Month: July 2017

28
Jul
2017

Accentuate the positive

It’s taken me a couple of weeks to write something I could share about my performance at the British Championships on the 16 July. When you win, or when meet your goals, it’s easy to find the positive, and addressing the faults and negatives feels safe. When you fall short, and make mistakes, however, there’s a tricky line between beating yourself up, and looking honestly and usefully at what you need to fix, and between sinking into disappointment, and acknowledging what you have achieved anyway. And wallowing is horrid to read. So here’s a happy post about a bad day.

 

So, how did it actually go?

Not so well.

Three lifts went up, but only one counted.

I rushed my first lift (70kg) and was too quick off the chest. My second lift of 70kg was fine. My third lift of 73kg was given two reds, because my bum lifted from the bench.

 

A post shared by katie cooke (@slowlight) on

(videos: one of each lift, kindly taken by Zoe)

So I came in fourth, with a 70kg lift at 48.0kg bodyweight. I’m not happy with this.

Reasons, not excuses

I loathe making excuses, but I’ve been reminded by people who care about me that I need to remember and acknowledge some of the reasons I’m not at the top of my form at the moment. Most importantly, that it’s been a difficult spring, and I lost a lot of training, a lot of sleep, and a lot of focus when dealing with my father’s illness and death.

With a little hindsight, just getting back to training, and competing at the British feels like an achievement. I didn’t back out. I was on the platform six weeks after arranging his funeral. Even if I did not perform as I had hoped, it was a big step back towards my goals, and towards honouring my dad’s principle: do your best. (He didn’t believe in trying, either. Just doing.)

Annoyingly, on the day, my nerve damage was playing havoc, and I had no feeling in my right leg or glutes. Which made it head to judge my position on the bench (such as whether my bum was up or down on that side.) That said, it shouldn’t be coming up anyway, and I should not be relying on that sensation to give me the cue.

Enough of the negative, tell me the good things

Three lifts went up, with no struggle.

I have now pressed over 1.5 times my own weight on the platform.

My strength felt solid, and even though I messed up, I did not get into my own head, and start second-guessing and doubting things. I never doubted that any of the lifts would go up. Not even for a flickering moment.

After a bad detour into comfort eating and poor nutrition (hello custard creams!) I managed to get my weight back down to 48kg, just 200g over my last comp weight. Still recomping, but I’m securely and comfortably within the 50kg class.

The mistakes I made are fixable or avoidable.

It’s fantastic to lift at a venue like the Ricoh Arena.

I am now Internationally Classified, with an IPC licence.

I have one more chance to qualify for the Commonwealth Games. So, I’m not out yet.

Being supported

 

(Photograph: On the platform, with Matt, just before setting up for a lift)

I get incredible support from some amazing people. Their belief in me sustains me even when I go a bit wobbly with doubt. (I’m going to write another post about this, but, for now… ) Two of them were there with me in Coventry: my coach, Matt, and my sister, Louise. That Matt flew back from his holiday for a 12 hour stay to ensure he was there with me was a huge gesture–on top of the practical and solid support he gives me. Just knowing he was doing that made it possible for me to do this. And not waver from that, even when things were at their lowest.

And my big sister? Aye, she’s always had my back:

A post shared by katie cooke (@slowlight) on

(photograph of a squishy-faced baby wonky donkey and her big sister. Awww.)

So what do I do to fix things?

Keep getting stronger, and focus my training on the technical issues. That would cover both the “get strong” and the “get good” parts of the deal.

That means I have already started training to use the strap again. There’s an option, with para powerlifting, to have one or two straps across your legs and round the bench, to secure you. Everyone who competes has a lower body disability of some kind, and greater or lesser control of their legs and leg position. I’ve used it in the past, but I’ve not been using it for the past year, because I often train alone and so it’s hard to get consistency. But, if that’s going to keep my bum firmly planted on the bench, then I’ll get used to it and work with it, whatever it takes. Because it would be crazy to give away any more lifts for an avoidable reason.

Oh, and slow down. No more rushing. No more micro-pauses. Use the strength and show the refs a good solid stop.

 

And a little musical finale…

Oh, listen to me children and-a you will hear
About the eliminatin’ of the negative
And the accent on the positive
And gather ’round me children if you’re willin’
And sit tight while I start reviewin’
The attitude of doin’ right

You’ve gotta accentuate the positive
Eliminate the negative
Latch on to the affirmative
Don’t mess with Mister In-Between
You’ve got to spread joy up to the maximum
Bring gloom, down to the minimum
Otherwise pandemonium
Liable to walk upon the scene
So: Get good, get strong, and get it done. Easy, right?
Posted by Katie in competition, 0 comments
11
Jul
2017

Singlets and self-consciousness

I always feel awkward in a singlet. It’s bad enough in competition when everyone has to do this, but wearing it in the gym feels worse. It’s a grim combination of self-consciousness and showing off, yet moaning about it feels like an odd mixture of fishing for reassurance and humble-bragging. But it’s something I usually do in the run up to a competition to get over myself a bit. It’s a peculiar juggling act: learning to be being present in my body, but also ignoring it. 

When I say that I “feel awkward”, I may be understating the case a little. Maybe a lot.

It’s not as bad as it used to be, but I still want to hide. These days, I can deal with the tightness of the clothing, I can deal with the lumps and bumps of the enclosed body. I still have trouble, however, dealing with the exposed legs.

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Video: from last night’s training, six days out.Mostly tech singles. This is a cheeky little 68kg warm up. While wearing the dreaded singlet.

