2020 The Reset (nothing new for me)

 My life at the beginning of 2020 was smooth sailing. You see, I had already been through several bumps,  twists, and redirects leading up to 2020. I don't think my situation is unique. With that being said, I am a bit frustrated with my current situation of having to find another source of income...some may frame it as a 'career'. 

I graduated high school with a very average everything. Average grades, average ambition, average athletics, and average low/middle class parents.

I went to college on loans. I graduated with a very general degree in organizational communications with very average (read: low) grades. But I did it. I graduated. I was the first and only member of my immediate family to go to college and graduate. And I had no idea what I was doing. 

After college I struggled a bit to find a "real" job and bounced around a bit...quite lost on what I wanted to do. Eventually landing a position at a non-profit through connections of my then boyfriend, now husband. I had no idea what I was doing. 

At 25, I was pregnant. It was unexpected. I had a good job, good benefits, and was in a steady relationship. We got married in September and had our daughter in January. I had no idea what I was doing. 

My husband worked in the hospitality industry and worked in a very high volume restaurant in our early years of marriage often working 4pm to 2am. 

Taking care of my family has always been my first priority. Before I was married or had children, I always had a deep affliction for those that stayed home and took care of their families. One of the first papers I wrote in college was about this subject and it is something very close to my heart. I had no idea what I was doing.

When my daughter was under a year old, I decide to leave my job. This was my choice. I decided to work part time as a banquet server because my priority was my family and the pay was just as good. I had no idea what I was doing. 

Long story short....I have entered the educated, mother who works part-time realm of existence. 

From this point in my life I have made a few or a great many different leaps and bounds to earn an income that I define as respectable. I had no idea what I was doing.

I've worked as a server while hiding it from my employer that I was pregnant and come home and cried everyday about messing something up. 

I've worked for colleges in the catering department and found myself pumping in janitor's closets. 

I've worked for museums part time in development offices with cushy pumping rooms but with little respect from fellow employees. 

I've worked for restaurants as catering directors but chefs and cooks had no idea who I was when I walk into the kitchen. 

I've captained food trucks while guests speak to my male employees as if they are the managers. 

I have worked part-time or something cut from the part-time cloth since I had my daughter. And I don't mind that. I wanted that and I want that. HOWEVER. I have experienced some bullshit.

I have worked part-time in professional offices. When you take a part time position....there are conditions. From my experience the conditions are as follows: you aren't paid the same as full time employees, you don't actually need your job, you don't actually care about your job, you're just here because you're bored. 

This is cynical. It is also true from my perspective.

We moved around a bit and I was often in search of a professional part time position. Difficult to come by and difficult to maintain because nobody likes you. 

We moved back to Nashville approximately 5ish years ago. I've worked in a few different positions since we've been here. One day, I got a phone call....

A catering company got my name from a friend of a friend (re: my husband) and randomly called me up and asked if I would be interested in interviewing for a position. 

I thought to myself...you know, I'm going to go in there and tell them exactly what I want. 

And I did. I told them I wanted to be paid full time, but that I would work from the office part time. I told them I wanted to pick my kids up from school and be there when they needed me. I told them that I would get the job done regardless of how much time I spent in the office. And you know what? They said, YOU'RE HIRED. 

After so many years of doing a bunch of bullshit...after so many years of hiding my priority of my family, after so many years of taking pay cuts so I could raise my children, after so many years of having no respect in the professional environment I had finally, FINALLY, settled into a place that let me be both. 

My boss, my team, my clients, MYSELF....they let me be both a mother and a professional. And they respected both. And now the unfortunate reality is that I have to find that again. And I gotta say....I don't wanna. 

HOWEVER. I will say that perhaps this whole pandemic has opened some doors and some minds to the  idea that people can get jobs done (maybe even better and faster?) on their own time. And MAYBE, just maybe we stop exchanging time for money and rather exchange did you get the job done for money. I've been selling that line for far too long. 

I start a new job this week. I feel pathetic. And useless. And like I have nothing to offer. And like...I'm old for Christ's sake. I should not have to be doing this. I HATE YOU COVID-19, I REALLY HATE YOU. 

But...I've been here before. Too many times. The feelings are the same. See above. But damn, this time it hits different because it's not my own doing and not expected. I'll make it through though....I always do. 

Just be nice to each other. We really have no idea what the other person's story is....just love them first. 

THE END. 

Making A Difference And Doing The Right Thing

I haven't written in some time. It's been super busy, super full with so many cool things and successes but, this is not about powerlifting, nor is it about strength sports or coaching. This is a message/blog that I am compelled to write. Something that I hope hits home with all of you. Noone loves strength, the training and competing more than me. It’s what gives me purpose and makes me feel alive. That said, I have a huge soft spot for the animals of the world, especially dogs, I mean especially dogs. The past week, mine and Missy’s, and well our four girls, lives were turned upside down. So, allow me to tell you about our boy, for a week, Watson.

As per usual, I am going to Tarantino it a little bit and rewind. Our schedules are well documented, It’s brutal, sometimes painful and just plain crazy but, here we are, living the dream. Cory Jean and Missy competed that Saturday. Missy and I left work a bit early Friday, loaded up and drove to Oak Ridge. They competed, we even managed to pick up some Atlas Stones for the gym and made the trek back. I was finished early with programming and looking forward to a real Sunday off and with the holiday being an off day for my day job Monday, I have a full list of chores that I could get done.

