Barbells, Beards, and Bald heads Oh My!

ROOOOAAAAADDDD TRRIIIIIIIPPPPPP!

Okay, so that might be a generous description for what was, although an extremely bad@ss time, only a two hour drive and a seven hour experience. Day trip, maybe? Whatever. All I know is that this mama of four, after spending ten days at Disney World, set off on a solo adventure across state to observe what would become her favorite sport in the history of the world.

That's right. It's time for a little report of the Michigan APF Fall Open. (Since I know the majority of you reading this are learning about powerlifting with me, I'm going to try to explain everything I needed explained to me. So, APF = American Powerlifting Federation. The Open meet would offer three events - the squat, bench press, and deadlift. This is different from the meet I will be doing in January, which is just a Push/Pull; push = bench press, and pull = deadlift.)

"Hey Kemp, remember when you worked your
voodoo magic on my hip flexor? Too bad Imma
use my new found flexibility to ROUNDHOUSE
KICK YOUR FACE IF YOU TAKE MY ICED
COFFEE." (Seriously, bro, I know. Post workout
iced coffee is legit.)

The meet started at 9:00 am, but there was an informational meeting for the athletes at 8:00 that I wanted to crash. I planned to leave my house at 5:30 am in order to get there on time. My first stop was (duh) McDonalds for iced coffee. (I can see Kemper wincing at this news.)(Don't worry, Kemp, I also got an Egg McMuffin with an extra serving of egg whites.)(Somehow I don't think the "muffin" portion of that confession made Kemper feel better about the Carb Fest that is McDonalds Nectar of the Gods Sugar Free French Vanilla iced coffee.)(Total disclosure - totally worth it.)(Like, I would cage fight Kemper and win if iced coffee was on the line.)(Huzzah.)

I was honestly kicking butt on the drive over. I was flying down the highway, listening to early morning radio and Driver's Seat Performing whatever chart topper cued up. I noticed about an hour into my drive that my shoulder with the rotator cuff injury was getting a little sore from changing the radio station so frequently using my death crush of a super strong grip to hold the steering wheel, and that's when I realized I'd left my instant ice packs at home. No problem - I'd just stop off at the next exit that had a Meijer or a drug store and pick some up.

This would have been a stellar plan if the exit I chose also had a functional on ramp to get me back to the highway.

Not again.

Since I don't have a data plan for my phone (enter rant here) I couldn't look up an alternate route, so I had no choice but to get on the highway going the opposite direction and pull an illegal u-turn. Because clearly that was my only option. (Don't tell my sis the cop.)(Although she would totally agree with me out of family loyalty only.)


I finished the drive and arrived at the venue approximately five minutes after the informational meeting I'd booked it out there to hear was finished. Awesome.


The meet was held at DeVos Convention Center in Grand Rapids, Michigan. It's a really pretty building, and the APF rented out two meeting rooms for the event. One room was for the judging and the other was a warmup area and general place to hang out.

Walls of Jericho, anyone? I remember watching
Earthmover practice in the basement of the Hasty
House/Beaverland Ranch. #memories

Walking into the warmup room I was overwhelmed with Feels. Firstly, it felt so familiar. Years ago I was a hardcore music scene kid. This was back in the 90's when people wore baggy pants and *ahem* wallet chains and I got horrible tattoos and rad body piercings that I will still deny publicly ever having to this day. I embraced the counter-culture aspect of the hardcore scene. I connected to the "tough as nails/defeat is not an option/fight The Man" personal philosophy of the scene persona. I loved the freedom to be a little bit different. The freedom to embrace the dichotomy of being a sweet, quiet girl who loved screamy music filled with power chords and the inevitable breakdown.

Walking into the powerlifting meet felt like returning to my youth. I told Brian later it was like the scene grew up and got into lifting. I understood the people. I got the music. I felt the camaraderie. *sighs dramatically and gazes earnestly* It felt like going home.

monolith squat rack after it jumped
out of nowhere and tried to maim
my cheek.

I found Sara and dumped my stuff with her. I'd packed all my food for the day since I wasn't sure how long the meet would last. Sara gave me a quick tour of the meet set up and I "saw" my first monolith squat rack in person. "Saw" is the new way I'm describing running into it with my face because I wasn't paying attention to where I was going. I met some new people as we waited for the start. The National Anthem was played (totally wasn't expecting that) and the meet began.

Squats started the day. Each lifter turns in their "openers" - the weight they want to attempt for their first lift. The order of athletes is scheduled with lifts going from lightest to heaviest. This makes sense because with each new lifter the spotters only have to add weight to the bar, not completely unload it. Each person gets three lifts in each event, but the attempts are separated by a rotation through the line up, very similar to batting order in baseball. Each lift is judged by three people who individually vote if the lift is good or not. It takes 2 out of 3 white lights for a lift to be counted.