 

When I lift, it helps if I am completely present in my body–but in a useful way. The self-critical, highly distracting, waste-of-brain-space presence that runs and runs a brutal critique of aesthetics? Not so useful. (Though it’s useful for some, as that ‘s the way that sells a million magazines and diet plans.) The awareness and presence that gives me proper control of position (which is trickier than it sounds given that I often can’t feel most of my right leg or buttock), the cueing of actions, the squeezing of muscles, and the knowledge that I can push like hell? Aye, that’s the stuff. That’s the presence that lets you take up the space you need, do what you do, and feel good doing it.

I know the former option is a waste of time and energy, and most of the time I am happy enough in my own skin to live in the second state. But put me in a singlet, and all that tangled body image nonsense comes dancing to the front again, blocking the view of the important stuff. And where my response should be to read “singlet” as “YAY competition time! Go, Cooke, go!” rather than squirming.

Worrying about the stupid stuff

Because I have little fat legs, and one of them is super-wonky. And I hate that. I never show my bare legs; I don’t wear shorts and always wear leggings under dresses or skirts. It’s only in the last couple of years I’ve felt comfortable enough or confident enough or just plain no longer give a fuck enough to walk around town before and after training in loud leggings without a dress or long coat on top. (Though I don’t think I’ve ever worn them without a visit to the gym at some point.) It has nothing to do with “modesty” or with what anyone else thinks about my body, and everything to do with how I think about it.

No one cares how I look in a singlet. I know that.

I get grumpy that I care.

Part of it is standard issue body issues. (see above re: a million magazines.) And I’m seriously grumpy that I haven’t got over this by now. It has always been a little more complicated by medical history, in that it can be hard to love a part of your body that you associate with pain, and limits, and surgery.

But it’s been years since I was last sliced and diced, so that raw resentment has slipped into the shadows of deep history, and become just another layer of the sediment. These days I rarely get any bone pain (just weird misfiring of nerves), and I’ve learned a way to walk that’s far beyond anyone’s expectations (including my surgeon’s, and my own.)

The luxury of ignoring it

I’ve reached a point where I have the luxury of being able to ignore it most of the time. Most of my work-arounds and adaptations are so ingrained I am oblivious to them. It’s not “pretending to be normal” because screw normal, but what my body can do is much more alive in my brain that what it can’t. It can be hard to hate that.

I have ugly legs, and that doesn’t matter.

Wearing the singlet in training is much the same–I train in it so it becomes normal, so that it doesn’t get in the way by interrupting me with self-consciousness. I wear it until I hit the point of not thinking about it, until I can even tune out the stray background signals of “aargh, bare knees” or “ugh, weird pressure on my thigh.” Until I forget to care.

Better things to worry about

It took a long time until I could look at videos of myself lifting and see the lifts not all the things I hated about my body. In a singlet, that’s still a challenge. (Because hello little fat peely-wally wonky legs!) But when I’m wearing a singlet, I have more pressing things to worry about: a start command, a rack command, and what happens in between.

Roll on Sunday, and the next time I have to wear it.

Posted by Katie in all the feels, 0 comments
07
Jul
2017

The weight of paperwork

I’m nine days out from the British, and still getting the work in, and still going through the traditional rollercoaster feelings from the highs of “aw yes, I’m pretty good at this stuff” swooping down to the stomach-lurching “argh, I forgot how to bench” via “why is this suddenly heavy?!” and “weird, did I forget to put those extra 5kg plates on?”

Add in the surreal pre-competition dreams, and this is the now-expected ebb and flow. Even though I have learned to expect it, I still get caught out by the emotions that come with the ups and downs. Until I remember that it’s just what happens, and then it becomes rather reassuring. It’s just part of the process, like fretting about how fat my knees look when I wear a singlet.

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Less predictable: the bureaucratic challenges

Most of the real roller-coastering, however, has come from paperwork. Or the lack of paperwork.  Because this is the first officially IPC-approved competition I’ll have done, it will be the first time I will get an international ranking. But, first, I have to be classified–that is, to be checked that my disability meets the categories for this sport.

As I went through this on a national level a couple of years back, I was caught out by a request for medical records this week. I should probably have expected it, but i didn’t. And, I don’t have my medical records. Who does? It’s just not something you have a copy of, in the UK, unless something’s gone horribly wrong. I’ve got a copy of an x-ray or two, just because the radiographers were really nice, and agreed that they were interesting, and, oh, why not, here you go, etc.

But the IPC wanted official written records, with the evidence of why I have so little muscle power in my right leg.

No records = no classification = no ranking = no qualification.

Yikes.**

Oh, there’s a process for getting medical records in the UK. There are standard release forms, and everything. And that process takes between three and seven weeks. SEVEN WEEKS. Seven. And everyone I needed to talk to had gone home*.

Cue: one horrible sleepless night of stress.

Next day, after a lot of phone calls, the generous help of BWL, and some huge acts of kindness and photocopying by the lawyers at the Infirmary we turned the 40 day process into a 23 hour miracle. I got the notes, bwl got images of the notes, and IPC got the uploads. I am amazed, and so very grateful that this happened. And still more than a little stunned that this didn’t derail everything.

Now I’m just waiting to find out if the IPC is happy to accept the paperwork….

 

*except Matt. Who talked me out of full headless chicken mode and back into someone who gets things done.
 
**This was a lot more sweary than “yikes” at the time. A lot. Of course.

Posted by Katie in competition, training, 0 comments