Life Lessons in the Open

by Rachel

So I competed in the Open.  I didn’t do it because I thought I had any shot in placing.  I didn’t even know if I would be able to complete all of the movements.  I also am not really big on competition….I did it because one morning Brett said, “You’re not signed up? Why not?  You should be.”  Oh.  Okay.  All it takes is a little peer pressure folks.  Just a little peer pressure.

So it’s been 5 weeks.  WOW 1: 7 minute AMRAP of burpees.  Can I do a burpee?  Of course.  We all can.  But for 7 minutes?  With someone counting?  Judging?  Goodness, what have I gotten myself into

My mind flashes back to the first time I did 100 burpees.  It was the afterparty for some other WOD.  I had forgotten my sneakers.  I hate burpees.  It was probably almost a year ago.  It was awful.  I don’t remember how many I got through before needing to take a break.  Niki told me, “Keep going Rachel.  This is how you get hot.”  It took me over 12 minutes I think.  It sucked.

7 minutes?  I hope to get to 70.  And that is before I read the fine print that said we had to hit a certain target.  Gulp.  Jen is my judge.  I don’t actually know Jen that well, but she is always full of good energy and she is strong as hell.  Brett counts down and we are off.  10. 20. 30. 40. 50. 60. 70.  I can’t believe I got to 70.  In fact, I got to 76.  I was one of the lowest scoring people at ACF.  But I shot for 70, and I got 76.  Had I not been competing, I am sure that at some point I would have stopped and caught my breath.  Shaken out my arms.  Shaken my head.  Gasped for air.  Adjusted my ponytail.  But it was a competition.  So I didn’t.  I kept going.  I went for 7 minutes straight.  And I got 76.  And it felt amazing.

Week 2. Snatches.  The jokes abounded.  How many snatches in 10 minutes?  You’re a lesbian, you should be a pro.  And I thought to myself, well, I will definitely get through the 30 at 45 pounds.  And then I will likely get through 15 at 75 pounds.  And I will feel good about that.  There was a time when I could snatch 105, but the last few times I’ve tried I’ve failed at 100.  And that was going for a 1RM, not after doing 60 at a lighter weight…

Checkers was my judge. This is good.  I need a judge.  I need someone who will cheer me on.  Because as gay as I am, I really don’t love the snatch.

First 10, easy.  Second 10, pretty easy.  Third 10, not bad.  New weight.  First 5. Whoah.  Okay, 10 more and I will reach my goal.  Second 5.  Checkers says, “Just 20 more to go.”  What?  She thinks I’m going to finish all 60.  What?!

But she probably knows my strength as well as I do.  So if she thinks so….now I have a new goal.  5 by 5.  Sometimes 3 by 3.  Sometimes 2 by 2.  Eventually, I hit 60, with about 30 seconds left on the clock.  Amazing.  Was I not in the competition, I would have scaled.  Maybe 65lbs.  Maybe fewer reps.  I don’t know.  But as scared as I was of not finishing 45, I got through 60.  Rx.  And it felt incredible.

Week 3 I knew I was done for.  The WOW started with box jumps. I never do box jumps.  I step up because it hurts my ankle.  And I am afraid of the pain.  So I stand there and stare at the box.  Jerks….I like ’em, but I know as well as anyone else that after a few, my upper body is going to be wrecked.  I am beyond grateful for the T2B, but I won’t even get there till getting through the other movements.  I’m screwed.  I count myself out and head into the gym.  I will try to get through one round.  Surely I can do one round of box jumps, right?

Brett is my judge.  As if this wasn’t scary enough.  My first 6 box jumps- no rep.  I have no idea what I’m doing wrong.  My ankle is killing me.  I’m amazed I’ve landed on the box 6 times… and now I still have 15 more to go.  I don’t think I can.  I am tired.  My ankle hurts. My legs are shaking.  Number 7 is good.  I don’t know what’s different, but I keep going.

I get to the jerks and my ankle is throbbing.  I almost cry.  Brett tells me, “You can do this on Sunday.”  It won’t matter.  Today.  Saturday.  Sunday.  It will hurt regardless, I just need to keep going, but my head game is way off.  I lose time as I try to get my head right.  My muscles feel like jelly and what should be a light press feels impossible.  I get through 2 and almost quit.  WTF?

Someone behind me yells something, and so I pick the bar back up.  I get through them and move onto the T2B.  Thank.fucking.god.  On the one hand I want to fly through them because they’re easy.  On the other hand, I want to take my time because I have no interest in going back to the box jumps.

