How change is represented by unobvious items.... Paying attention to what is beneath the surface.
These runners are some of the most beautiful and different shoes I have ever owned.
I have not seen very many people in my city or anywhere I have travelled with these. Maybe two people ever? They represented how different I felt as an individual and how unique my way of being is in the world. There is no one like me. I am one of a kind.... like every other human, right? I bought these in Minneapolis on a layover at the Nike Store at the World Mall of America. As soon as I had seen these online, I needed to have them. They were not available in Canada. I wore these from July 2016 to March 2021. I took care of them. I washed them. I loved them. I began to see the wear in the soles, the flattening of the inner sole and lining, the deep wear and tear. I ignored it. I refused to see that I would have to part with them....eventually.... like a long time from now. I have several other pairs but these were my go to, my every day and my familiar.
Last weekend, I came to realization it was time to let go of these faithful shoes. I was ready. This realization brought a great deal of emotion up and took me through a time warp like you would see on Star Trek, being beamed instantly in and out of warps zones. I realized what these shoes represented and how much they defined the steps and miles I had walked through, literally and figuratively. These shoes were part of a defining, pivotal time of my life. For many reasons...
Nike Womens Metcon 2 White/Gamma Blue/Hyper
So you ask, so what? What the hell do these shoes have to do with change and what is so special about these shoes that is literally unobvious? Grab a cup of coffee, tea or what floats your boat. It is a story. It is my story of clinging, grasping, agonizing, losing, winning and becoming. One segment of that anyway.
I began powerlifting consistently in September of 2013 as I acquired an injury from a particular type of fitness regime which shall remain nameless. Physio and Chiro indicated the remedy was bench press, deadlift and tons of back squats. It was hard and challenging but I have come to realize this is a homeopathic healing. No pills, no excuses, no languishing. So I proceeded, like the compliant determined
patient I was, to rehabilitate this significant back injury I acquired as a result of too little mobility and recovery to balance the extreme amount of workouts I was putting in. Being raised on a farm, I was a strong kid and woman. I had inherited natural strength, athleticism and pure brawn. I also lost both of my parents at pretty early ages to disease and loss of mobility, so being physically active and mobile was extremely high priority for me. I moved because I could. I did many things that many other women in that time didn't/ couldn't / wouldn't do. I was proud of it. All this together, resulted in me being a very strong late 40s woman.
In 2014 I began to see the results of my strength, dedication to lifting and had successfully rehabbed my injury. 2014, I became a national powerlifting athlete and in 2015, had earned a berth on the world team for Canada for 2016. This was truly a dream come true. The goals for lifters are go 9 for 9 and all white lights. When a lifter is on the platform, there are three judges who qualify your lift as meeting the IPF standards or not. So each has a vote via lights. White lights, good lift. Red lights, lift is not good. You need two out of three to be white to qualify the lift for the next increment and attempt.
July 2016, I had the privilege and pleasure of representing team Canada at the World International Classic Powerlifing Federation Championships in Kileen Texas, USA. It was a goal I worked three plus years on to achieve. I was literally poised to step on the platform, to put all of my hard work and training to the ultimate test. I was competing in a flight of eight women from across the globe in a 50-59 (Masters II) age class. In this particular competition, I was 50, first time competing at the MII level.
I traveled to Kileen with a dear friend, strong lifting partner and team mate. She and I adventured through the many ups and downs of training and life. My husband drove me to the airport before 5 am and we left our city airport at 0600 en route to the series of stops to get to Austin Texas, our final leg of our flight. At the airport we rented a car and began the two hour drive to Kileen. It was a long day of travel but nonetheless we were excited and anticipating our experience of lifting for team Canada. We arrived at our hotel, put our stuff down and marvelled that we made it to our destination.
