We use the phrase ‘heavy lifting’ to refer to a workload or the toughest part of a job or project. A friend of ours is a weightlifter, and uses that term for real, not as a metaphor. So last year, we went to the Baystate Games at UMass Boston to watch the Massachusetts State Championship competition in Olympic-style weightlifting. Yes, I know I travel in diverse circles. I had no idea what to expect, and neither would you, probably.
In a hockey rink with boards covering the ice. Two platforms, side by side, red and blue, male and female. Lots of judges who were positioned 'American Idol' or 'America's Got Talent' style. Lots of weights. Lots of spandex. Lots of muscles. Lots of clanging. I learned pretty early in my first experience with weightlifting competition that how you drop the barbell after an attempt is an important part of the 'style.' The cool kids dramatically drop it to maximize the clang effect. I know I personally would be better at clanging than lifting.
Being my first competition, I didn’t know what to expect, but I caught on quickly.
In technical terms, and I'll go slow here, the complete process for lifting a barbell loaded with weights in a competition is: approach, pause, grunt, lift, clang. Approach, pause, grunt, lift, clang. For about an hour we watched young lifters and old lifters (euphemistically called ‘masters’) approach the bar, pause in very deep thought, grunt from the gut, lift to the skies or in that general direction, and try to look cool while dropping the weights to finish with a clang. Some made the lifts, some didn’t. Some grunted once, some grunted twice. Some got high fives, some slumped away. All of them clanged.
I'm old enough to remember that the introduction of the metric system to our country was a huge mistake. Huge. It complicated lots of things for no good reason. I was fine with the whole concept of inches, feet and pounds, and my position remains the same to this day. Unfortunately in weightlifting, now that I am an expert and your personal mentor on the subject, you should know that every damn thing was in kilos: not only the weights but the weight classes and the weights of the lifters. Fortunately, there is an app for that, that I sort of learned how to use. Thank goodness no one has invented a metric clock. Time is about the only thing that has escaped the 'times 10' world.
At this stage of your weightlifting education, It doesn’t really matter if you know the difference between a ‘clean and jerk’ and a ‘snatch’: they are both elements of the competition that are incredibly hard to do right, and incredibly hard to do with a lot of weight, regardless of whether you are lifting kilos or pounds. (Plus, I'm not sure I remember which is which). We were watching the first dozen participants on two platforms alternate lifts, with weights of 100 pounds or more. I was thinking the whole time about the dedication and hard work, and sore muscles it must take to be a top tier weightlifter. All these folks down on the rink had to practice, overcome disappointment, and try again. In fact the whole sport was based on individuals trying to do a personal best. (Regular readers can almost predict the last paragraph of this story now.)
As our friend was announced and approached the bar, the entire area hushed and most everyone stopped what they were doing. All eyes were on the red platform. While the guy on the other platform was struggling to lift 100 pounds over his head, our friend’s weight attempt was announced over the PA system (do they still call it a PA system?), in kilos of course, at a weight I converted with my app and realized it was more than 200 pounds! My mouth fell open: the weight was way more than that of any other competitor we’d seen on either platform so far. The announcement of the weight also hushed those who were not already hushed. Our friend approached the bar, paused, grunted, lifted, and clanged. Missed on the first lift, but had a nicely dramatic 'clang' to end it. The second lift was successful at 200+ pounds. Are you kidding me? Some of you may wonder why this experience was worth sharing and writing about because a lot of people can lift 200 pounds. A couple of reasons.
First, our friend goes by the name Tiffany and she's 25 years old and weighed in at 121 pounds that day, or whatever that is in kilos, and she lifted more than any male competitor we observed. By a lot. Now maybe we missed the real big lifters, we didn’t stay, they may have been coming later. And maybe she didn’t do as well as she wanted to with all her lifts that day, but here’s what she didn’t see from the platform. She didn’t see how the whole arena stopped, frozen in time when she approached the bar. (You’ll see evidence of that when you get to the end of this story.). She didn’t feel the whole arena hoping she could do it. She didn’t realize that everyone in the building was hoping they were looking at a future Olympic champion when the barbell peaked over her head. She couldn’t know how many people thought she was crazy for trying, and how many left the building that day thinking about what they were afraid of trying. She didn't see or feel how inspirational her attempt was to those watching.
So, even though our friend didn’t break her personal best, and even though she was disappointed that she didn’t snatch this or clean and jerk that, it didn’t matter to me. She didn't get what she wanted, but gave me something I wanted. I came simply for support but left with even more respect for her than I had when I walked in, plus I took away a little of that inspiration.
Champions and leaders inspire by their actions, their effort, their focus, their guts, much more than their words. That 25 year old champion/friend of ours had more of all those things than many people I know twice her age. Champions don’t say, ‘I’m going to inspire that person’. They let their actions to most of the talking and supplement their actions with some appropriate words, or grunts, in the case of a weightlifter. Many times, champions aren’t even aware of who or what they are inspiring. She had no idea of the impact her lift had on me. If you push the metaphor to the edge of the driveway, don't Champions, in all walks, approach, pause, grunt, lift, clang? Approach the challenge, pause to gather themselves or their resources, inwardly grunt as they struggle with the hardest part of the challenge, and then go for it (and collapse with a nice glass of chardonnay or a Bud Light regardless of the outcome?)
Champions don't realize sometimes that
how they inspire us is not just the attempt, but its that we figure out quickly that they have a high standard for dedication and hard work. The same characteristics, maybe minus the sore muscles, it takes to be a top tier anything. The practicing, overcoming disappointment, and trying again are more or less core to champion-level performance. When you stop and thing about it the whole sport, it is based on individuals trying to do a personal best, and that is where greatness begins in any field.
Now, don’t worry, I’m not going run out to Crossfit and take on a new hobby: my stance on never wearing spandex is well known. And I may never attend another weightlifting competition. But sometimes, when I am a little bit frustrated at my inability to get done what needs to get done, a picture of a 121 pound ‘champion’, lifting 220 pounds over her head pops into my mind. And because I can’t get the picture out of my head, I’m going to share it with you, below. And if you see Tiffany Beaupre on NBC walking into the Olympic stadium in Tokyo next year or in Paris in 2024, or Los Angeles in 2028, we’ll both know she, like all those who made it there, did so with dedication, hard work and sore muscles. Gotta go, have some heavy lifting to do.
