On the Road to the (Senior) Olympics: Why am I doing this?

I continue on my road to the Senior Olympics powerlifting event. My trainer, Gab Rico, also continues to make me suffer.

Jan. 16

I have upped my workouts with Gab to three times a week. They are hard, hard, hard. Gab says they wouldn’t be as difficult if I’d just eat — and leave time to digest — before we pump iron. (Is that what it’s called? I’m thinking it’s really called “you fool.”) She tries to explain that food converts to energy. Yeah, yeah, I get it. Even when I eat, I feel as though progress is, well, nonexistent. She says otherwise, but I’m pretty sure she is just saying that in hopes that, maybe, just maybe, it’s true. It isn’t.

Jan. 17

Family reunion with just my eight siblings this weekend, and yesterday’s workout was so exhausting that I barely had the energy to hug my much-loved brothers and sisters. But all of them had a grand time falling over with hysterics as I tried to explain why I am doing this. Here’s the funniest part to them: I don’t know why I’m doing this.

Jan. 18

Work out with Gab at 10 this morning. Even before she says hello she asks: “Is this your first workout today?” Oh, she is so funny. But I’ve got to say this for her — she motivates. And when I just can not curl that 80 pounds she’s instructed me to pick up, she takes a finger and helps. How is it her one finger can make 80 pounds feel like 50? She is kind of a miracle worker. How else do I explain that I continue to believe I can do this?

Then there is this: I did 65-pound squats. Three times. Yes, she is still cruel, but it’s just amazing that she’s gotten me to this point. Unfortunately, there are still two weeks to the competition; I’ve a feeling she’s going to expect more. Someone please help me.

Jan. 19

My new assignment from Gab: grab an overhead bar and take my feet off the ground — that is, hold my own weight for 20 seconds. I was able to do it for 20 seconds, but in five second spurts. I don’t think that’s what she means. This feels near impossible.

Jan. 20

Last night I went to the gym to do weights and tried to hold myself up hanging from a bar for 20 seconds. Ha. I did eight, however — almost twice as long as yesterday. I went at 10:30 p.m. and still it was crawling with grunting men lifting hundreds of pounds, throwing the weights to the ground with a huge thud when they finished and then walking around like peacocks. I’m beginning to think men shouldn’t be allowed in the weight room.

Jan. 21

I dead lifted 152 pounds. Let me repeat that: 152. And squatted with 102. I am woman hear me roar. Literally — I scream as I lift. That accounts for at least another dozen pounds, I’m sure.

Jan. 22

Worked out at home with my husband spotting me. I bench pressed 52 pounds. Sure, that doesn’t sound impressive, but bench pressing is the hardest of the crazy things I have to do for the event. So I’m kinda impressed. But my hubris quickly vanished when I awoke this a.m. and realized the competition is Friday, Jan. 29. Less than a week away. Yikes. Oh Lord, take me now. Please.