Man makes plans and God laughs…

This seemingly couldn’t be more true. Sunday morning, I’m shopping on the internet looking at potential things for the gym and perhaps my bourbon collection and such, looking at videos and what not. Melissa wants to go to breakfast which is something we do regularly on Sunday if we’re home. She suggested a couple of places close to home but, given the time of the morning, I knew they’d be super crowded so, we headed to Hermitage the back way from our house instead of going to Mt. Juliet. We get a few miles from home and in the middle of the street is a young full blooded Blue Heeler. AN Australian Cattle Dog. I love the breed and knew what it was immediately. I stopped saying, that is someone’s dog. Pure breds like this are not strays. This clearly belongs to someone. I thought a lead had been broken given the size of the lead coming from his collar. I literally stopped in the middle of the road to put on flashers when Missy opened the door to call him, he was jumping in the car and was so happy to see us. I figured, no big deal. We will look at his tags and call the owner and be on our way and be a hero for the day for saving someone’s dogs…and man, was I really, really, really wrong. You see, it wasn’t a lead at all, nor was it broken. It was an over sized collar. SO what to do? We go home and I’m not going to bore you with all the stuff we did, hoops we jumped through and bullshit to find the owner. The answer is, yes, we did all the things and this is where the story takes on a different definition.

This dog was a male, young or young ish and likely 18 months old, maybe less. His owners were found. We tried to return him and no one would answer the door and we noticed a bird on the front porch and the weather is really cold, freezing. I know then, we can’t return him. He has to find a home.  I have experience fostering dogs. I have done it many times. I have had as many as 10 dogs in my home knowing they’d all find homes, etc. I have paid for surgeries and seen pups through with a therapeutic time in a loving home before they went to a forever home. I never had an issue with it as I knew what the outcome was and what was expected. While I loved them as if they were going to be with me always, I loved them knowing they’d be moving on and I never worried with it nor did it bother me. It was the right thing to do, a good thing.   That is until Abbi came into my life. Abbi is my dog. She’s a German Shepherd mix with God only knows what. She was found by the police roughly 13 years ago. Likely thrown from a car and found yelping in a hedge row. She was so new born that not only were her eyes closed, her ears were still laid down. I don’t want to take away from the story but, Abbi was bottle fed, raised to an adoptable age, adopted by one of my greatest friends and it didn’t work out with her other dogs and she had to be brought back. Abbi was going to leave after a break up and after some discussion, it was agreed Abbi should stay with me. She has been the best pal, the best comfort and simply the most loving animal I have ever had the privilege of knowing. I need to write about her some day as now, she is 13 and aging rather quickly…like me.  The reason I share this is Abbi is the first real rescue and foster that I fell for and it changed me for forever. In that time, I’ve only fostered one other dog and simply can’t do it anymore.  This makes Watson’s story that much more difficult to have lived and to write.

When you introduce basically a juvenile male dog, that is a working breed and super smart, to a home of 4 girls who are at least older and even geriatric, it’s a recipe for a pile of shit to occur and this was what we faced.  Cierra has pulled a few Tupperware type dishes from the counter and “killed” them. I have the video to prove her guilt. Abbi has counter surfed a few times in her life and eaten a few lbs of steak to say the least but, I have never had a dog that was capable of jumping from the ground to the counter and fishing for something to snack on or jump up on my kitchen table that’s a high bar table so he could lay down. I think I’m illustrating well what we were dealing with.

Within hours, Missy has “named” the pup, Watson. I’m going to assume that it’s because of her love for the Nashville Predators and Watson is one of her fav players. I never asked for sure but, I’m betting I’m close and just as well because the name stuck, with everyone. Meaning all that come to our gym. Watson stayed in the gym during the day because he’d eat everything in sight and terrorize the girls who didn’t know what to do with him and he seemed just fine with that. We have people that visit through out the day and it wasn’t long before you saw videos and Instagram stories of whoever was training and Watson being part of said stories.

Each night, Missy and I would get the girls together, coral them to the bedroom and Watson and I would go to the living room. The first night he was very restless It was a new place and he clearly had never slept indoors. We had pulled old ticks off him, Missy bathed him because he smelled so bad and he was not at ease at all. He settled after a few hours and slept a bit. That was Sunday night. Each night, he was quicker to simmer down. Each night, he’d jump on me lay on me for may a minute, 2 minutes tops and then snuggle a little bit and jump to the other couch, Missy’s couch and go to sleep. Each night got easier for him. He would be a bundle of energy when Missy and the girls got up and even learned to use the dog door. He was at “home” even if it was going to be brief.

I’m going to tie all this up now. He had his foster Mom come pick him up today. The gym had fallen in love with him. There were many pictures taken of different folks holding him or him doing something cute, etc. I knew he couldn’t stay. We have a hard enough time taking care of our girls. But it was the right thing to do. You see, the eyes never lie. I would scruff him and pet him each day before I left for work I would take my thumb and rub the bridge of his nose and forehead and you could see the comfort and how much he loved it and when I stopped I could see his eyes meet mine and know he needed a place to be safe and to be loved. He wanted to be loved so much. I could share so many other things but quite honestly, it’s too hard and that’s going to have to be for Watson and I and maybe when I tell stories on down the road about the dog Missy and I rescued. What I will share is he loved everyone. And it’s a cliched and passing note to all of us that love can be so simple and easy. That love can help heal and can provide comfort and a place to be while you find your way home.

Missy sent me a message showing me the board in the leg area where people had petitioned to bring Watson back. Jenn had been instrumental in helping us find a foster and took a pic when he was leaving. Missy and I had a moment when she left for work. I knew she wanted to keep him and was attached and he was attached to her as well. When I got ready to leave today, knowing he was leaving, I spent about 5 minutes loving on him and scruff him and rubbing the bridge of his nose and forehead. I’d like to think Watson knew he was cared for and loved and that we want him to have the greatest forever home. I’d like to think Missy and I, as well as, the gym folks, made a difference. Watson is a good boy but needed our help and love and support.

Watson you touched my heart. I will miss you and I hope the foster works out and you find your forever home. Should it not work out, of course we’re here for you. You are such a good and loving boy and clearly a light. Always be a good boy.

