“That’s My Mommy!”

Salt Lake City.  I’m coming.

Flashback to one week ago.  It was the day before THE MEET.  THE MEET that I actually put concerted effort to train for, THE MEET that I actually plotted and planned and hemmed and hawed over in order to make a certain weightlifting total to qualify for Master’s Nationals Championships.

In a previous post I talked about having certain goals for this particular competition, and how I was a flurry of emotions:  excitement flowing through my limbs, anxiousness stewing in my stomach.  Last week Friday I was just counting down the hours, the minutes, the seconds before I could step on the platform and lift that barbell.  I took a short nap but woke up after half an hour because I was afraid I’d leave my belt at home.  I set up my bag, packing in wraps and knee sleeves, shoes and extra socks, a shirt and shorts.  I got my hair cut and prepped food to eat after the weigh-in.

I was set.  I was ready.

And then came the actual morning.  I woke up after a wonderful eight hour rest, taking time to visualize myself approaching the loaded barbell, how my feet would point, where my weight would be in my legs, when I would start extending and jumping and pulling under.

I felt confident.  I felt ready.

And then I got to the venue.  Still calm, still cool.  I weighed-in way under my weight category (well, 1.4kg under, which is a lot considering I competed in the 45kg class), ate my prepared breakfast sandwich, drank some water, and sat around talking with the other competitors.

I felt confident.  I felt ready.

It’s important to note here that I was surprisingly calm considering I had no one there to physically coach me.  My coach who programs my training cycles and sends me templates for nutrition is remote (but incredibly knowledgeable and so easy to work with–love him!), so I was left with me, myself, and I to calm nerves and give a pep talk.  It’s a bit weird, psyching myself up by hitting my own back and legs backstage and muttering under my breath, “C’mon, let’s go!”  But I did it.

I felt confident.  I felt ready.

And then I didn’t.

I am not quite sure what transpired between my warm-ups (which, by the way, I did waaaaay too much of because I wanted to make sure I could make my opener) and my first lift, but within that time, I dissolved from a sure and confident gal to one whose hands couldn’t stop shaking.

I was a mess.

But then, that was when God showed up.

I remember walking up to the still barbell for my first attempt, chalk on my palms, gaze on the ground.

I am not sure I can do this.

And then I heard the voice.

“Mommy!  Hi mommy!  That’s my mommy.  Look, my mommy is strong.”

My son.  My adorable son.  My son whom I love more than anything in the world.  He was right there in the front, smiling and waving with his big toothy grin.

And my heart started to smile.

Thank you, Jesus.

The words resounded in my head.  Thank you.  Thank you.  Thank you.  Thank you for putting this day back into perspective.  Thank you that through Your strength all things are possible.  Thank you that I can share in this moment with my family.  Thank you that even if I miss every single lift, I can still run into the arms of my children and husband.  Thank you that they love me because I am ME.

My heart.

Thank you, Jesus.

And so I stepped up on the platform, planted my feet, took my breath, extended, and lifted.

Three white lights.

Barbell down, I smiled at my son and husband, and ran back to the warm-up area.

There were still five more lifts I had to do that morning, but that first one is the one I look back on and smile.  It was the lift where God showed me that His peace and goodness is truly greater and better than anything I can muster up on my own.  I can give myself all the pep talks and take all the pre-workout supplements available to get me ready for a competition lift.  But their effects will diminish and die out–it is only God’s true sovereign power that can and will sustain me.  And it was His power that morning that reminded me that no matter what I do on (and off) the platform, I am still greatly loved.

So there are now five months before Maters Nationals.  Five months!!!  My coach already has a plan for my training between then and now.  And I can’t wait to see where I will be when I compete in Salt Lake City.  I can’t wait to see what will transpire, during the course of training (yay, I’m doing hypertrophy now!) and on the actual stage, for I know all of the preparation, all of the work, all of the time spent working toward this goal truly is all for His glory.

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