14 Weeks out
She said…
What can change in two weeks? It turns out, quite a bit! I’m sitting here, at the start of yet another Winnipeg snow storm, grateful for the gym in my basement that allowed me to get my workout in, away from the threat of the freezing rain and blowing snow. Why do I live here again?
The idea of this blog was to give insight into prep life from both the athlete’s and their partner’s perspective. What I have come to realize over the past two weeks is that this is really an opportunity to detail all of the random, ridiculous things that come out of my mouth on any given day, as evidenced by Vince pulling out his phone and making a note to “keep that for the blog.” The joke’s on him though. I don’t have to be in prep to say stupid things…it just comes naturally!
In all seriousness though, the last two weeks have been a bit of a rollercoaster for me. I believe I referenced the mental struggle that sets in around the 6 week out mark? Well, it would seem that my brain has really kicked it up a notch, and I’ve begun to go down the wormhole of doubt much sooner than in my previous preps. I have seen an increasing number of social media posts of people competing this year, and it has caused some serious self doubt.
“They are already cutting?” “Look at her physique, she is gorgeous!” “Those shoulders are amazing!” “I don’t look like that.” “Ok, I’ve definitely put on muscle” “I can do this.” “Oh god…what am I doing, I’m not ready".
I have shared these thoughts with some people in my inner circle, and their logic is sound. I know what to expect this time around, so I’m looking for it. It makes sense. I know what is coming. I went into prep wanting to beat the 2019 version of myself. To compare pictures and see growth, and to look like I belong on stage with everyone else. So why do I bother comparing myself with them? It isn’t about them, right? It’s me. vs. me, and comparison is the thief of joy (thank you Theodore Roosevelt).
The previous statement is logic speaking, and I am not always logical. I want to push myself, to be the best that I can be, and to make my family proud. What if I step on stage and trip, and my shoe goes flying off, and I have to figure out how to recover, but there is not recovery. You may be thinking to yourself, that’s a weird fear to have…well, it’s happened before, it was a nightmare, and one that I would not like to re-live if at all avoidable!
So, for now, I am trying to focus on the things I have control of. Training, Nutrition and sleep. So let’s chat about that.
Training- well, my trainer hates me, and has hidden cardio throughout my workouts that really highlights my inability to breathe while exerting any level of effort. I legit tasted pennies last week when she had me doing a circuit that I’m sure was designed to cripple the strongest of humans.
Nutrition- remember the impeding threat of fish??? Well…it’s back! Salmon and Tuna for the next 28 days. Buckle up Vince!
Sleep- this is an area that actually is going pretty well. A little too well some days. I made it until 8:57 last night, and was quite proud of myself, until 11:30pm came around and my dog decided to just poop on the carpet beside our bed, and just looked at me like “Well what do you want me to do about it. Have you seen the snow out there? Would you poop outside with winds whipping at your butt and snow blowing so violently, creating an ice-cold bidet brought to you by mother nature? I think not!”
Overall, things are going pretty well. I’m hitting all my workouts, getting in 100% of my meals and trying to just sit in the now, and avoid focusing on things that sit outside of my control. May is coming sooner than I anticipated (current weather situation aside), and I am determined to crush 2019 Gillian!
He said…
Ok, before I start I have to grab my notebook. Yes, I take notes as the level of emotional abuse that I take during prep tends to push events from my mind and I just cannot keep up. If you know me, you’ll know that’s a joke.
If you follow us on Instagram (and you should) you’ll notice that I like to live dangerously. Most recently I fired a shot over the bow, so-to-speak, in what can be referred to as “pancake warfare”. Gillian had made her meal prep “protein vomit-cakes” as a part of her breakfast so I decided that pancakes ought to be part of my own wonderful Saturday morning breakfast. Homemade, fluffy AF, and potentially the best pancakes this side of your Gramma’s house (I dare not challenge the baking prowess of any grandmother).
Now you might be thinking, “Why would you do something like this? Didn’t you learn not to poke the bear??” And to answer you, I’ll say, “No.” My middle name is ‘Danger’ and making homemade pancakes 15 weeks out from competition, even though the cut had yet to start, garnered a scowl that someone in this relationship will deny ever happened. But we all know that in 6-7 weeks it’s gonna come up.
The following Monday, after a long day at work I had come home with our son and had started to make dinner. Liam is a growing boy that needs good, home-cooked food to help his development and athletic goals. Naturally, my goal is to help him succeed. As he crawls up the stairs around 6:00-6:30pm (typical dinner time), starving and needing food, I have only sad news. Dinner isn’t ready yet. Now, dear reader, you might ask yourself, “If he’s such a great parent and so concerned with his child’s well-being, then what is the hold-up?”
Well, let me tell you about the meal prep bully that is my wife. Gillian had run out of potatoes and demanded that the air fryer (the chosen method for her son’s meal) be relinquished and that her prep work be prioritized. She’s a monster.
The next weekend (Sunday), after what I am led to believe was the most brutal, demanding and taxing Saturday workout ever completed, poor Gillian was so tired, while standing next to a blanket, demanded that I fetch her that very same blanket. This wasn’t a joke. There was fire in her tired eyes.
The story thus far is, as you may imagine, a little bit exaggerated. But I will make a few points that will come straight from the hip—just like when Han shot Greedo.
It’s fish season. We went to Costco and bought up enough fish to choke a bear; a nice mix of tuna and salmon, as per the notes in Gillian’s latest update on the meal plan. Gillian proceeds to make her dinner on Sunday—a tuna steak in the air fryer—and after taking one bite, dumps the entire serving in the garbage, exclaiming “This is disgusting.” Admittedly, something went wrong in her cooking method. I’m not sure if it was because she cooked it from frozen, over cooked it so that the outside was rubber and the inside was still cold, or what… Mysteries are abound.
If having one meal plan in the home wasn’t enough, our daughter has now jumped on the bandwagon. Shopping for two sets of specific foods is my favourite part of the weekend (ask Gillian how many bunches of kale you can force into a plastic bag) and losing an additional 42% of the space in the fridge has been less than ideal.
There’s a lot of teasing that goes on in our home and it’s all out of love and support; it’s an effort to keep the mood light and distract each other from the potential downfall of self-sabotage. The phase of “look at this girl that is competing against me” has started and I hate to admit I’ve trash-talked each and every one of them. But to the balance of the competitors, I respect your efforts and sacrifices throughout your journey. But when I have to get my girl motivated, you’re clearly cheating and there’s something wrong with your biceps—I can’t put my finger on it, but you’ll never place higher than 8th. But, you know… With respect.
If you don’t hear from me in the next week or two, look for freshly disturbed snow in the neighbouring yard. I’ll be buried there.
As always, I’m full of it and the last two weeks haven’t been bad at all. Liam and I will be fine but thoughts and prayers are welcomed in the coming weeks.
Also, Greedo shot first.
-V