Salty but Showing Up: 2019 Raw Nationals Recap

Every good recap starts long before the actual part about the meet itself or maybe I'm a food blogger? I digress. I'm going to start all the way back at 2018 IPF Worlds. I knew that was going to be my last meet at 57. I knew that I would not be making an appearance at Worlds in 2019. I made a very calculated decision to go up to the 63's and take the summer off. The saltiness begins because what I expected to happen and what actually happened didn't align. A recipe for dissatisfaction. Cognitive dissonance has been haunting me ever since my third deadlift at 2018 Raw Nationals hit the ground.

2018 Raw Nationals ranks quite high in regards to performance and satisfaction. I finally managed to hit lifetime PR's on lifts. On my third deadlift, I was pulling to break a 500kg total. It would have been a hell of a get, but I just couldn't quite lock it out. I ended the meet with an American Record squat (also an unofficial World Record) and a 490.5kg total with 8 made attempts. My first real training cycle as a 63 set the standard HIGH. My expectations for training and numbers afterward followed suit.

Training was going fairly well up until about January and it just kind of fizzled out. I did The Arnold in March with a bench that left (read: I lost about 7.5kgs off my best), a stagnant squat, and deadlift that had sky rocketed only to slide backwards before the meet. I was pretty devastated and a lot salty. I most certainly did not want to do The Arnold much less The Grand Prix. However....I also do not want to be an ego driven lifter who only shows up when they think they can win or cause an uproar with records and such. For The Arnold our strategy was simply to get all 9 lifts and not chase any particular number or record or placing. I was in no mood to load numbers for the sake of loading of them when they simply weren't there and took it as an opportunity to practice restraint and maturity as a lifter and team. And we did. We went 9 for 9 and totaled 485kgs, 5.5kgs less than my total at Nationals.

Training after Nationals still didn't pick up much but it at least seemed to be holding steady, except for bench...it was still dragging it's feet. Even though training wasn't super exciting and at times my motivation was pretty low...I kept telling myself to keep showing up and to keep my effort in check. Still pretty salty just about ALL OF IT but, showing up.

In June, just before we went on vacation, we made an offer on a house. This is why I wanted to take the summer off. Even though I knew this was our plan, making the offer happened a little bit sooner than we really expected. Another thing that I didn't quite expect was the amount of FOMO I felt watching IPF Worlds.

We get back from vacation and I AM READY to hit the ground running. I am ready for training to take off and I AM READY for this house business to be taken care of. Well. Neither one of those things exactly took off. My focus was in about 238475937 places at once. Nonetheless, time only moves forwards and that's what I did.

When we actually moved, the physical part of moving, which coincided with school starting (#whyamilikethis), I believe is when we got behind the fatigue curve a little. I was tired, and hungry, and thirsty and my life and schedule were in shambles, but I made it to training...wearing the clothes I slept in the night before and with paint in my hair, but I showed up.

All of the aforementioned parts of life added up and were reflected in my training and how I felt. My knees were killing me. Waking me up in my shitty sleep killing me. With the lack of progress, and painful knees I thought I was old and had osteoporosis and this was the end. I had my day in the sun. However, after talking with a PT friend, I (she) figured my osteoporosis was patellar tendonitis so all hope was not lost for the long term. But I'm still salty...and showing up.

I keep waiting for the turn around. I am also looking at the calendar and I know I'm running out of time. Once we get over the big hump of moving and home improvements and start to get settled into the new school year....I start to settled into the idea that this meet is not going to be what I thought it would. I decide to adjust the goals. I tell Wade and Aaron that I'm just going to shoot for a PR total and a silver medal finish.

I'm about 3 weeks out and to be honest I am starting to question whether or not the adjusted goal is even attainable. I am salty about it. But I keep showing up. On the bright side. Bench starts to peek through the darkness. This takes a bit of the edge off.

I had been having some issues with sleep pretty much since we made the offer on the house. Just too much going on for my mind to just freakin relax. If you've been around a while, you know I train in the mornings before work. This makes for a pleasant combination. Wade was going to South Africa to compete in his IPF Worlds and I was happy and proud of him for making it there. It also happened to be my heaviest week of training. Call it divine intervention. Call it coincidence. Call it luck. Call it whatever you want. I had to switch my training to evenings for this last heavy week and I think it may have been what saved me.

This last week of training was a big ol breath of fresh air. I felt like myself again. I felt strong again. I also felt salty because I just couldn't help but think it was too late. I kept thinking, MAN, if I had one more week of this I could see PR's on the horizon. I can't control that though so I sack up and decide to ride the high of that last week.

ENTER: Podcast previews. ENTER: TRUCK LOADS OF SALT. Now. I do try to limit my ego. But let's be honest....having an ego is a prerequisite for powerlifting. My feelings were hurt. I kept running the numbers in my head. I'm thinking, I take one summer off and everything I've done has been erased. I felt left out but I let it fuel me (shout out to Matt Gary for having my back though).

Enter: Jennifer who won those titles and set those records. Let them sleep. I have done the work. I have set the appropriate goals. We have made the plan. That is what we do. We do the work, we set the goals, we make the plan, we execute the plan and the goals take care of themselves.

Ok, meet day details:

Surprise! I didn't sleep a wink the night before the meet. "Woke up" feeling like a steaming pile of week old garbage. I went for a walk with the hubs and we goofed off and make jokes and took pictures and it was enough to shake it. At some point I tried to think of how I had slept before any other meet. I couldn't remember. At that point I said to myself....it really doesn't matter. All that matters is what actually happens, so let's actually fucking go!

