Compete
I grew up in the very small Upper Peninsula town of Norway, Michigan, about 90 minutes north of Green Bay, Wisconsin, right over the Michigan border. Norway has a population just under 3,000, one stoplight, and one big building that is home to the local elementary, middle, and high schools. Growing up in Norway was a great experience that I wouldn’t trade for the world. I lived within bicycle riding distance of the school and all of my best friends, and there was no real crime or danger to speak of for us kids. Everyone in town seemed invested in the Norway High School sports teams, and since I played football, basketball, and track (I also played one year of baseball but it wasn’t affiliated with the school and it interfered with track so it didn’t pan out), I felt like the effort I put into sports was of the utmost importance. People in town were constantly talking about sports and asking about this or that game. Working the 8 AM - 1 PM shift at the local grocery store, Ebeling’s IGA, on the Saturday morning after a big football or basketball game was a blast if we had won the night before. Customers would be offering congratulations and commentary on certain plays. At times, I felt like a hero. A legend in my own mind as my buddy Hammer’s dad likes to say.
When I graduated in 2002 and went off to college, I was a little bit torn. I was used to playing sports, lifting weights, and having all of this physical exertion built into my normal daily routine. I was already addicted to lifting and knew I wanted it to always be a part of my life, but I didn’t really understand how important it was for me to continue seeking out ways to compete as I aged. Although I was very lightly recruited for football and basketball by some small local colleges, I chose to focus on academics and just try to enjoy the college experience without playing any official sports for a school. Sometimes I regret this decision, but I’ll pontificate on that another time. Fortunately, I got into playing a lot of intramural sports, pick-up and local men’s league basketball, and racquetball. These were great experiences, but I was too young to really see any value in the competition. At this point, I was just trying to stay in shape and carry on like I had all through high school.
After finishing my undergrad in 2007, I moved to Arizona and really got into racquetball. I played in several leagues and tournaments and was a regular at the Dysart Road LA Fitness courts. This was a ton of fun and I made some wonderful friends in that three-year span.
The Navy took me to South Carolina in 2010, and this is where I really started to think about the value of competing. I was in my late-20s by this point, and lifting was still my passion. On August 18, 2012, I competed in my first ever powerlifting competition, the Iron Boy Powerlifting (IBP) 7th Annual South Carolina State Powerlifting Championship. IBP is a regional federation that runs meets in the Carolinas. They were a family operation and some of the nicest people I have ever met. They also ran a great meet and treated all of the lifters and spectators well. They had a big sound system in the gym and each lifter got to pick his/her song while they lifted. For me, there was only one option.
Signing up for this meet made me laser-focused on the task at hand and took my training to a new level. When you pay money and sign up to compete, you know there is a date on the calendar where you are going to have to put up or shut up. All of the excuses and “what ifs” don’t mean a thing when that day comes and you have to put yourself out there. I believe everyone should compete in something, and it doesn’t have to be in a sport or something strength related. One time in college, our roommate Bob was showing some of his model airplanes at a show at the local library. A bunch of us from the dorm showed up unexpectedly and Bob seemed genuinely touched. He spent countless hours on those models and was showing them off to the world, hoping they would stand up against other builders in the area. That took some gumption and we were all proud of Bob.
Sometimes competing in something that is off the beaten path of our comfort zone is just what the doctor ordered. Doing the StrongFirst Level I kettlebell certification last summer felt that way for me. While this wasn’t necessarily a competition where people were pitted against each other, candidates were measured against the set weight and movement standards to see if they made the cut. I was very reluctant to take my focus off of barbell training for a while, but it ended up being a positive experience that will influence my training for the rest of my life.
So far this year, I have done a push/pull meet, am signed up for a full powerlifting meet in April, plan on doing something similar to a tactical strength challenge in May, and am seriously considering doing a mountain bike race with some friends in Michigan in November.
The bike race would be a drastic departure from my normal training, and driving all the way to Michigan to ride 30 miles of rough trail in likely crappy weather conditions would be a giant pain in the ass. These are precisely the reasons why I should probably get up off my ass and do the damn thing. It would take me out of my comfort zone and make me put it on the line to accomplish a difficult task. I think they call that living.