"Whut."

Watching people lift left my mind completely blown. Since powerlifting is an individual sport, numbers are really subjective. How much someone can lift is often considered in correlation with their body weight. For example, a 200 lb deadlift may not be that impressive to a lot of people, but when a tiny little 98 lb woman lifts it, people (um, me) be like, "Whut."

After squatting came bench press. This was Powerlifter Sara's first event. I was hyper nervous, so literally no encouragement cheering was coming from my mouth yet. Sara is crazy strong, so she did great on bench. I spent a lot of time observing protocol, getting a lay of logistics, and noticing why people failed certain lifts.

Firstly, yes, this picture is huge. But here you can clearly see all the players involved in this crazy
pageant of awesomeness. The woman on the left in the pink and the two men in white shirts are the judges. The two men in black standing next to the plates on the barbell are the spotters. They are there to stop you from dying if you fail the lift. The man in black holding the barbell over Sara is her handler Bob. Sara is on the bench with her super cute braids done by yours truly that you can not see. Not pictured: the super hot spotter who just happened to make every other picture I took that day. 

After bench was my favorite event: deadlift. 

Sara and her braids deadlifting.

I don't know this dude at all but his beard is on point.
Also, Brian makes fun of me every time I say on point.

By the time we got to the deadlift portion I felt a lot more confident in my decision to compete in powerlifting. The environment is so encouraging. After I got over my nerves I was able to fully join in with the yelling* that happens when someone struggles on a lift. I watched a lot of people fail on lifts, especially in the third rounds, and no one made fun of them. That really changed my whole approach to choosing my goal weights. Why go conservative when it doesn't hurt to try for all you got?

(*The yelling = I loved hearing one guy in particular yell encouragement to his buddies. In fact, I took his pic to show to Powerlifter Tracey because he was wearing a t-shirt from the gym where she trains and I figured she would be able to identify him. I want to be adopted into his lifting family so he can yell awesome cues to me like, "CHEST UP! SQUEEZE YOUR @SS!" because duh, then I totally will because his cues are both succinct and yelled with authority.)

(Seriously, I totally want this to happen.)

The day culminated with me witnessing an EIGHT HUNDRED FOUR POUND deadlift. Guys, this seems incomprehensible to me. You know my undying love for my Internet Boyfriend Elliott Hulse from Strength Camp? I remember my mind being completely blown that he could deadlift more than 600 pounds. EIGHT HUNDRED FOUR POUNDS? is ridiculous. Here is a picture of that happening:

While this was happening, it was loud in the room. But when those three white lights lit up indicating the lift was good it was like OUR TEAM WON THE SUPER BOWL.
(I also posted this to Instagram.)(Because did you know I'm on Instagram now?)(Sublurban Mama)(Follow that mess.)

So that is my recap of attending my first ever powerlifting meet. Welcome to the world of powerlifting y'all. Buckle your seat belts. We are in for a ride.

Disney World, Bootkemp, Day-Trippin', the return of The Walking Dead, and an Injury: A short tale

We on a Disney boat, y'all!

One of the great ironies of vacationing with children is often that you need a vacation to recover from the vacation once it is finished. We arrived home last Tuesday night after ten glorious days at Disney World and spent the next three days doing laundry and getting back to normal life. (i.e. consuming copious amounts of water and vegetables that the children were begging for.)("Begging for" is the new way I'm describing "being forced to ingest" as they whiningly requested the mac and cheese and chocolate chip cookies that comprised the majority of their diet for the preceding week and a half.)

We also resumed homeschool bright and early Wednesday morning, which was as enjoyable as you can imagine returning to the real world after doing ALLTHEFUNTHINGS could be. Thankfully we returned home to find our internet was out, so we were forced to school at the public library where we could steal their wifi the fear of an audience of strangers kept the children from completely melting down in their defiance of learning.

On Wednesday and Thursday I hit up the gym because as wonderful and all-inclusive as my Disney experience was, it lacked greatly in the powerlifting equipment area, and I was itching to grab a hold of the barbell. On Wednesday I deadlifted and did back and biceps, and on Thursday I benched and did upper body.

That's when I admitted something was going on. (*enter dramatic suspense music*) This is how it went down:

Me to Ironman Sarah who works in orthopaedics: Dude, my shoulder is being all weird. Like, it totally hurts when I shoulder press. When I'm lifting, once I get it passed my ear I'm totally fine but from my shoulder to that point it totally hurts. I even lightened my weights in front of ALLTHEBOYZ because I was scared I was going to really hurt myself.

Ironman Sarah: It sounds like your rotator cuff. I'll check it out later and be able to tell for sure.

Me: Cool.