Squats:
The bar felt good. Everything else felt like garbage. Scanlon is opening 12.5kgs heavier than me. Embarrassing. I remind myself I had a plan and to only worry about executing MY plan. The outcome will take care of itself. I was very tempted to ask to drop my opener. My attempts were slightly more aggressive than my usual style. We knew I could hit the numbers and we were leaving the door open for an unexpected great day. Before the opener I told myself it was just about hitting it. It wasn't about it being super fast. Just get it. You've done this weight countless times. Opener was 170kgs and good. I repeat this talk to myself for my 2nd at 180kgs and it is good. For the third, I thought for sure the call would be 182.5kgs. Wade comes up to me and tells me that I'm going to have to dig. At that point, I knew he had called 185kgs. I LOVE a good affirmation. From the time I finished my second attempt, I repeated to myself, "Jennifer Millican goes 3 for 3 in the squat, lift is GOOD for Jennifer Millican". And it was. Wade and Aaron made the perfect call and I am feeling good about being able to deliver. We closed out squats in the number 1 position.

Bench:
WELL I'LL BE if bench didn't feel like I could have hit a life time PR. I complained about my bench nearly everyday. I made adjustments. I changed my training. I changed my set up. I changed my grip. I did literally everything and I never stopped trying. I was so pumped about my bench from that incredible meet a year ago and I refused to let it go. I hit 107.5kg in training a few times. I wanted 110kg SO BAD for my last heavy session but 107.5kg didn't move quite fast enough to warrant the call. So I hit 107.5kg for my final bench in training and would have been over the moon with 110kg in the meet. I hit 112.5kg in the meet and I'm not lying when I tell you it was better than the only other time I've hit it...which was at 2018 Nationals. Bench is still a bitch and I love her. Going into deads we are in 2nd place which I expected. But nothing can bring me down from the momentum I'm feeling.

Deads:
Deads felt like deads. Not super great but not horrible. At this point, it's just about securing the goals. Going into 3rds, Wade tells me I've got the silver place position and he is going to load 195kg to obtain our 2nd goal of a PR total. I knew I could get it. I knew it could be hard. When deadlifts are SUPER hard, I tend to gyrate (you heard me) which tends to make judging difficult. So I did have enough stress to constitute another affirmation. "Jennifer Millican goes 9/9 and takes the silver medal position".....and I did. Gyrations were not present (I think they are very fatigue related).

I went 9 for 9, totaled 492.5kgs and took silver. Scroll back up and re-read my goals, I'll wait.

I may have been salty, but I showed up. Ima take all this salt and use it to season this next training cycle.

Much love to Wade, Aaron, my husband, all of my team, family, and friends for sticking with me and refusing to quit believing and reminding me when reminding was needed.

#letsactuallyfuckinggo















 

2019 Arnold Grand Prix: The Great, The Good, and The Indifferent

500 Kilos. That was my original goal for 2019 Arnold. In the beginning, I was invited to the Pro/Am, not The Grand Prix. I'll admit, at first it stung.

Then, I embraced it. I liked the idea of a normal paced meet, likely the slowest paced meet I would have done since 2016 Raw Nationals. The C-Pod did always seem to have more hype from my perspective. It seemed to have more of a"home field advantage" kind of feeling. Not that the Grand Prix isn't great in it's own regard. I was perhaps looking forward to a different experience. Maybe, even one with less pressure.

500 Kilos. That's what I told Aaron and Wade I wanted for The Arnold. I told them this shortly after Nationals. Both of them said that would be easy. I thought it was reasonable. But then, I got to thinking. It seems easy. It seems easy because I just had a really great meet. Possibly, my best performance to date. So I've noticed, it's really difficult to follow up the best meet of your life with another best meet of your life. As I remember this little part, I take the 500 kilos and tuck it away into the 'let's wait and see' file.

I read a book called 'How to Fail at Almost Everything and Still Win Big' and it has been quite influential in many ways. Observing repeated patterns is one of the key tools I took away from the book. Just by observing a pattern, I can either interrupt it, avoid it all together, or go around it. I may not know the exact cause of the pattern, I just know it exists.

There are two patterns at play here. One is the aforementioned GREAT MEET and the pattern of the follow up. I've noticed for every three meets I do, one tends to be great, one good (or medium), and one shit, but for the sake of not sounding negative, I'll call it indifferent. Maybe it's the timing of the meets? Is it too much to ask for three really great peaks every year?

The other pattern is the curse of The Arnold. Every year, without a doubt, training for The Arnold is going tremendously. Right up until the last block. Every year, I'm ringing in the new year with huge numbers in the gym. I'm talking lifetime PR's type of numbers. And every year, by the end of January, my numbers tank. Seemingly out of nowhere. Maybe it's the post holiday lack of merriment that gets me down? Maybe it's the overwhelming guilt I feel for the all the parties I went to and all the money Santa (me) spent on Christmas? Maybe I just run myself into the ground from October to January and it finally hits me approximately 6 weeks out from The Arnold?

This year was no different. Squat and deadlift were doing quite well (deadlift in particular) and bench had been sort of lagging the whole time but I continued to be optimistic that it was going to show up. Until it didn't. Not only did it not show up, but it too started to regress. In my very unprofessional opinion, I believe an old nerve impingement (circa December 2015) had flared back up. No pain. Just no power. I lost ~7.5-10kgs on my bench. This really got me down.

About the time my training starts to slip backwards is about the time that I was asked to go to The Grand Prix. I was hesitant to accept. However, I do have some pride. So reluctantly, I make the move.

Don't worry, it gets worse from there. Every training session was a struggle. I legitimately wanted to withdraw. I begin to feel an immense amount of pressure to hit specific numbers that I know I don't have. What if I come in last (I did for all intents and purposes)? What if Scanlon takes my squat record on her 2nd (she did)? What if I fail a record attempt (I did not)? Maybe I should just weigh in heavy and avoid all pressures and comparisons? Maybe I should just withdraw?

Maybe, the only person putting this kind of pressure on me was ME? Maybe The Grand Prix is nothing to fuck with and I should just go and put up some solid numbers and be grateful that I was asked to be a part of it? Maybe I should just surrender to the patterns I've noticed and have peace in knowing that this meet isn't THE MEET but better this one than literally any other one? MAYBE, it's time for me harness my experiences and stop acting so green?

