Doing The Thing
Nationals, 3am Hotel Thoughts
It’s 3am in a Sydney hotel room. Not exactly my usual time or place, but I’m awake, buzzing, and there’s a blog to be written. Two days post-national debut in powerlifting feels like a pretty good excuse to be sleep-deprived and reflective.
So. I’m doing that thing again.
You know the thing — I start something for “fun,” and then immediately go ALL THE FUCK IN at warp speed. Powerlifting was supposed to be “for coaching education purposes” (Sonya has a lot to answer for), which became “I should probably try it myself,” which became “may as well compete,” and suddenly “yep, guess I’ll go to Sydney.”
When Anne, the commentator, asked me how long I’d been powerlifting and I said “12 weeks,” I realised yep — I’d done the thing again.
The Thing
I don’t actually think The Thing is bad though. Problematic if I take it too far, sure. But it’s also why my business exists, why I look badass, and why I own 36 vintage cat tins. (Don’t ask.) Obsession, fixation, single-mindedness — whatever. I just see it as going all in on stuff that lights me up.
The Competition
This comp wasn’t even planned. Three weeks ago, I did my first meet, qualified, and then my coach Sandy (world record holder) and my teammate Kelly (Australian record holder) actually wanted me to come. That part — being invited, feeling valued, like I actually belonged — meant more than qualifying ever could.
Cue Jetstar delays, showing up three hours late, and me having a full Uber meltdown because: hungry, pre-menstrual, pre-comp chaos. Kelly was the MVP here — banana, white Monsters, fairy skirt, the whole thing. By morning, I felt ridiculous but ready. Viking hair braided, bad bitch mode engaged.
The Lifts
Nine lifts. Six made. Missed all my thirds because they may as well have been 500kg. Still left with a gold medal and +3kg on my total. Apparently “meh” in powerlifting world, but honestly? I don’t care. I had fun.
That’s new for me — not spiralling over failed lifts, not making them about my worth as a person. Just taking the frustration and turning it into fuel.
I’m almost 40. I’ve been doing this for 5 minutes. Nobody here gives a fuck who I am. And that’s exactly why it was joyful.
So Yeah…
I’ve done The Thing again. But I’m calling it insatiable enthusiasm. It’s what got me through this, what has me writing at 3am, and what will get me back into the gym next week already excited for the next adventure.
Let’s see where it goes.
