Editor’s note: This is the final installment of Kathleen Allen’s road to the Tucson Senior Olympics Festival. See this story at tucson.com for her earlier columns.
The last leg of my journey to the Senior Olympics powerlifting event. My trainer, Gab Rico, has not let up. Nor will she let me.
Jan. 23
I have found reason to go on: My husband has promised to make me cinnamon rolls to devour once the competition is over.
Jan. 24
During my workout with Gab, she made me balance on this contraption she calls a bosu ball β itβs like a large ball with one flat side. She swears itβll help my core. I just swear β balancing on a rubbery, round surface is not my strong point, and it seems, well, stupid. Then she goes off on some explanation about how balance is essential to powerlifting. Next, she just uses her weight for resistance, holding a long stick over my chest as I lie on the ground and try to press it up. Gab is tall and slim and gorgeous and smart; what the hell is she doing with muscles so strong that I canβt budge against the power?
So, of course, as she adds more of her weight, I began to scream with the effort. And scream. My poor mother-in-law, Donna, who lives with us, cowers in her room. After the workout, Donna looks at me with concern. βI pray for you,β she says.
Jan. 25
Itβs not my fault. My niece Eleanor came over for dinner last night and ended up making cookies. I ate one. OK, three, but they were small. I wasnβt thinking. Itβs just that they came out of the oven with gooey chocolate, and she sprinkled sea salt on top. I wonβt say she forced me to eat them. Wait, yes I will. It is so Eleanorβs fault. Iβm pretty sure it is also her fault that I did no exercise on Sunday. Oh, Gab is going to be upset with her.
Jan. 26
Gab has given me the plan: Tuesday, up-against-the-wall squats, stretches, etc. Wednesday, heavy weights. Thursday a day of rest. Friday β well, Friday is my ultimate humiliation, the competition. Today I worked with Gab and all of a sudden my knee started popping β actually, the ligament at the back of my knee β whenever I straightened my leg. Thatβs happened before, but Iβve usually been able to walk it off. Not this time. Leaving work, I thought all was OK, straightened my leg and it collapsed under me. Luckily, I was holding on to the handrail and only tumbled down a few steps. It will go away, Iβm sure. But Iβll wrap it just in case. I canβt wait to blame this on Gab.
Jan. 27
Here is my mantra for the rest of the week: If Kerri Strug can win Olympic gold with an injured ankle, I can do it with a strained knee. After staring too long at a diagram of the knee, my diagnosis is that I have a lateral collateral ligament strain. That doesnβt sound intimidating at all. I can do squats without a problem β it only pops when I straighten my leg. I got a super-athlete knee brace. Iβve iced it. I am strong. Maybe stupid, too. But I am doing this damn competition. Besides, Iβm pretty sure I heard Gab say she would kill me if I didnβt. If Kerri Strug can do it. β¦
Jan. 28
Heavy lifting with Gab yesterday β and my knee didnβt bother me. Gab suggests that I attack the weight β that is, donβt let it intimidate me. So I had a grand time cursing at it, circling it, and demanding it to not fool with me. It worked. I dead-lifted 147Β½ pounds, which impressed the hell out of me. Plans are to meet Gab at 8:30 a.m. at the gym where the competition takes place. She insists on having enough time to braid my hair. Jeesh, isnβt it enough that she made me buy exercise clothes to replace my torn and baggy pants and stained T-shirt? But hereβs the thing: She makes me believe I can do this. Sheβs careful. And sheβs got me in as good as shape as someone in my shape can be. And sheβs made me love feeling strong. While itβs been fun to grouse about her, I am so so grateful sheβs been here for me. And that she has a sense of humor.
Still, Iβm a little scared β not of the humiliation (Iβm beyond that point), but of β¦ I donβt know what Iβm scared of. That will go away, right?
Jan. 29
I won. Gold. Sure, no one else was competing in my age group, but still.... I dead-lifted 150, a personal best. Squatted, 100 β I can do more, but the machine they had was new to me and threw me off. Bench-pressed 50 ... which kind of stunned me; bench-pressing is way hard. Gab was on the sidelines with her encouragement. For once, I couldnβt be snarky to her; I was so grateful she was there. I had no idea this would feel so β well, good. Everyone should just hang with seniors β they are kind and encouraging.
It was so much fun that Iβm going to do the Arizona Senior Olympics in Phoenix next month. And my editor is going to make me write about it.
But first, I have some fresh cinnamon rolls to devour.
On tucson.com: To see more pictures from the Tucson Senior Olympics Festival powerlifting competition, go to tucson.com/gallery