Let's go 9 for 9. That's what I told Aaron and Wade I wanted for The Arnold. At Nationals, I had the meet of my life, went 8/9 and totaled 490.5kgs. At sub-par condition, not a single grinder or even a slight risk, I went 9/9 and totaled 485kgs.

We played the pattern. Maybe we bypassed the total shit meet and turned into the indifferent meet. Maybe instead of pushing beyond my limits, leaving me with feelings of failure, we instead lifted within our means and I'm left with the feeling of hunger for the next great meet.      

Gratitude and what it means to me

When I was a kid, I watched powerlifting and bodybuilding on TV. I loved wrestling and sports. I played lots of sports as well. This was the beginnings of my quest for strength. Many years working on our farm and many others farms to make money, also lead to the natural strength that I was so blessed with. I remember seeing the first worlds strongman man contests on TV and thinking how cool it would be to some day compete in strength.
When I started competing in powerlifting, I had already been training for a few years. Simply training, working out and just trying to get strong. I had no desire to compete and honestly didn’t know of an outlet to do so. I was a big guy, enjoyed being strong and was fine with that. Back in those days, I had a bench and weights in my office where I worked. I had some dumbbells up to about 40 lbs. A co-worker would come down after hours and hand off to me and convinced me when I broke 300 in the bench, that I should do a meet. I was like, no way. He knew of a gym owner in Murfreesboro, TN. He stayed after me, and so there you have it. He came down, handled me at the meet, it was bench only. I met Anthony Clark and several local lifters, had a great time and was hooked.
There is a lot of story to be told between that day and now. I won’t make you suffer through all that but, it brings me to the history of what is now The Ogre Compound. In the late 90’s, I started acquiring equipment and making boxes and boards and anything else I could do to have the tools needed to get stronger. I would work side jobs and after paying bills, I would take the extra money and buy plates. I remember buying all the 2.5’s the money I had would buy and being questioned as to why I needed 20 of them. I knew someday, well I hoped, that I would have a place where like minded people could come and train and do great things and get strong and be part of a team.
In 2004, I moved into the house where the gym is currently housed. There was so much work done just to get a portion of it where we could train. In early 2004, we ran a regional meet in Bristol, VA. I bought my first of 3 monolifts at that meet and from there, the quest for more equipment really ramped up.2006 I opened the gym to private clients. I remember having 3 people and thought I was busy. In 2009, we build an addition where we currently have the monolifts and all things squat. From that point, we trained at the gym full time and have never looked back. Hard to believe how time has gone by. In 2013, I was at a meet in Cincy at The Sweat Shop judging. That is where I met Melissa or Missy as she is known. She moved here in 2014. We have made a house a home.
I have traveled all over the planet in my pursuit and others pursuit of strength. I have been fortunate enough to go to far away places with lifters and see and do great things with them both as a lifter and coach. It is now February of 2019. Missy has competed in powerlifting, making a comeback from serious injury the year before at strongman nationals and had a great day with a lifetime pr in the deadlift. We’ve seen newcomer Cooper compete in his first strongman competition. Then part of the team was at another meet, Deanna, Alli, Mark and Deek. All doing so well and lifting as a team. This weekend, Big Mikey competed in a meet, going 8-9 and taking best lifter. Next weekend, another part of the team is competing at a meet that part of the team is running and reffing and a state chair. We have a weekend to catch our collective breath and then off to the Arnold. Some of the team is competing there and I get to coach with my buddy Chris. In the midst of all this, I am lucky enough to have an online team of folks and they are training hard and competing everywhere. It never stops and there are no days off…it is exactly what I signed on for. The days can be long and hours tiring but, even in moments where I question myself as to why, it is never far away that I’m given a message or sign as to why I do this.
The gratitude comes from the trust all these folks have had in either coaching, equipment, facility, team and any number of things. For many of us, that little area downstairs is our social time, our solace and place of sanctuary. Where people from all places, races and religion simply come together with the common ground and goal to be the best versions of themselves and help each other achieve it. In the last month, I have had two people talk to me at meets that I had met earlier in my career. Patrick I met in the 90’s when he was 16! Now I coach him and he trains part time at the gym. Benita, {spelling?} saw me at a meet yesterday. I have seen her at a couple of events and thought, she looked super familiar. In talking, she said in so many words, you won’t remember this but 10 years ago…and I knew exactly at that moment how I knew her. Roughly 10 years ago, she contacted me about training. She was a professional wrestler and in the time of chatting and emailing back and forth, she got picked up and off she went. The world is such a small place at times. That lead me to tell the story of how I met Frank, who trains at the same gym she trains at. So many stories, so many lives and times shared.
At the meet yesterday, Jesse spoke to me and said it was good to see me and in so many words, was appreciative of everything I had done for him and the SPF. Just the way we were treated, how we are treated every where we go. Each weekend, I have had to leave the team to train without me. They, the team, have created a culture. I have been upstairs grabbing a bag to leave and can hear them laughing, cheering and yelling for one another. Yesterday, I got an email from a lifter and video and there they were, being a team and spotting and coaching and supporting each other. A few weeks back, we had the biggest amount of lifters training at the gym in its history and I took a moment to step outside, outside the noise of the team and whatever music was playing to have a quiet moment to look up and give the Big Guy a nod and simply to be thankful. I have been so blessed to have worked with so many people. To train with them, to coach them and watch incredible things take place. Many have slept here, have eaten here and had a drink or several here. Noone here is rich but, a great pal of mine who has become family like so many, once told me, I needed to decide what wealth was to me. Was it to have a lot of money as that is rich or see the blessings I have and the wealth of things that I get to experience, share and simply live. I was chatting with Jenn the other day and told her, while this is hard…she was on me about taking care of myself and resting as she knew I was tired…I am living my dream. No, I don’t have a giant facility with all the cool toys and such but, we have a gym. Sure, I built it and have spent my life buying things, building things and such but, they make it a gym. Anyone can have a building and fill it full of gear but, the lifters, the people, they make it a gym. A place to be, a place to share and a place to pursue.
I can say the same for the crew I get to work with online. Many of them have become family. We visit them and they come and stay with us. Many have had children or have gotten married. I have had a few of the guys after speaking with the Father’s of their now brides, message me to talk about what was to come. I have held babies and have been to graduations and go to family events. So, to say my cup is full is quite an understatement. Is it hard? Yes! Is it tiring? Yes…I should probably rest more than I do but, never feel sorry for me…I’ll never be rich and I’ll probably always drive some broken car and have a thing or two in need of repair on my house but, as long as I’m able, I’ll climb down those steep steps from my kitchen down into the gym, spilling coffee as I go. I remember when Wes visited as he lived elsewhere. He was about 14 and stood holding his back staring at the one monolift in the old part of the gym just incredulous, “we had a monolift”. Many years have passed since that moment but it is a vivid memory. And now, he coaches people here and trains here.
I’m not sure how well I have conveyed my thanks and gratitude here but, I assure you, I am so blessed and know I am blessed well beyond anything I deserve. There are so many of you over the years that I have worked with that there are simply too many to mention individually but, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for your belief. Any of you that know me, know that belief and the word believe means such a great deal to me. Thank you for your trust. Many have spouses and children that come here. To be trusted with them is an immense privilege. I have been able to coach some of the strongest women in the sport right here. To have that bond and trust means so much to me.
From here, I’ll say what I always say. I am going to try to be as strong as I can for as long as I can. I will continue to do what I can to learn and be open minded to new things and keep striving for what will help us all get that next pr, record and title. So, simply, from me to all of you that I get to be a part of life and lifting, so much thanks. The honor and blessing is mine.

