I could write about progression, defeat, or success. I could write about pre-show excitement, post-show transition, or the importance of bringing a mirror to the competition venue. I could recommend suit colors, how to wear your hair, or the difference between 4 and 5 inch heels.
There's a lot I could write about when reflecting on this past show season and because of the options, I haven't written anything yet. There are a plethora of themes I've entertained and a surplus of thoughts I could share.
Do I write about what it's like to arrive at a show after 2 years off and not feel confident with my physique? Do I write about how I worked my arse off to make changes and stood incredibly proud four weeks later?
These are all good, true thoughts and I could certainly find enough to write about with each one. But there's a theme that keeps resurfacing, keeps nudging at me, and wants to be shared.
Time and again the only word that continues to reappear in my mind is, quite simply, gratitude.
A plain word not often associated with bodybuilding, fitness, or bikinis but a word I can't seem to shake. When I've thought of flashier, more entertaining, comedic, eye-catching topics, this word just keeps popping into my little blond head.
When I decided to take some time off the stage I didn't know I would have to question if I would ever get back on. I figured I would take a little time, improve, maybe grow some muscles, and then dive right into prep again a year or so later. I had no idea I would move states, get a new job, lose mobility in my body, spend each night with ice under my back, undergo MRIs, and get diagnosed with something that would be part of me for life,
When I was on the hospital bed, after waking up at 3am to work 12 hours, and listening to the whirring and clanking of the MRI; standing on a stage in a bikini was the furthest thing from my mind. I didn't know if I was about to hear good news, bad news, or if I would get home in time to sleep 6 hours before going to work again.
This prep wasn't easy but it was incredible because I was able to do it. After learning what early onset arthritis was and the means to help and improve it, I was able to do this strange, silly sport once again.
When I stood and felt cold spray tan hit my back, I was thankful. When I was able to turn my hips onstage and see my Nana in the crowd, I was thankful. When I danced around with the other ladies backstage, I was thankful.
I am thankful for the man that made me chicken and told me I was beautiful when I posed on Sunday mornings with bedhead and pajamas on. I am thankful for the mom that cheered my name as I strutted and turned. I am thankful for the coach that kept me healthy, energized, and motivated.
I am grateful for each judge that spent their day endorsing a passion. And grateful for each promoter that worked for months so I was able to share smiles with other tanned strangers. And so grateful for each kind word, positive comment, and sincere encouragement from friends, peers, and colleagues.
When you have a passion, as silly as it may be, and you don't know if you will experience it again, you perceive it a bit differently when you do. Little, somewhat insignificant details are clear and wonderful.
Above all else, I am grateful for my body. For the vessel that doesn't just let me stand in high heels and a bikini, but the machine that allowed me to experience a passion once again.
This past show season was incredible because I could do it. It was amazing because my body could move and my mind could comprehend. I took those small things for granted before and now, I am grateful.
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