*Later on, as I was checking in with Powerlifter Sara and her trainer, Trainer Corey*

Me: So is it cool to lift normally if I have a messed up rotator cuff?

Trainer Corey who specializes in rehabilitation training: HELL NO YOU CAN'T DO ANYTHING FUN OR PRODUCTIVE HERE IN THE GYM UNTIL YOU HAVE A SPECIALIST LOOK AT YOUR SHOULDER. I FORBID YOU AND BAN YOU FROM DOING ANYTHING AND YOU ARE PROBABLY GOING TO GET TOTALLY FAT AND LOSE ALL YOUR STRENGTH WITH THIS INJURY.

(Ok, so maybe that is more of what I heard. What he actually said was something like this:)

Trainer Corey: Nope. You need to see a doctor. You could really hurt yourself. If your rotator cuff is torn you could need surgery. If it's not torn but just inflamed and you don't let it heal it could tear. You could be setting yourself up for a lifelong problem if you're not careful. So don't lift anything until you know for sure.

Kelly: THIS IS BS. I HAVE TO LIFT. ME ME ME ME ME ME ME. THAT IS ALL THAT IS IMPORTANT. ME. TRAINER COREY, WHY ARE YOU RUINING MY LIFE???!!!

(Again, maybe this is more of how I was feeling. The actual conversation was something like this:)

Kelly: *stares incredulously* But only shoulder press hurts. Can I bench? *Corey shakes head negatively* *Kelly's voice goes up in pitch* Can I squat? *Corey's head again denies* *Kelly's voice goes even higher* Can I deadlift?

Trainer Corey: Not until you know for sure. You could really hurt yourself.

Kelly: I hate you right now. Why do you have to be so good at your job? (Yep. Verbatim.)

This blog gettin' all medical.

The next day I visited Ironman Sarah in her office where she examined me and declared my rotator cuff was not torn, but was indeed inflamed. I got a prescription to deal with the inflammation, and some worksheets full of rehabilitation exercises to do. That night I trained with Kemper. I'll write a full report of that later (because some FANTASTIC things happened there) and he did more of his voodoo magic manipulations and determined the rotator cuff injury was specifically affecting my Supraspinatus muscle and one other muscle. (I only remember the first one because I was all, "Trust me to hurt my SUPERspinatus muscle because I'm so SUPER," and Kemper was all, "It's SUPRA, Kel.")

Right now drugs, ice, and yes, upper body rest are my besties. I hate it. But you do what you gotta do, you know.

Saturday I attended (as a spectator) my first ever powerlifting meet. I drove a few hours to see Powerlifter Sara compete in the Michigan APF Fall Open. I saw 53 competitors of all ages and sizes squat, bench, and deadlift their maxes. Two days later and I'm still out of superlatives to adequately describe how it was. It was a very good thing. A game-changer, if you will. I will also write a full report on that experience, because the pics alone are worth your time even if you hate powerlifting. Trust me.

Yesterday we went to church, ate a special family lunch at Moe's (dem burrito bowls doe), and, after we settled the kiddos in bed, watched the much anticipated return of The Walking Dead.

It has been a crazy three weeks around here. I had so much fun, but I'm glad to be home. *clicks my Dorothy heels together* Happy Monday!

If giggling over testicles is wrong, I can't be right.

Because anatomy is funny.

This is how you know you've chosen the proper Specialist to care for your chronically ill child.

I am at Hosanna's biannual allergy appointment. Dr. M (who totally reminds me of Eric Foreman from That 70's Show) and I have finished talking over the important issues like the cutting edge trials taking place to cure children of food allergies, how to heal her weeping skin and the resulting infections, and what new dietary and/or lifestyle changes need to be made to adjust to her current issues, when we move on to small talk.

We are discussing future plans, and Dr. M mentions retirement. I am shocked because I always forget he is 20 years older than me. He explains:

Dr M: I have to take my re-certification test next year, and at about $4,000 (and a lot of work) I can't imagine wanting to take the test again ten years later at 65 years old. So I'll probably just retire and go into missions.

Kelly: Yeah, my triathlon training partner is a PA for an orthopedic surgeon, and she had to help him get ready for his tests last year. It was super hard on her, so I can imagine how stressful it is on the testers. Or, not the testers, the-

Kelly and Dr. M (in unison): TEST-EES.

Kelly: *realizes what they just said* *thinks of testicles* *smirks* *smirk grows into grin* *realizes Dr. M is a mirror image of her own changing expressions* *are now both internally chanting, "Don't give in to the laughter, you are a GROWN UP," to no avail because they share a slight Beavis and Butthead giggle* *because they just pseudo shouted,"TESTES" and the idea of testicles is hilarious*

And that is how you know you've chosen the proper Specialist to care for your chronically ill child.