Louis LaFont Biss

Leverages.
My name is Jennifer. I am Louie’s Granddaughter. Also, mother to his first great grandchild, but no big deal.
Some of you may know that I am competitive in the sport of powerlifting (or weightlifting as it is often called by family members). Well, by competitive, I mean, I’m one of the best there is. Literally, in the world of drug free lifting, you’re looking at one of the best in the world. No, seriously, I’m not kidding. I can legit bench more than 98% of this room. Now that I’ve established credibility, I can move on to my point. Most of lifting, is really just leverages. Leverages are really just the fastest and most efficient way from point a to point b.
When we organize our training, there is an analogy we use which is quite applicable to life. Powerlifting is made up of the squat, bench and deadlift. In training, we can think of what we need to do based on a bucket that needs to be filled up. First start filling up the bucket with large stones. These large stones represent the main movements. Squat, bench and deadlift. The remainder of your bucket should be filled in with smaller stones or pebbles, then sand, then water. Each represents different and necessary and individual ways to get stronger. All these things combined and your bucket is solid. No gaps. No weaknesses. Each element plays a different role but is necessary for a solid competition. 
Over the years of my life (not that many), I find it difficult to decide whether I am a large stone, a pebble, or sand or water. You see, I come from a large family. And then I did a thing where I also married into a large family. (I promise I’m gonna get to Louie, just bear with me). My husband’s family is really good at many things that I am not. One of them, is gift giving. (Actually also one of Louie’s strengths). They are all fantastic at gift giving. I sit there on Christmas day in shame as I am just not good gift giving. My father in law retired. It was a big deal. They were having a big party. I start to feel the pressure of “THE GIFT”  I ask my husband about “THE GIFT” and he’s no help. This is a guy who buys ceiling fans as gifts. Finally, I surrender. I ask myself, what am I good at? What can I leverage here? I call my mother in law, and say, “Listen, I’m no good at gifts. I don’t know what to buy. But what I can offer is cooking. I can cook all the food for the party” She sighs in relief. She is so happy to let me do the food and I AM SO HAPPY to offer it.
Within our family, we have so many leverages to offer. We are a lot of large stones, pebbles, sand and water. My Grandma, Nancy, if you ask me, offers polish. Many people offer a meal, or a sleep on their couch or in their home, a place to stay after college, a word of advice. My Grandma does all those things but does them with POLISH. If you come to stay on her couch, she makes that couch up with fresh sheets, and a fluffed pillow, and is sure you have the remote near you before she turns off all the lights off and tells you good night. If she provides you a meal, whether in your home or hers, all appropriate accompaniments are presents. Salad, bread, entrée, sides, desserts and all packaged perfectly. If you have a meal in her home, there is no worry or thought of condiments or napkins. She will set up your t.v tray, be sure the lighting is right and you have ice in your glass. Should you need a place to stay after college, she will pack your lunch and your co-workers will be envious of your well balanced meals. If you need a word of advice, she will offer it, and do it matter of factly and her thoughts will be clear but never rude. While my Grandma has many fantastic characteristics, the one that has always stood out to me is her polish.
We are a big family and that requires a lot of work for all of us to get together. Which translates to a lot of stones, pebbles, sand and water. We all float along with our different leverages. Depending on the time and the season, we have all likely been a stone, a pebble, sand or water. My father Larry, offers the leverage of fixing or building. My mother Anne, the leverage of small/special details. My cousin, Tony, the leverage of labor and presence. While I claim the leverage of cooking and meal planning in other arenas, Michelle and Mike are the keeper of that title here.  Aunt Tracy and her family, often the entertainers of little ones. Aunt Kathy, the décor specialist and often times playing the role of event coordinator or organizer. Aunt DiDi, the peace keeper, the keep on keepin on of the matriarch. And all of the rest of us, filling in with our pebbles and sand and water. 
And Grandpa. Louie. The constant. The king. Mr. Christmas. I’ve been thinking about this speech and what I wanted to say for some time. And truthfully, it’s nothing like the one I had been rolling around in my brain. I wrote it once several months ago. Again, a couple of days ago. And once more last night. And that’s ok. I’ve learned through writing, that you can’t get married to one singular idea, you’ve got to let it flow through you. Over the past few days, I think I speak for all of us when I say that time has not necessarily stopped, but has not necessarily existed either. As I said before, I’ve been struggling on where I fit in. On what I have to offer. I think it came to me Thursday night as we ended the sacred fire for my Grandpa. There is one role that is not often mentioned. The role of the observer. My Grandpa often the man behind the camera both literally and figuratively. Over the past few days we’ve had so many friends and family stop by. I know I speak for all of our family when I tell you how incredibly grateful we are that each of you came. I watched old friends and family of the past come and remanence about years past. I watched young cousins comfort each other and challenge one another to take the ride down the hill on the big wheel. I watched the new generation take the reins on cooking and cleaning as our mothers and fathers comforted one another and played host to my Grandma and Grandpa’s friends and family. For those few days, time in fact did not exist. The past, present, and future were all there mingled and mashed up together and it was as if someone painted a live portrait of my life and time did not exist.
 Gathered here today, there is a beautiful smorgasbord of people. Each of us here have a story. A role. A different one. We may sometimes be a large stone, a small pebble, sand, or water. And that makes up a great and varied and wonderful story. And my Grandpa listened to each one. And he listened to understand. And he accepted each of us whether we were a stone, a pebble, sand or water. And that’s why we are all here today. Because in some way, Louis LaFont Biss made each of us believe in ourselves and our own leverages… just a little bit more….one day at a time.  So…let’s raise our glasses……To Louie!..... May we forever be indebted to you and may we forever repay it.

