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Turning Pounds to Kilos

You heard me! This CrossFitter turned into a Weightlifter this weekend for my very first weightlifting meet.

I am so proud of myself. As a 63kg lifter (or 138.6lb for those, like me, who still have a very limited ability to multiply by 2.2), I made a 122kg total (my highest snatch + clean & jerk) and made 3/6 lifts. Would it have been awesome to go 4/6? For sure! Would it have been even more awesome if I had PR’d my snatch? Duh! How about if I didn’t smash my chin on the barbell on its way up for my first jerk? You betcha!! But I was just there to dip my toes in the weightlifting water, and now that I’ve done it I think I’m addicted to the high.

When describing my experience afterwards and explaining just what the heck happens at a weightlifting meet, I had more than one person bring up the fact that they didn’t think I looked like I weighed 138.6 pounds. They also justified my weight for me by telling me that it was “probably all muscle”.

Well, yeah. A lot of it is muscle. But some of it is bones, some more of it is fat, some of it is my organs, and a lot of it is other things I don’t know how to pronounce. But I didn’t need you to tell me that. I knew it already, because, well, it’s my body.

138.6. Am I supposed to feel uncomfortable with that number?

I weighed in at 63kg on the dot– Literally 63.0kg. And the fact that I did it without really giving up my nightly dose of sun nut butter and the occasional sweet potato binge? Yeah, I’m even more confident in that 138.6 pounds.

CrossFit and weightlifting don’t put a value on the number on the scale. Sure, weightlifting classifies you into weight classes, but that’s done so that your lifts are only competing against others with a similar body weight as you. The women who win the 75kg weight class and the women who win the 63kg weight class are equally respected and regarded as the best, regardless of the number on the scale. Just add it to the running list of reasons why I love these sports: women and men are valued and rewarded for the way that their bodies move and the things that they can accomplish, not how aesthetically pleasing they look while they do them.

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After failing my first two snatch attempts, I finally hit that pesky 54kg

I was 138.6 pounds on Saturday morning at 7am. Tomorrow, I’m probably going to hover around 141, maybe even tip the scale at 142 by the time I go to sleep. Guess what? I still fit into my pants. Guess what else? I’m probably a little bit stronger at 142 than I am at 138.6. What’s more? I love myself at 138.6 just as much as I love myself at 142, and probably just as much as I would love myself at 135.

I don’t blame these people for trying to reassure me. The world tells all of us from the very beginning that women should always be dissatisfied with the number on the scale. But I’m not dissatisfied, I’m actually really freaking proud.

Sending self love,

Maggie

 

Enter Here for Happy

Let me just say this: Grad school is hard. It’s really freaking hard. Combine working 20 hours a week at one job, with 10 hours a week at another job, with 20 hours of class and homework a week, with having basically no idea what I’ll be doing in a year and a half, with being 22 and emotional and your best friends living far, far away… you get me– ready to bust open like a tomato and complaining a lot.

Today, a wise soul told me “if grad school was easy everyone would do it!!” (Coupled with being financially responsible… that it is not.)

It’s because of this insanity that I require one hour a day for myself at the gym.

On Saturday that included attempting “11.2”– 15 min. AMRAP of 9 deadlifts, 12 hand-release push ups, and 15 box jumps.

After who-knows-what round with 10+ minutes left on the clock, I thought to myself, holy crap I am exhausted. HOW has it only been five minutes?! Heather is two full rounds ahead of me and she has a strained quad… I have to catch up to Heather.

Look at us, voluntarily subjecting ourselves to this misery– me, with  literally hundreds of pages of reading to complete for next week but instead I was dripping sweat all over the floor, and Heather with her injury. At this point in the morning I was already well aware of the 10 hours of work I should be doing instead of being at the gym, and I bet Heather was already feeling how her quad is going to hurt like hell after she finished this workout.

Now look at us again.  Here we both are, doing this crazy thing because it makes us feel powerful, it makes us feel confident, and because we both know that this 15 minutes is going to end, and we are going to finish “11.2”, whether we’ve finished 3 rounds or 13 rounds. Proving to ourselves that we can and should, regardless of those things telling us that we can’t or shouldn’t.

Grad school relatability: I will survive, even when I look at the clock and realize how much farther I have to go. (See what I did there?)

And all of a sudden I’m like, hell yeah!

When I think about it, a lot of these blog posts act as an avenue for me to validate how and why I am so passionate about this sport. And a lot of people probably can’t relate directly to CrossFit, and that’s okay. But think about anything that required you to persevere to some degree of success. For me, that success happens every time I finish a workout or read a 150 pg. book on discrimination in two days (it just happened). For others, it may be presenting in front of a class, having a challenging conversation with a friend, or getting to bed before 11pm one night a week.

Whatever it is, celebrate it! Because it’s worth celebrating. Because you rock.

(And strong really is happy.)

Sending self love,

Maggie

Enter here for happy