In early September, during my third week of training for the January 2026 USAPL California State Championships, my hip gave out. I had to withdraw. That was a hard stretch—not just physically, but emotionally. I missed lifting.
Fast forward four months and hours of physical therapy to January 24–25th, the meet weekend. By then, I was back in the gym reconditioning, not yet into heavy weights. Of course, I went to the meet to watch.
As I tell my family, if I were a young man in his thirties, nothing about this passion would be surprising. But competitive powerlifting isn’t common among women over seventy. In my gym, almost no one is within a decade of my age. I’m an anomaly.
So it meant something to walk into that meet and find women masters lifters in the stands and on the platform. We sat together, cheered for the competitors. Between sessions, we talked about training—four to six days a week, the intensity, the ongoing work of it. One woman, in her late seventies, had competed at the Arnold multiple times and was heading back this spring. Another held Master’s records in the 2 and 3s 82.5kg class and was extraordinarily strong.
One of them pulled up my competition records on her phone. Her eyes widened. “Oh, you’re really strong. You lift as much as me, and I compete at the Arnold.”
I pointed out she was older than me and weighed less. We laughed. It gave me some new context on what these numbers meant.
And then there were lifters on the platform who motivate me to get up there myself—Pat Farrell, Suzette, and the much younger Kate W.
What stuck with me wasn’t just the lifting—it was the people. The ones who understand why this matters. Who know what it takes to keep showing up, doing the work, supporting each other without fuss.
I’m back in the gym now, reconditioning. I’m starting back to heavy weights this week. I’ll probably volunteer at a few meets this spring. For the next meet, I’m aiming for July.
In early September, during my third week of training for the January 2026 USAPL California State Championships, my hip gave out. I had to withdraw. That was a hard stretch—not just physically, but emotionally. I missed lifting.
Fast forward four months and hours of physical therapy to January 24–25th, the meet weekend. By then, I was back in the gym reconditioning, not yet into heavy weights. Of course, I went to the meet to watch.
As I tell my family, if I were a young man in his thirties, nothing about this passion would be surprising. But competitive powerlifting isn’t common among women over seventy. In my gym, almost no one is within a decade of my age. I’m an anomaly.
So it meant something to walk into that meet and find women masters lifters in the stands and on the platform. We sat together, cheered for the competitors. Between sessions, we talked about training—four to six days a week, the intensity, the ongoing work of it. One woman, in her late seventies, had competed at the Arnold multiple times and was heading back this spring. Another held Master’s records in the 2 and 3s 82.5kg class and was extraordinarily strong.
One of them pulled up my competition records on her phone. Her eyes widened. “Oh, you’re really strong. You lift as much as me, and I compete at the Arnold.”
I pointed out she was older than me and weighed less. We laughed. It gave me some new context on what these numbers meant.
And then there were lifters on the platform who motivate me to get up there myself—Pat Farrell, Suzette, and the much younger Kate W.
What stuck with me wasn’t just the lifting—it was the people. The ones who understand why this matters. Who know what it takes to keep showing up, doing the work, supporting each other without fuss.
I’m back in the gym now, reconditioning. I’m starting back to heavy weights this week. I’ll probably volunteer at a few meets this spring. For the next meet, I’m aiming for July.