2018 Raw Nationals: Will the Real Jennifer Millican Please Stand Up

As per the usual, the beginning of a new training cycle always hinges on the results of the last one. After IPF Worlds in June, I was pretty beat up and beat down. For almost the entire training cycle, I was either just getting over being sick, or about to be sick again. If I wasn't sick, I was dealing with an annoying tweak. And of course, the added fun of having to keep my bodyweight in check. All of this to say, I was probably a little worse off than I thought at the time, but in typical me fashion, I couldn't realize it until I came up for air after the meet. 

I had decided long ago that I would be moving up a weight class regardless of what happened in Calgary. So that was not even a topic of discussion. A non-negotiable. The training cycle started super slow. All dumbbells all the time. I was pretty hesitant to get any sort of heavy weight in my hands at all because of how beat up I felt. I sandbagged for quite a bit even with primarily non-barbell movements. Eventually, I get called out by my coaches and decide it's time to quit playing.

Now, despite my hesitation to push, I was still optimistic (read: confident) about what I would be able to put up as a 63. Now, some of you reading may already know, but for those of you who don't, I'm gonna let a cat out of the bag. IT'S REALLY HARD FOR ME TO WEIGH LESS THAN 130 POUNDS. I don't care what my coaches say or how tall I am. For me to get/stay under 130lbs takes mucho discipline and I'm not talking about the showing up to the gym and getting through my training sessions and sticking with the plan 90% of the time discipline. I'm talking about 24 hours a day, 7 days a week of strict what am I eating/drinking, when am I gonna get cardio in, will I get a full 8 hours of sleep, what if I have to (or WANT TO) do something social kind of discipline. That's what it takes. And, quite honestly, I did it. For all intents and purposes, I DID THE DAMN THING. (see below)

When I decided to go full force into USA Powerlifting, I set out to win Nationals, go to Worlds, win, and move up to 63's. Well. I went to Nationals. I won the 57's. I won best female lifter. I went to Worlds. I won. I set two world records. I won best female lifter. The only thing I did not follow through on was moving up immediately. Do I regret it? The only glimmer of regret I have is staying in the 57's for another year. But I wouldn't change that first year for anything.

I only regret staying a 57 because I knew I was slipping. I knew my willingness to have the discipline required was fading. But I took the bait of the shininess of another title and shot at making history with a huge wilks. I went entirely against what my gut was telling me. I ain't just talking about hunger pangs. (insert hysterical laughing here)

Back to the subject at hand. I decide to quit playing, and I'm confident about the numbers I would be able to put up. I am confident because as soon as I step off the platform and exhale as a 57, my bodyweight jumps to 135lbs. I can linger around 135lbs with mild discipline. But still discipline nonetheless. With no real discipline and living my life like a regular person, I'm at the top of the weight class. So I know what training feels like when I'm hitting that beautiful stride. Only this time, I'm gonna take it up a notch.

Now, was training all rainbows and sausages? Not really. I was a little disappointed actually. Except for bench. Bench was bae the whole training cycle. Which I totally expected, but even with my high expectations, I was still impressed with how well bench was going. I kept waiting for the crash. There was no crash. It was glorious.

Squat was going pretty well. We came out of the gate of heavy training with 170kgs. From there (my perspective here), it was pretty lack luster. We inched the weight up, but not one session was magical or super confidence boosting. I spent weeks squatting a single at 180kgs. I had decided I would not go any heavier than that. About 2 or so weeks out, Aaron tells me to push it for real. So, I load 182.5kgs and it was pretty close to a max effort squat. So, (in my 57kg brain), I think, I'm probably good for MAYBE 180kgs or 183kgs for a national record at the meet and even that would be awesome.

Bench. As I said, bench was bae. Man, I don't even know what to tell you. It was just fire the whole time. We didn't get greedy. We did step up the frequency. I was doing some kind of pressing every session. I didn't rush or push any specific number. I really tried to walk a line. I thought because I had such trouble with bench at Worlds, missing 100kgs TWICE (hello fatigue), that if I could build a huge bench for Nats, it would really take my competitors by surprise (despite benching against the greatest bencher of all time). I knew where I fell short was the deadlift, so my strategy was to push the subtotal.

