Feminine AF: A Bikini Competition Story

I love to be challenged. LOVE it! I was on the hunt for a new challenge recently, and landed on what’s far and away the farthest thing ever from my comfort zone.

Last year there were posters up at my side gym about the NorCal Fitness Classic. It looked interesting, but last year already had a challenge booked.

The signs showed up again this year. A text to my brother led to an IM to the show, led to talking to a trainer and nutrition guy, let to me checking to see if my patient husband was up for my latest shenanigans, then…boom. Next thing I know, I’ve jumped all the way into a body building competition. Me! What the….?

This has been an incredible learning experience. I had no idea how much I didn’t know about all this.

People in the know as this thing started:”You plan on entering bikini or figure?”

Me: *stares and says nothing whilst crickets are heard in the distance

Bikini is my division. I’m pretty sure this isn’t an endorsed way to describe it, but it’s like entry level muscle. “But Crystal, does that mean it’s easy?”

No. No it’s not easy. It’s been one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done. I’ve been training hard and eating harder for over three months now. Everyday I’ve packed for work in a fashion that looks as thought I am running away from home.

It’s helped remind me of the value of experts. Training guy (Justin Eacret) has shown me a different way to work out “We’re here to make your muscles bleed.” Nutrition guy (Lawrence Senical) tells me what to eat, and is able to predict exactly how my body will be responding to the changes in food. In six weeks time I lost 6 percent body fat. Bikini Lady (Shauna) has been pivotal in me sustaining the work. She’s very kind about answering all the questions I have like “Is it normal to want to assault someone if they’ve eaten my blueberries?” Working with her on posing has been something akin to charm school. Turning me into something ladylike? Goes without saying she’s got her work cut our for her.

These guys know their stuff, and while I’m absolutely anxious about how it will all turn out, I’m confident that I’ve been coached to the degree that I’ll be walking on to the stage with the best effort I can make.

About that stage, and my comfort zone. It’s a bikini competition. I’ve had several talks with myself about what it means that I’m getting ready to show so much of me to the public. It’s made me want to take up quilting. You show off your hard work on a quilt, no one bats an eye. I don’t quilt. I work out (said like LMFAO). So, if I want to show my work, unfortunately, the hoody and lulus won’t cut it. Ugh. I wondered if my sparkly bikini and stilettos (that’s right…STILETTOS) means that I am putting the Show in Chauvinism (bwah ha). I’m very fortunate to have a balance of solid people in my life. Tara reminded me that a truly feminist principle is to be able to do what I want regardless of what I worry others may think of it. She’s right. I’ll be up there because I want to be. If it’s a bother to someone, that’s about them. Not me.

What is about me, is that this endeavor takes a lot of energy. Nutrition guy said that it’s one of the most selfish things a person can do. He didn’t mean that in a negative connotation. It takes work, and I can’t for second tell myself that the amount of time or effort I’m giving somehow helps my children or the greater good. I saw that someone posted about the transition that happens when your kids grow up. The title was something like “getting to know myself after the kids are gone.” I didn’t read the article. I’m sure I was late to something when I saw it. But I did notice that there were some sad face responses. I don’t think we should be sad about finding ourselves again. Raising kids is hard. Harder than bikini comp. But when I’m driving past the schools and seeing all the pick ups drop offs, or when I drive past the ball field, I am able to clearly recall all the work that went in to getting to this point. It helps give perspective about my selfish act. Like all parents when they hit this mark, I’ve earned the right to do stuff for me. It’s weird that we have to say that it’s okay to be nice to ourselves. I’d like to fix that for all of us with my proverbial magic wand.

Now that I’ve made peace with the why’s of doing this I’m able to focus on the other elements that are sooooo far out of my universe. Did I mention the stilettos? The theme for my personal development lately has been to improve my comfort with vulnerability. I’ll be on stage in front of friends, family (NOT the boys), and strangers. I’ll be wearing a suit that is not Victorian era swimwear and that will be glued to me. I’ll be spray tanned and glossy with full hair and make up. I’ll spend one minute showing my hard work via poses that are feminine AF. I’ll be standing next to beautiful women in the same situations who’ve also worked very hard to reach this goal. I will be judged. Every single aspect of this screams vulnerability to me. I’m not sure Berne Brown recommends bikini competition regularly, but it’ll be the thing that strikes me to the core of that degree of openness.

I’ve never seen a body building show. I maybe should’ve before, you know, entering one or whatever. But, I’m excited for how all this will come together. There has been so much professionalism and effort on the parts of so many. I believe that it’s going to be a great experience for athletes and spectators.

Come see the work. Or just come to see me all baby giraffe like walking in heels. If you’re going to be creeped out by bikini me, don’t let that stop you from coming. I’m the 45+ division. We go first. (In case we got to go home and take meds and hit the hay…bwah ha!) There will still be plenty of show to catch after our division. Also, don’t be creepy about me being in a bikini. It’s a swimsuit. Not a big deal. I’ll call you on any creepiness that comes my way. Tara will make sure I do. I am more than okay with folks recognizing the work. They’re muscles. My team and I built them for me to show off, but don’t make it weird. It’s a family show.