When I was in 6th grade the History Teacher/Track Coach told me I walked like a runner.
Clearly he was desperately sifting through the chuff of what must have been a meager supply of track-n-field tweens. I had made the pointed decision at that point to go punk rock, favoring safety pinned black t-shirts and sulky stares to perky cheerleader bows and bedazzled smiles. Sweating through my porcelain makeup was nowhere on my agenda.
Now (at 43), I wonder what would have happened had I taken that coach up on joining his team?
I have finally come to understand the power and self-confidence that comes from pushing yourself physically—even to the point of failure, then coming back for more—while surrounding yourself with a gang of positive, strong-minded, tenacious folks.
Today I PR’d my deadlift at 145 pounds. That’s more than my body weight, and I lifted it pretty easily with the help of great coaching over the past three years at CrossFit Westport. I don’t have a compact and explosively muscular body like a lot of people in the “sport of fitness”, and a 145 pound deadlift is simply the warmup for most of my (amazing) gal pals.
However, I feel happy and accomplished. I wish I could drop a line to that History teacher, and tell him thanks for trying to get this Goth Girl on the right track, so many years ago.
And maybe next week I can hit 150.