As early as you learn to snatch on a PVC pipe, you learn that weightlifting is a cerebral sport. I see this revelation in my newer clients all the time, assuring them that though there are a million things to get just right in any given lift, it is just that which makes weightlifting so stimulating. You either love this application of brain power and stick with the sport, or you decide it’s too much to think about and move on to CrossFit.
 
In my own pursuit of mastering my mental game, I have been warned that a lifter can be thinking of up to 12 different cues before or during any given lift. If you’re anything like me, the endless chatter in your head (push through the floor, squeeze your butt, stay over the bar, elbows high) can make for one crappy looking lift, or even worse, result in total paralysis. I either ending up doing too much— lifting too fast, too early, too all over the place—or finding myself so mentally overwhelmed that I end up clarking it.
 
We are a task-oriented breed, and our competition is performance-based. Along with conditioning our bodies to perform at their peak, we must condition our head game (our ability to perform mentally) just as diligently. Competing often entails lifting in new environments and situations, and competitions can be few and far between. This can make the opportunity to practice and refine our mental management a rarity. It took me a few years to realize that this side of the weightlifting coin was just as important than being physically prepared, or even more so.
 
In a sport of diligent repetition, we naturally become ritualistic—the same platform, the same bar, the same temperature, the same music, the same time of day, the same pre workout… need I go on? But say you’re competing in another gym today. It’s colder than you’re used to, the competitor you’ll be sharing a platform with is warming up with your heaviest attempt, and you’ve been weighing in heavy all week so you’re a dehydrated and sweaty mess. You might be a tad thrown off your game in more ways than one. I had a few years of so-so competitions under my belt and began to seek out the ways that I could mentally prepare to perform, and my hope now is to inspire newer lifters to consider developing it sooner in their careers than I had.
 
I was first made aware of my lack of mental training in my first national competition. It was the 2016 University Nationals in New Orleans and it was my first sight of the big platform. I had raised $3000 in community donations, adding to the pressure of just getting my feet wet. At the time, it felt like it was my job to do their donations justice, and the thought of simply boarding the plane to Louisiana made my stomach turn.
 
I decided to put my reservations to rest and allowed myself to enjoy the French Quarter and all the beignets within reason (amazingly, I weighed in just fine the next day). I sought out advice to calm my nerves and was armed with only the recognition that my anxiety could be thanked for warning me, and then to send it on its way.
 
But I wasn’t equipped well enough for what was to come. I wasn’t prepared for the giant crowd. I wasn’t prepared for the pace of the meet; it felt like it was my turn to lift about every 90 seconds! With each attempt I lifted hastily, rushing through my minute clock. It was over in an instant, and I could hardly recall what even happened on the platform. My coach could see that I had been taken for a ride, and chuckled assuringly that hey, now my feet are wet. Just as quickly as my performance passed, we were packed up and on the plane home. Looking back, I had no control of what happened on that platform, and physical preparation alone was not enough to turn out a good performance. It is one thing to qualify for a major meet, and another to perform well at said meet, and I was determined to close the gap between the two.
 
At first, I began to observe high performing competitors, not having yet realized that what works for one weightlifter does not work for all of them. Some would refuse any and all interaction with anyone around them, imploding into their own world, but I love being social and networking with my fellow LWC members, so that wouldn’t work for me. Some are internally boiling in silence, building intensity with their fist clenching and knee bobbing. I prefer to channel my home training hall, keep the mood light and keep the jokes rolling, so that wouldn’t do. And some would be banging their heads enveloped in their headphones, but I need to hear coach’s cues should any of my technique need shaking out, so that’s no good either.
 
What did I need? What could I do to turn out the best performance on the platform? I had to consider what made me feel powerful, what made me excited to lift, what allowed me to perform in the moment. Sooner or later, we learn as lifters that we cannot replicate another athlete’s technique no matter how similarly we are built; we have our own timing, our own understanding, our own strengths and challenges that are pronounced in the trajectory of our lift. We have to honor that in our mental performance as well—we have to cultivate that for ourselves and trust that our optimal performance is uniquely our own.
 
What I learned from observing and trying on the methods of my competitors is that, 1) I need to feel relaxed, not amped up, 2) I need to feel connected to the people around me, not isolated, and 3) I need it to be fun! Other than working, most of my time is spent weightlifting—why would I be doing so often or for so long if it wasn’t any fun?
 
So, I began to strip my competition prep of all the things that I thought I ought to do and redirected towards what I wanted out of the experience. To get relaxed, I take myself for a walk, call my mom, and insist on driving myself to the venue because being in the passenger seat is a maddening experience. To feel socially stimulated, I watch my fellow teammates compete before it’s my turn to lift (sometimes considered a huge no-no), greet and thank the meet hosts and volunteers, and wish good luck to my competitors. To have fun, I warm up to my all-lady power playlist (a hybrid of mobility and dancing), and every meet day I wear what I’ve dubbed game-day-glitter and rock a signature red lip.
 
All of these things combined have allowed me to be present in competition and allowed the days of blackouts to subside (unless I’ve accidently overcut for a meet I intended to train through), but more importantly, they have made room for the ability to be adaptable in any given situation.
 
In identifying and practicing the stimulus I require for both physical and mental preparation, I began to regularly make more lifts than missed, and increase my total with each passing meet. The best part? Feeling in complete control of my performance— reaching into jerks that could’ve otherwise bury me, hung onto spinning snatches, and confidently attempted weights I’ve never tried before. No flukes, no luck needed. I was lifting in the moment and readily available to do what it took to make those lifts.   
 
If we’re to simply rely on our training program, or if we fail to interact with our ever-changing circumstances, we are at risk from fully experiencing or bettering our efforts. I’m sure there are plenty of lifters out there who are athletically inclined enough that maybe their mental game doesn’t need such attention. But I am willing to bet—with the technical, physical, and emotional demands that it takes to snatch and clean and jerk heavy and successfully all in the same day— that we could all use an assessment as to what calls us to perform our best. We can take charge and create the optimal conditions for ourselves, wholeheartedly approaching each session and each lift.