Becoming Friends with The Monsters

As a child, I was the kid who tried too hard. I went all out in P.E. I remembered the quiz no one else did. I actually tried really hard at school projects. Up until about the 6th grade. Then I got the vibe that trying really hard didn't make me "cool". Seeming as if you didn't care made you more popular. As an adult, I can see that my perspective was skewed and that my priorities needed shifting. None of that matters now. The point is, I stuffed my effort down and hid it so my peers would like me more.

This became who I was. I did enough to get by but never giving any real effort. There was one exception. Sports. I did give every ounce of effort in that arena. That effort is what people would call "heart". I was pretty good too. Some times, not quite good enough. In basketball for instance, I was an incredible defender and was FAST, really fast. However, I was/am 5ft tall and didn't have a great shot. My signature move was to make a steal, make a fast break away from my opponents, be all alone at my basket and miss the lay up. I couldn't take the pressure of making the shot. In the 7th grade I played the entire summer the with school team. Just before the season started, I was cut. It hurt, but I knew it was coming. My coach was great and I think it hurt her more than me. I tried out for the next two years and never did make the team.

I played softball as well. Softball was my sport. Basketball was really my side gig. I played short stop and nothing could get past me. I would beg my father or brother or grandmother or anyone with a pulse to come outside and throw with me or hit grounders to me incessantly. When that well was dried up I would throw the ball against the house and field the grounder over and over or throw pop flies to myself. Unlike basketball, my offensive game was just as strong as my defensive game. Not only was I fast, but I could hit the ball. I only ever played little league, I never got into serious travel teams or private lessons or anything like that. I made the team when I tried out for high school.

Playing on the high school team was not the glory I expected. I wasn't used to pitchers who pitched with actual strategy.  As a player, I was a little rough around the edges compared to the players who had more experience at higher levels than I. I got A LOT of coaching. Everything about how I threw, my batting stance, how I held the bat, how I slid, was all changed....and the worst change of all, making me bunt. I wish I could tell you that I withstood the pressure and came out one of the best players. But I didn't. I couldn't handle it. I found myself completely overthinking everything I did to the point of paralysis. I was cut my sophomore year. This one did crush me. I was so mad at my coach. I was so mad at myself. I was so mad at my parents.

Life went on after that. I attempted to come back to no avail. I went on giving a mediocre effort for the rest of my life. Wearing a scarlet letter of one who can't perform under pressure. One who is good but will choke. One who is not coachable.

Flash forward to 25 year old Jennifer. I was pregnant with my first child. My whole life I thought when I have a baby, I want to have the baby naturally. I don't know why but I just did. So, that was my plan. Well, that is apparently controversial. I don't get it, but everyone's opinion came flooding in about it. Family, friends, strangers, would all tell me horror stories or laugh at me when I told them, medical professionals rolling their eyes, I was quite astounded honestly. And hurt. And stressed out. And felt an immense amount of pressure. I felt myself thinking about who I was and how I fail. How I let people down. How I don't perform under pressure. And I hated that feeling.

Well, it's a long story, and a story for another time or maybe never, but aside from labor being induced, I was able to have her naturally. And that day, something changed. That day, I believed that I was not a person who always failed. That day, I believed in myself. That day, I trusted myself. That day, I realized that even if something is really, really, really hard, I could still do it. A great catalyst for parenting. I hesitate to use the word empowering because it has become a somewhat cliche buzzword, but in every sense of it's meaning, that day, I truly felt empowered. That day, I felt my true self had finally surfaced (oxytocin is a hell of a hormone).

This was the first building block in becoming friends with my monsters.

Flash forward again to 31ish year old Jennifer. My life was in a dark place. I needed to get out. I wasn't sure how but I was really just sick of it. And angry. Really really angry. Mostly at myself and at everyone. I needed to prove to myself that I was still lovable. Somehow, this turned into extreme independence (#poweryourown). I just thought that I would only rely solely on myself and no one else. If I wanted something done I would discuss with no one, ask no one's permission or opinion and just attack it. I also shut out just about everyone in my life. I finally looked inward and stared down every insecurity I had. I took everything that I stuffed down in the 6th grade and slowly began to attack each one.

I had a not so great record with consistency and commitment. I would often give effort in spurts. Procrastination was my primary motivator. When I cut to 114lb I faced this monster head on. One day during the cut, I decided that no matter what, I was going to stick with the plan. While doing cardio I was thinking about how I had some function coming up that was going to require some effort on my end to stick to the diet. At first, I began rationalizing. I would only eat one thing off the plan. I would only drink one beer and cut carbs from here or there. I would eat dessert but do extra cardio later. Then I was finally like, fuck it. I'm going to stick to the plan and make it work. NO MATTER WHAT. And I did. And I was successful. Another building block. Another monster that I became friends with.

So, I made the commitment to making the cut. I consistently stuck with the nutrition and training no matter what. I felt confident. When I made this cut, I was going after an all time total record in wraps. While doing cardio (where I do all of my profound thinking), I would think about attempts. I would see myself going to the bar for the attempts. Then I would get so scared. I would feel so nervous that I would shut my thoughts down. I would move on to thinking about something else because it felt too scary. It showed come meet day. I cut my third squat high. The weight moved so fast and so easy. Without a third squat, the total was out of range. I beat myself. I was poised to break that record. I was strong enough. I let disbelief beat me. I was so angry at myself but also so hungry for redemption.