I opened my phone for the first time since landing in the US to a stream of messages and missed calls. I was puzzled and completely oblivious to what was coming at me. My husband, who drove me to the airport was in critical condition in the hospital. I learned that shortly after he dropped me off for my flight, he went home and went into a serious sepsis. He called 911, opened the front door and lost conciousness. He was tired that morning when he drove me there but he didn't seem out of the ordinary at the time. I learned he had an eight centimetre abcess on his liver; the result of his Crohn's being active and unknowingly slowly accumulating this mass. You see, at this time, he had been put on opioids for the pain he felt because of his Crohns. His dosages kept being raised as the pain slowly but surely creeped in. Never did we ever think his intestines would mirror the effect of cracked sewage pipes that slowly leaks into the ground, pooling, collecting and eventually creating a biohazard. How he stayed alive, is a miracle of the divine. His pure will and sheer determination to stay on this plane of existence is still a marvel to me. I spoke to him briefly as I spiralled into crisis and unknown of what was happening. He told me his Crohns was active, the hospital was necessary but not to come home. He said "stay there and finish this. Do this for me he said." I cried for hours. My dear friend did her best to console me, talk to me and to support me. And without it being her that was there in that moment, understanding all of what was happening and coming, I would not have been able to move ahead as I did. My cortisol levels went through the roof with the stress and the anguish of wanting to turn around and go home. Yet he said, no. stay. Do this. I felt incredibly selfish and angry that he had to walk through this and I was 3000 miles away, powerless, helpless and unable to change anything in the moment. I was consoled by the fact my husband was surrounded by loved ones who took shifts to sit at his bedside, holding space for his healing.
The next day was a blur of emotions, thoughts, anger, numbness, fears and mental disruption. What if... what if. I was able to speak with him, his voice so weak; I could hear the effort he was putting in trying to tell me what happened and that he was going to be ok. I had to trust him and trust the divine that all of this would work out.
Sunday morning we were scheduled to weigh in and compete. I got up early and went to the hotel scale to discover to my great dismay, I was one kilogram over my weight class. When I left for Kileen, I was 83 kgs. That morning I was 85 kgs. Two full pounds and a bit overweight. I was so upset and bewildered. I wasn't able to think straight. All of my thoughts were so negative. The thing about competitive weight classes is if you don't make weight, you don't lift. period. I could not be a gram over 84kgs or all my travel, my husband being alone was all for nothing. All the work, dedication of hours, blood. sweat, tears, the financial costs, all the sacrifices my husband made; he never complained about me being at the gym so much would have all been wasted. I was angry and spiralling. I had to got to some pretty serious measures but I showed up 30 minutes before weigh in closing and made weight by only 300 grams... I cried once again. I had to regain my composure and now eat. You see, eating was poor after I travelled and found out my husband was critically ill. You need energy to lift that kind of weight. Being stressed, angry and underfed was not in my favour. I was doubting everything. Myself. My training. My decisions, and mostly GOD. I was downright pissed at GOD. I also had to make the decision to get over myself, get my head out of my ass and get with the program. I thought of the quote in the movie Shawshank Redemption: -Get busy living or get busy dying-. I had come too far to lay down and die like the victim I was feeling I was.
I got my gear on, ate some food, and started the painful process of getting my head in the game and the cortisol out of my body. I felt like I was a million years old and every muscle fibre in me rebelled and pained at the movements. I kept moving.
Competition time...The best a lifter can hope for on competition day that there was enough hard work put in, that the body was in good shape after all the training blocks and that a "9 for 9" day was possible. My last conversation with my husband after weigh ins was him saying to me "Do this for me. Succeed for me. I love you". After the toll and fear, this was what kept me moving forward, micro incrementally. Blind faith that I had and was enough.
Going into competition, you have a game plan. You have your scripted warm ups and attempts for the platform. It all felt hollow and like I was not even present in my body. The warm ups for squats were taking on the planned weights. They felt heavier and harder than I remembered. Step under the bar, set up, full breath, breathe into the belt. Stand up with the weight on your shoulders. Step back, set up, breathe, brace, squat. Oooff. Needless to say, squats did not go anywhere near planned. I barely made my first squat (you get three attempts) but it counted. I failed my next two. The failures take a seriously neurological toll on the body and can have a negative effect on the remainder of the competition. Complete neuro failure can in essence put a full stop to the results. Knowing that, I was fighting the odds to recover and gain some ground. Bench press. Attempts moved decently, I didn't gain any personal records but managed to lift what I had previously accomplished in other competitions. By this time, getting through squats and bench press, two hours passed. It took the full two hours to get back into my body, to sharpen my psychological focus and get my head somewhere in this competition. By the time the last set of three lifts for deadlifts came around, I had a sense of remembrance of the why I was here, what I set out to do. I had set out to finish in top three and a world record. The coaching staff pulled me aside and told me I was going to have to dig deep and put everything into these lifts to even get on the podium. you see, I was in fifth place and really had a lot of kgs to make up to even have a shot.
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