Excited to have this post from Coach Ally!
Here is a video of me failing a 140# snatch.
My goal for the day was to hit 135# (which would have been a PR for me), which I did. In the background you can hear Susan shouting “you should go up!” after I completed my goal weight for the day. It felt really good and so I decided, “you know what, I totally should go up”.
Then I failed the next weight (140#). Even though I failed it, as soon as I dropped it from overhead I immediately said out loud “oh I can totally do that” and the people I was working out next to emphatically agreed—“do it again!”.
So, I did it again, and I got it; I got 140# snatch! Five more pounds than what my original goal was for the day. I was feeling particularly psyched and thought: “well, what’s another 5 pounds? Let’s give 145# a try”.
My first attempt at 145# went overhead, I was patient at the bottom to make sure I was in control and balanced, and I stood it up. 145#!! Ten pounds more than I was originally hoping for. I was equal parts shocked and so proud of myself.
Now, let’s back up a little bit. Several months ago (had to be the beginning of this year, perhaps even earlier), I had a dream that I snatched 145#. I woke up feeling so excited and accomplished only for those emotions to start to fade as reality set in and I realized that was only a dream. Ever since then I had it in the back of my mind to get a 145# snatch. No way did I realize it would come as soon as it did; but I know the reason, or rather reasons, that were at play to accomplish this goal.
But first, let’s back up a lot more, I’m talking almost 10 years ago. Ten years ago, I stopped playing the sport that defined me. I grew up playing this sport, spent my entire life thinking this sport would always be a part of my life, because how could it not? It was who I was in every fiber of my being. It was my whole identity to play this sport, to be good at it, to be told I was good at it, and to work to get better at it. I know a lot of athletes can relate to the feeling of having your identity be determined by your sport; it’s not a bad thing either—it gave me so much purpose, and confidence, and community. It made me a healthier person and kept me physically active. It challenged me to always have goals to reach and work towards, and it taught me to be tough, to fight, and to believe in myself.
And then one day, you’re not an athlete anymore. For whatever the reason may be, the sport you poured your heart and soul into will no longer be a part of your life in the same capacity that it always had been. It happens so fast; nothing can prepare you for the magnitude of that loss. I was certainly not prepared.
Ten years ago, my identity was blasted apart and I didn’t know how to put the pieces back together. I thought that I was okay, but I was far from it. I have an amazingly supportive family, and always have, I had genuine and true friendships that still remain strong to this very day. I was working towards my degree, had amazing professors, loved what I was learning, and getting straight A’s—but I was not okay. You can have so many great things happening in your life on the outside and still be struggling on the inside. The sinister thing is, it took me a lot longer to figure out that I was not okay because I had so many great things on the outside. It was a catch 22—I was using all of those good things as a distraction for me to focus on so that I didn’t have to address the magnitude of distress happening internally and mentally. I was fracturing on the inside.
It is also important to say how immensely grateful I am to have had good things happening to me on the outside, because I realize that if things were bad on the outside too, who knows where I would be today. I am so lucky to have the people in my life that I do. I cannot stress that enough.
Years went by, good and bright things were still happening on the outside, but the light was off inside. I was not eating well, I was not moving my body at all, I was drinking heavily, and it was easy to write off all of these behaviors as a normal part of “being young”. Even though I had gotten really good at ignoring my internal warfare, my body eventually started to keep the score. I gained weight (about 70 pounds, possibly more), I started to have panic attacks (never had them before), I felt tired all of the time, I would get sick all of the time—I was just a shell of a person; gone was the confidence, gone was the fight, and I had no sense of direction anymore.
Okay, let’s jump forward. Two years ago, I joined CrossFit Mobile. I knew the second that I walked into the gym and met Susan that this was where I was supposed to be. Her welcoming me in, and being welcomed by everyone else—I felt that burnt out light inside start to flicker. Over the last two years it has gotten brighter and brighter and I have felt so full of life. This gym, this community, and Susan at the heart of it, has brought confidence and purpose back into my life. I also know that I wouldn’t have found this path if it weren’t for the ever-present good things that were happening outside of me during those darker years—to my family and friends I cannot express my unending gratitude for you all.
So, snatching 145# made me want to sit down and write all of this out, not because I hit a long sought after PR, but because it was in that moment that I felt the same way I used to feel when I played my sport. I also know that there is no way I would have even attempted that weight if it weren’t for my gym friends and gym community encouraging me to put more weight on the bar. The magic of being in that environment is that it heals you on the inside, so that you can exude confidence and radiate positivity and gratitude on the outside. It’s contagious.
Whether you were a previous athlete or not, you can definitely agree that finding a community of people that cheer for your success, challenge you to push past discomfort, and pick you up when you’re down is so necessary to living a meaningful life. I am so lucky to have found this gym at the crossroads I was at in my life. I am so grateful for every single person there, and to Susan, thank you for believing in me that way that you do.
