I have been lifting for over two years now, and some of my favorite moments are when friends and strangers motivate and thank me for sharing my journey. I have been sitting on the idea of starting a blog for a while. At first I thought that my viewpoint was over-played and unoriginal, and this kept me from seeing the importance or relevance of my perspective in a field full of fit moms and would-be figure pros. I am a mom, and I started lifting shortly after leaving my husband, but I'm deeper than that. Perhaps sharing this story can help other women and men find bliss and release in a healthier lifestyle.
I have never been particularly athletic. When I was 8, I asked to join a basketball team. My mother took me to all the practices, all the games, and I thoroughly enjoyed having a team full of friends, running back and forth, not being stuck inside with my nose in a book. Eventually, the coach pulled my mom aside and said, "Jessica does not have a competitive spirit. Basketball might not be her thing." I was just getting into singing lessons, so this didn't come as a major blow to my extracurricular endeavors. Looking back, I know that this is absolutely true. The only competition I was comfortable with was with myself. On Trivia teams, I was more terrified of wrong answers than I was afraid of my opponents. I dabbled in cross-country, but stress on my knees put me out of long distance running early.
As the brainy, quiet nerd, I grew accustomed to being ignored and assumed to be weak. I believed that my intelligence was my only superpower, and that focus was the beginning of my ignorance of my body. At some point in my journey to womanhood, I even began to fear it. I was lanky when I was young, and as I grew older my awkward nature disguised my unawakened grace and complexity.
Shortly after I graduated high school, I was assaulted. Any hope I had of loving my body, or feeling comfortable sharing it with another was obliterated. I allowed this one event to shape most of my adult life. I lost my sense of control, beauty and purpose. I fostered an unhealthy ability to dissociate from reality, as if to erase or temporarily change my past in an effort to progress my future. I quit school because the stress and memories shattered my veil and constantly brought that reality back. I hid in a marriage that was unproductive and unhealthy because it was easy.
My life changed when I started fighting back. I left my husband and started kicking buns in school. I met the love of my life in a Calculus class. Eventually I got tired of him leaving me at home while he lifted. I bought new running shoes from K-Mart, and stuck to my comfort zone on an elliptical while he pumped iron in the sweaty, steamy weight room. I had the same preconceived notion almost every other lady had- Lifting makes you look like a dude and can get you hurt. Eventually he promised me he wouldn't push me very hard, and I can always stop before I get cut like Arnold (now I realize he was trying to groom a swolemate).
Fast-forward a few years and here I sit without defined abs, I still have a very feminine jaw-line and now sport a 225 sumo deadlift. None of these things are impressive, but my successes in the gym do not have to be. I am not in there competing with the world. When I am in that gym, I am fighting my past- pushing all of my pent up rage into controlling that darn barbell.
I am fighting for my future, and now I am working towards empowering others to get up and throw something around in a healthy way. Whether it be rage, or joy or even complete zen that motivates you, allow yourself the freedom to keep moving towards a better life. I am such a quiet and reserved person, but in that gym I growl at heavy weight, I scowl while pressing 40+ pounds over my head, and I turn heads with my determination and solid form.
I lift because I am stronger every day. I am stronger everyday because I lift.
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