For my next meet, I made a deal with my online coach that I would do a USAPL meet if one popped up close to me. Well, one did. So I kept my word and began training for the meet. Now, I was just red lighted in an SPF meet for squats. I told one of my training partners that I was going to do a USAPL meet and he said "what if you bomb?", I said, fear is not the master of my sea. But I was scared. I've been asked what I did to start squatting deeper and honestly I didn't do anything. I just started squatting deeper. Every time I had a bar on my back, I would cue myself, "as deep as you can every rep". I was a little stressed about my depth every training session but I just kept squatting as deep as I could every time. Because this meet wasn't "serious" and just to appease my coach, I didn't bother looking at any records. This was the first meet I had done without wraps. My mind just wasn't in the space of crushing any numbers or anything like that. Until my squat starting taking off. I started getting excited. I looked at the records. I had a really solid chance at a squat record and a total record. Just about as soon as I realized that, my arm quit working. My right arm just gave out. On bench, anything above 150lbs or so and my right arm quit.

Well, here I was again, poised to take some records. And poof, just like that, it was gone. My bench took a 50lb hit. Now, I could have quit. I could have said, I'll get em next time when I'm healthy. But I couldn't. I had come too far. I was too invested. I gave too much. Because I had become friends with that commitment monster, I still planned to do the meet. But I let go of the records. I let go of any number at all. I let go of my ego. I went to the meet with only my husband. The lightest I've ever rolled into a meet. I didn't know anything about the USAPL or the meet I was doing. I expected maybe 40-50 lifters. There were 300. We had no idea what we were doing.

Choosing attempts that day, I just went with what I thought I could make. Nothing was really planned other than openers. I went 7/9. I totaled far under what I thought I would. But I did what I was capable of THAT DAY. I accepted that. I had fun. Still the one of the most enjoyable meets I've ever done. I made 9 white lights on squat. I took an unofficial American squat record. I won best lifter. That day, I became friends with the monster called ego and a sprinkle of redemption.

Next meet. Healthy meet. With wraps. Time to crush shit. I took all my monsters by their hand and carried them with me. I took them all with me through the entire next training cycle. We went to the meet. We crushed it. We did the Women's Pro/Am. I was poised to take some records again. Except this time, I wasn't worried about them. If they were there, they were there and we'd take them. If they weren't, we'd take what we had. I took the all time squat record (at the time) at 123lb and was 15lbs shy of the total record. I went 8/9. I won best raw lifter. The spark I felt that day when I had my daughter returned. I added self doubt to the monsters I was friends with.

From here, I went on to do raw nationals. I felt extremely confident. I thrived on the fact that no one really knew who I was. I thrived on the idea that they thought my bench was what it was with a dead arm. This meet was just about getting a job done. A job that was required to achieve the ultimate goal of becoming an IPF World Champ. I got the job done and won the 57kg weight class. I went 8/9. I took the American squat and total record. I won best female lifter. The competitor that I knew existed within me began to break through. That day, I executed. I became friends with that monster.

Next meet was The Arnold. I regressed a little here. I reverted back to my old ways of chasing numbers and records. That's ok, it was right on time. I learned again that winning isn't about records or arbitrary numbers. Winning is about execution. Winning is about stacking up attempts and ego has no place.

So now, I begin training for THE MEET. I began training for IPF Worlds. Everything that I ever stuffed down was out in full force. If there was a component to my success that I could control, I had complete control of it. Training, nutrition, sleep, what I posted, what I didn't post, strategy, anything and everything that I could control, I did. And I did with precision.

There was one monster left. Self belief. I found myself again, doing cardio, thinking about the meet. Thinking about winning. I was scared. I felt nervous. Questioning my capabilities. Who I am to be great at something? I fail. I get so close to accomplishing something and choke. I don't travel well. What if I bomb? I never make third bench attempts. Being great is not who I am. It's who other people are. People who are just born great. That's not me.

Only this time, I went head on with these thoughts. Instead of distracting myself or ignoring these thoughts, I challenged every single one. I thought about who I was and what I had done. Instead of dwelling on my shortcomings, I embraced my successes. I began to control my thoughts I refused to think poorly of myself. I refused to have negative self talk. I refused to settle for mediocrity. I would see myself standing on the podium and felt the feeling of nervousness, and pressure. I let it wash over me. I allowed myself to embrace the idea of being the best at something.

Cardio became a sacred time. I would let my thoughts be free and when they began to go down the path of self doubt, like a good friend, I would guide them off that path. I would say to myself, "my name is Jennifer Millican, and I am an IPF World Champion". I felt nervous even saying it in my mind. But I just kept at it. I kept guiding myself into believing that I was capable of greatness.

I was driving. Again, feeling overwhelmed with pressure and nervousness to win. Then, I did something that seemed so silly. It felt so uncomfortable and took a few tries. But eventually, I said it out loud. At first quiet, and mouse like. By the time I reached my destination, I was saying in a commanding, stern tone, "MY NAME IS JENNIFER MILLICAN AND I AM AN IPF WORLD CHAMPION". It was in this moment that I became friends with the monster of self belief.

I went on to IPF Worlds. And I did it. I won. I won my weight class. I took the world record squat and world record total. I won best overall female lifter. I believed that I could be great. I became friends with my greatest monster, myself. I revealed who I buried in the 6th grade. I've never felt more humbled in my life.

There are ebbs and flows in life. That was a definite high. I often feel sad it's over. That type of self discovery is immeasurable. Though, I'm positive there are plenty of challenges ahead and while at times I feel as though I have conquered all my monsters, I have no doubt there are still more lingering in the darkness. I say, bring it on.