But I do.  And Catherine, next to me, is cheering me on.  It means everything to me, because right now I am feeling like a complete failure.  But I keep going.  And going.  Till I get through 4 rounds and some-odd box jumps. I feel like I’ve disappointed Brett.  I should be stronger.  I shouldn’t have gotten so emotional.  I should have gotten more.  But at the end of the day?  I didn’t know if I would even get through a full round of box jumps.  If I wasn’t competing, I would have stepped up.  And likely would have gone lighter on the jerk. But I didn’t.  I did it Rx’d.  And I did better than I thought.

WOW 4. F.M.L. Double unders?  I can’t do a single double under.  Muscle ups?  Get the fuck out.  And all of this after 150 14lb wall balls?  The most wall balls I’ve done is 150 with a 10 pound ball.  This is a disaster.  Once again, I count myself out and head out to the gym.

I am terrified.  My muscles are shot, I am shaking before we even start.  I will get through the 150 wall balls.  I will get 150.  And I will be happy.  3….2….1.  Jen counts as I get started.  I am surprised that I finish the wall balls with minutes to spare.  I am shot, but I can’t believe I have time to go.  I pick up my jump rope.  And I got 19 double unders.  19!  This girl. Who never got a double under before, got 19.

I went in thinking I would barely finish the wall balls.  If I was not competing I would have used a 10 pound ball.  And I would have done singles.  I would not have even tried a double under.  And here I was, 150 at 14 pounds AND 19 double unders.  Amazing.  I felt amazing.

WOW 5:  A sick and twisted version of Fran.  I just did Fran a few weeks ago and I used a 55lb bar (granted I was feeling pretty sick) and I used a blue band for the pull ups.  And now I had to use a 65lb bar, and no bands…. AND get chest to bar.  Seriously?  I don’t even think I can get my chest to bar one time- let alone a series of times. I tell my friends on Thursday night that I need luck, or strength.  Or something.  I am hoping to get through 3, 3, 6, 6, 9 and then some.

Jen is my judge.  I am scared, but it’s the last one.  Kim is behind me.  Kim Miss Number 189 in the world.  And she says, “You know what, let’s just have fun.” Right.  Fun.  But it helps and suddenly I’m a little less scared.  I smile and wait for the countdown.

3….2….1.  I pick up my bar.  3 thrusters are easy.  I head over to the pull up bar.  I try my first rep as a pull up. No rep.  I drop.  Adjust my grip.  Try a chin up.  It sucks, but I get it.  Barely.  Go again. And again.  Three down.  I’m surprised.  And glad.  Back to the thrusters.  6 aren’t so bad.  I chalk up and head back to the bar.  I go for my first chin up.  No rep.  I drop, try again.  1.  Repeat.  2.  Repeat. Etc.  Until I get to 6.  And back to the thrusters.  9.  They’re not easy, but I get them.  Back to the bar.  This is the end of the road for me.  I get 1.  2.  3.  No rep on 4.  Shake, rest, gasp.  Again, 4, 5, 6.  No rep on 7.  No rep on 7 again.  Shake, rest.  I can’t believe I still have time on the clock.  7. 8. 9.  Holy. Shit.  Back to the thrusters.  I get through 10.  Catch my breath. I want to cry.  I catch my breath.  11. 12. 6 seconds on the clock. I walk over to the pull up bar, but time runs out.  I could cry.  48. I got 48.  This girl.  This girl who did Fran last week with a 55lb bar and a band for pull ups got 48.

What’s my point?  The last 5 weeks have taught me something.  I am terrified of competition.  Every week I am afraid.  I am afraid that I won’t score as high as I want.  Maybe that I will be the absolute lowest scorer in the world.  Seriously.  That for some reason if I can’t do 30 75lb snatches, or 30 double unders, or a series of box jumps that I am a complete failure.  That all of my hard work means nothing.  That I should quit, because I’m not good enough.

And yet each week, every single week, I surprised myself.  Every week that I competed, I went heavier, harder, faster and stronger than I would have gone if I was not competing.   Every week I left the gym amazed at what I was able to do.  I left amazed that I did things that I can almost guarantee I would never have tried if the competition hadn’t required it.

So where does that leave me at the end of the day?  Competition scares the crap out of me.  Period.  I’d be a liar if I said otherwise.  But competition has also showed me that if I step out of my comfort zone, if I challenge myself, if I believe in myself, if I allow myself the chance to succeed, I just might be pleasantly surprised.  Actually, not that I “might” be pleasantly surprised, I WILL be pleasantly surprised.  What a wonderful life lesson to learn.