not true. 

You may know that my performance on the last workout (CrossFit Open 16.3-Amrap 7 minutes-10 snatches 75/55, 3 bar muscle ups) was a disappointment to me. I tried so hard to get that first bar muscle up. I’ve been working hard on my gymnastics skills for a while, but athleticism does not come easy to me. So sometimes, effort and desire are not enough. And last week, it wasn’t. It was pretty sad to want something so much, to try so hard in front of so many people who wanted it for me, and just to not have what it took on that day.

So I set aside some time last Saturday afternoon to have a good cry and process my disappointment.  And I got a text from my coach with a video of encouragement, and a reminder to keep working. Here’s the video-it’s only about two minutes, and it’s worth watching:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IdTMDpizis8&app=desktop

The basic premise of the video is to meet everything that happens in life with the response: “Good.” When something happens to you that you didn’t wish for, you can shift our mindset. It may be disappointing, but it’s also an opportunity.  It’s an opportunity to learn from what didn’t work this time and needs to be improved for next time. It’s an opportunity to recommit to your desire. It’s an opportunity to celebrate that you get a chance to try-that you’re alive, that you’re in the game.

So after watching this video, after talking to hubs at some length, I realized a few things. Of course, I would have preferred to hit my muscle ups and have a celebration. I would have preferred the afterglow and happy feelings of achieving a goal, especially in front of my community. So there would have been good in achieving my goal (positive feelings, affirmation, joy, celebration). 

Even though it would have been fun to achieve my goal, there was good in not achieving my goal too. I re-committed even more strongly to working my skills. I thought long and hard about what kind of athlete I am-my strengths and weaknesses, what I can reasonably expect from myself, and how I can better approach my CrossFit life from a mental and physical point of view.  I tried to take in how nice it was to have so much support in my community-I heard so many voices of people I care about who were cheering so hard, trying to get me over that bar. That has nothing to do with what I could or could not do, it has to do with the friendships we have built over the years, and that’s pretty awesome.  I learned a lot in those 24 hours after 16.3, and not all of it was about CrossFit.

 So here we are at 16.4. AMRAP (as many reps as possible) 13 minutes: 55 deadlifts (155#), 55 wallballs (14# ball to a 9′ target), 55 calories on the rower, 55 handstand pushups. I took my learning and applied it to this workout. 

1. I knew that having a firm goal of what I needed to achieve can take me out of my game plan and rob me of the pride of a successful workout if it didn’t match the pre-planned goal.  Since I don’t know how the workout will feel until I’m in it, I can’t really make a firm plan of what success looks like. So I took care to not quantify in advance what score I needed to consider the workout successful. 

2. I’m not super strong at deadlifts, rowing, or wall balls. What I am strong at is pacing and not taking very long breaks. I was honest with myself about my strengths and weaknesses, and made a game plan. I don’t know if the game plan would have worked for anyone else, but it was right for me. Small sets, short breaks, and don’t worry about what a massive number 55 feels like. Just chip away until my judge told me I was done. Don’t look at the clock, just keep moving. The reps will take care of themselves. 

I know there are lots of people who can deadlift more, or have bigger engines, or more technical skill, but that had nothing to do with me. I just focused on myself--doing what I can do to maximize my success, with the strength and skill set that I have.

3. I tried to take in the cheering and support of the community. One of the really fun things about the Open is that our community comes together and celebrates each other. I could hear the voices of support through the fog of the workout-and it felt so good. I let the support lift me and encourage me.

Remember how sad I was last week that it wasn’t my turn to have my breakthrough? Well, this week, it was my turn. 

Here were my tentative goals:

Small: Don’t blow up back

Medium: Get to the rower with enough time to get some calories scored

Large: Get to the wall (and maybe get 1 handstand pushup? But even just completing the row would have been awesome). This goal seemed highly improbable, and I wasn’t especially attached to it.

What happend?  I got to the wall with a minute to go, and got four hspu. Honestly, the only think I would have done differently is trust my handstand pushups more and go more aggressively in that minute--but I had heard so many people say that they had fallen apart on the hspu, so I was cautious. 

Final score? 169 reps --deadlifts, wall balls, and rower completed + 4 handstand pushups. 

Total victory and celebration for me--it’s more than I could have hoped for. After I finished, I started crying, but this time it was the good kind of tears. 

Each time that I have fallen short of my goal, I’ve had opportunities to learn. I’ve grown a little (or a lot) each time, and all those pieces come together to make me better. The improvements won’t always be obvious, and they won’t always appear when I want them to. But they’re in there, and I’m reaping the benefits whether I know it or not. If I embrace whatever happens, and see it as an opportunity to learn and grow, I will improve, and the gains will come.

 I exceeded my large goal yesterday and walked around floating on a cloud.  That’s good too.

I love/hate the CrossFit Open. It creates so much intensity for me and so, so many feeeeeeeelings. 

Yesterday, i told hubs “I can’t wait til the anxious is open,” when what I meant to say was “I can’t wait until the open is over.” Now I may be the mental health professional in our household, but I think everyone knows what my subconscious was trying to say.  The open sometimes makes me anxious-maybe you too?

But I also love the open--it’s an opportunity to grow and learn, not just physically, but mentally/emotionally too. As I prepare for tomorrow’s workout, I’m preparing also for this week’s life lesson.

This week, the workout is (women’s standards listed) AMRAP (as many reps as possible) in 13 minutes: 55 deadlifts 155#, 55 wall balls 14# to a 9′ target, 55 calories on the rower, 55 handstand pushups. It’s going to be a grind-each set of 55 is going to be a mental challenge, and different people have very different approaches. Should this be a workout where you go out hard and hold on? Should you do big sets? Small sets? Singles? There are so many choices!

And then I was talking to Coach Graeme today at class, and he reminded me of something important.  I told him that my intuition is that I am at my best when I stay calm, don’t get too deep into the red zone, and just chip away at the reps, but that when I hear other people’s ideas of how to approach the WOD, I question whether that approach will get me as deep into the workout as I would like. Graeme’s response? “You do you, H. That’s all you can do.”

Sounds so simple, but it’s such an important statement. Because sometimes, I don’t want to do me--I want to do someone else. I want to be a monster deadlifter like Sam Dancer, 

or that crazy engine like Sam Briggs, 

I want everyone to gather around me and whisper to each other about how amazing I am. And when I’m so fixated on what I’m not, I completely miss out on what I am.

I cannot control what other people do. I cannot control the body that I have been given, with its gifts and limitations.  All I can do is show up and trust the training that I’ve put in. I don’t have to try to be better than I am. All I have to be is what I am.

I have also learned a lot about how I think I do my best when competing--I focus on form, focus on staying calm, set a steady pace and stick to it (maybe even pick up pace if I started a little slow). Then, in the last minute, I give it everything I’ve got left. That’s the best version of me I can offer. So I’m going to try to be that version of me-regardless of how many reps that means, or where I finish on the leaderboard.