Is Fear or Laziness Holding You Back?

It started as a compliment and ended as a challenge.  “I like reading your training posts where Robin kicks your ass,” my workout partner, Obidia said.

“Thanks,” I said flatly.  We were walking on the treadmill, warming up before sprints.

“It’s like I’m living vicariously through you.  I like that he’s pushing you not just physically, but mentally.”  She was referring to post from the other week, Bear Crawls through a Football Field, where I told my trainer, Robin, after a particularly tough session that I’ve only ever come in last place, and that I was tired of losing.

“You forget that I’ve seen all your transformations for each show.  The first one was fun, because you lost all the weight, but this one is different.”  We sip from our water bottles.

We met three years ago, when I was training for my first competition and she was training with Robin for The Shredder, the biggest competition in Austin.  I would watch her from the Stair Master as she did her reps.  As I wrote in my book, She’s Losing It!, I considered her a tribal elite in the Clan of the Gym Rats.  Gym Rats wore earphones and carried workout journals and had biceps even when it was leg day.  Gym Rats didn’t speak to those of us doing cardio penance in an attempt to lose weight, not because they were anti-social, but because they were focused on their own routines.  It seemed to me (at the time) that Gym Rats only took notice of people with very fit bodies or with those who showed evidence of an improved body.

Not knowing her name, I nicknamed her Thin Tan Lady.  I loved her chiseled arms and took mental notes of how heavy she was lifting.  I also liked watching Pink Hair Lady and Tatoo Arm Man as I logged in my cardio time and wondered how long it would take for me to feel comfortable in a bathing suit.

Thin Tan Lady was the first Gym Rat who spoke to me.  In the locker room one day she took off her headphones and spoke to me (a Tribal Elite was speaking to me!)  “I see you’ve been working hard,” she said with a smile.  “I lost 20 pounds!  My name is Lisa,” I stuttered.  “I’m Obidia,” she said. (A much more interesting name than Thin Tan Lady.)

There is a beep! on her wrist watch and it’s time to run sprints, one minute on, one minute off.  Last week I was dying at level 10, this week I’m just mid-range suffering through it.  “You forget that I’ve been working out with you for awhile,” she said.  “When the other women were running at 11 you’d say, ‘Eh, I’m 40’ and drop the speed to 6.5.  Whenever I would hand you a 20 lb for a shoulder press you’d drop the weight to 15.  You don’t do that anymore.  Not only are you lifting the 20, you’re upping it to 25, and it’s nice to see.”

I was completely guilty of cutting corners.  She asked how my posing was going.  “Spotty at best, but I’m working on it.  I’m not even really thinking about the competition.  I just want to meet Arnold Schwarzenegger.”

“I don’t think that’s going to cut it with Robin.  He’s going to expect you to do better than last call out.”

Oh.

But it’s the Arnold!  Only people on their A-game are going to show up!  Honestly, it was a fluke that I even got in and I’m not expecting much from myself; not against these women.The next day, after my training session, I was packing up to leave and Robin was mentioning where he expected his other client, Liese, to place in the figure division.  Remembering that Obidia said I needed to show a desire for improvement I said, “I just want to be the second to last call out this time around.  I’ve set the bar low for you as a trainer,” I chuckled at my own self-depreciating humor.

“No, that’s your bar that you set for yourself,” he said, not laughing.  “My bar is higher.”

I didn’t say anything and the comment kind of just hung in the air and I felt my cheeks flush.  More than a month away from the show, without knowing a single soul who would be competing against me, I had already decided in my mind that they would be better than me.  A stack of excuses was already firmly established in my mind as to why I’d be dead last again.

• I’m 41.
• I’ve had two kids.
• I don’t take steroids.
• My posing is stiff and awkward.
• I’ve never won before, never PLACED before; always came in dead last.

But if I mentally give up before even getting on the plane, why was I competing at all?  What was making me doubt myself so much?  Past experience?  Just because I failed yesterday doesn’t mean I will fail tomorrow.  Doesn’t a toddler stumble and fall countless times before eventually learning to walk and leap and run?

Fear of humiliation?  Who cares?  This isn’t a fight until death; it’s bikini not Gladiators. 

Henry Ford said, “Whether you think you can or you think you can’t, you’re right.”  I’ve been telling myself that I can’t because I’ve just been too lazy to do whatever it takes to succeed and I’ve been hiding behind the comfort and safety of my excuses.  That’s stupid.

The truth is, I don’t know who’s going to show up the day of the competition at the Arnold and stand next to me for comparisons.  But I do know they better be prepared, because I know one person who is going to be on her A-game that day.

Me.

 

Lisa

Lisa Traugott is a Mom’s Choice Award winning writer, fitness blogger, wife and mom of two. You can read more about her in her new book, “She’s Losing It!” available at Amazon.com.

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