Deadlift. What a bitch. WHAT A BITCH. So real quick, when I said I was sick for most of the training cycle before, what was kicking my ass was shingles. It just kept coming back. I couldn't get over it. Shingles attacks the nervous system. And, uh, lifting heavy ass weights isn't exactly easy on the nervous system. Bad move on my part? Maybe. However, the show must go on. I kept waiting on my deadlift to show up. And it was taking it's sweet ass time. For real. Now, I am a shakey person. I get the shakes. Please watch any video ever. MY NERVES IS BAD Y'ALL. I knew that my deadlift wasn't turning the corner because I would start getting the shakes at much lower weights than usual. So, one thing I did for the entire training cycle was take supplements regularly. I read all this stuff (it may be witchcraft or a placebo but guess what? Idgaf) about how stress or things like shingles that attack the nervous system will strip you of vitamin B and minerals. Which will kick your immune system in the dick and you'll be sick forever (i.e me). So I order some b complex vitamins and liquid minerals  (and liquid vitamin d plus k for good measure) because I am no bueno at taking pills and quite honestly I am so sick of feeling like shit. I kid you not, that I felt my real deadlift finally showed up at my last heavy session when I hit 195kgs. It wasn't until that session that I thought I might be able to pull enough to be in the running.

THE MEET.

I had some thirds in mind. I was *somewhat* confident on my stretch goals for thirds. But all I knew for sure is what my first and seconds were and I didn't care what they loaded for thirds. I was just going to make them. What you have to understand is my expectations are set in the mind of a woman who has been at a caloric deficit for weeks (months?) and who is coming down to the wire on body weight. I know enough to know that meet day is a different ballgame and that expectations need to be kept in check.

I am warming up for squats and think....uhhhhhh, what the fuck. WE JUST MIGHT have a good day on our hands. Of course, it's important that I don't acknowledge that and just do exactly what I'm told. My opening attempt, when I go out, I am taken aback by the crowd noise a bit. When I set up, I am not quite sure about head position and where I want to focus my eye sight. I hear only one person. I hear my husband. "LET'S GO JENNIFER", and set up, walk it out, and about halfway up I hear the crowd make a sound as if to say "put some weight on the bar". Three white lights. Second attempt, more confidence, easy, three white lights. I don't say shit to Wade or Aaron. Aaron just keeps telling me to keep everything the same. I'm thinking, what are they gonna call? It feels easy, but DO I HAVE more than 183kgs...can I really hit a lifetime PR on the platform?! Fuck it. They will make the right call. Just do your job. 185.5kgs. An American Record. An unofficial World Record. AND most importantly, a 400lb+ squat in sleeves, a LONG TIME goal of time. I walk out and the crowd is amazing. I hit the pocket, slow down a bit at the slowing down spot, the crowd comes in right on time, and I stand up with it. Three white lights. This may be my most favorite lift I've ever lifted. It was in this moment, that the real Jennifer Millican had made her debut on the powerlifting platform.

Bench. So, now I am unusually fired up. It's a different kind of fired up than I've felt before. I just hit a lifetime pr, that also happened to be an American Record and an Unofficial World record. TO BE CLEAR, I spent a lot of my lifting 'career' on breaking these sort of records. Like, my entire focus for many years was breaking these records. And the truth is, is that I didn't care at all about them IN THIS MOMENT in time. I just wanted to make attempts. And now, I'm thinking, well damn, what if bench follows suit?! And it turns out it did follow suit. I hit my opener at 100kgs (thank you very much failed attempts at Worlds). We jumped 7.5kgs to my second. My 57kg brain was nervous for this jump so I kept the option open to make the 5kg jump. My 57kg brain had no place in the 63kg weight class. I had hit ~110.5kgs in training. I thought it would be super cool if I hit 110 in the meet. After my second attempt at 107.5kg, Wade came up to me and said "We're gonna do what we came here to do" which I knew meant 112.5kgs. 57kg brain is like 'are we sure?!', the competitor brain is like 'just do your job'. So they load 112.5kg, a number that I told myself I would reach at the beginning of training but also seemed so far out of reach....BUT ALSO I knew I would make it. I knew I could grind if it came down to it, but I also knew I didn't need to based on my 2nd attempt. I didn't need to grind. My third attempt was just like every top end single in training only with more weight on the bar. And when I walk off the platform Wade looks at me at me says, 'that's right mother fucker!'. Now, I have two lifetime pr's under my belt AND I have the highest subtotal going into deads.

Deads. Deads are more of the same. I know this is where I fall short and I know I've pushed them as far as I can via subtotal. Now, I just need to put together some solid attempts and let the chips fall where they fall. As I mentioned earlier, deads have been lagging just a bit. Not horrible, but a little slower than the rest of my lifts. However, they did seem to show some response my last heavy session and the rest of the meet has me feeling optimistic. Did I feel magic during warm ups for deads? No. After squat and bench I got messages from a couple of my lifting homies. And they both meant a lot to me. They both had the same message. 'Just don't stop pulling!'. So, as far I as I was concerned I had done my job. I had reached the subtotal that I thought was out of reach. I knew going in as a 63kg, it was going to take a nearly perfect day and even after that the pull of a lifetime.

Third attempt dead.
First, I look at Aaron,
-Do I have time to pee?
-No
-Ok, dammit
Next...Wade comes to me and says
-All I need out of you is the pull of your life
-Ok, the pull of my life, got it
-I tried really hard and I peed everywhere

It was 202.5kgs and it would have tied me with the total that won. I would have lost on body weight ironically.

I spent this training cycle leveling up. Now, it's go time. The real Jennifer Millican is here to party.

As always, huge shout out to ApLyft, SBD, my coaches Aaron Thomas and Wade Johnson, my husband (the real mvp) Michael and all of my Team Ogre teamates and all of my GASOLINE!