Am I a contender for World’s Strongest Woman?

Taking on a strength challenge (when I’m not strong)

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

‘Shall we do a fitness challenge?’ my colleague asked.

‘No,’ I said.

‘Go on! It’ll be fun.’

‘It won’t.’ I knew this because my colleague’s idea of fitness and my idea of fitness are two very different things. While I love cardio—spending most of my time running and on a spin bike—she prefers lifting heavy weights in the gym.

A fitness challenge to her would involve strength of some sort and not gentle exercises either, but challenging ones like those on World’s Strongest Man and Woman.

‘I don’t do strength training,’ I told her, hoping that would be the end of it.

‘You can do the running,’ she said. ‘We’ll run between exercises, and you can do that.’

At the mention of running, I became interested. Running is my happy place. I’ve spent most of my adult life running. When I’m pounding the pavements, I feel comfortable and calm, my body familiar with the rhythm. Sometimes, with a good wind behind me, I can pick up quite a pace.

‘I’ll do the running,’ I said. ‘But no lifting.’

My colleague smiled.

‘Absolutely no weights for me,’ I said, just to reinforce the point.

The fitness challenge was for Helplines Awareness Day, which raises awareness of all the helpline charities out there doing amazing work to support people in need. It was obviously for a worthwhile cause, and it would be good to challenge myself. Much to my surprise, I even started to look forward to it. The weightlifters would do their thing, and I would do mine. It would be fun.

Unfortunately, the fitness instructors organising the challenge didn’t get the memo about my lack of strength, or perhaps they did and ignored it. Being fit and strong, young and male, they designed a fitness test that even the contenders on World Strongest Man and Woman would have dreaded.

It was a circuit involving running, jumping, rowing, skiing, dumbbell thrusting, kettlebell swinging, and wall ball throwing. Oh, and finishing with deadlifting our own body weight. Just doing the running wasn’t even an option. I’d been put in a team and would have to take part in every exercise.

Recently, giving my advancing years, I’ve noticed a deterioration in my strength. On the way into my gym for spinning class, I’ve struggled to open the door. Never mind deadlifting my own body weight.

‘You’ll be fine,’ my colleague reassured me.

On the morning of the challenge, I drove from Yorkshire to Liverpool, where it was taking place, trying to convince myself that the nervousness I was experiencing was actually excitement. ‘It’s the same feeling,’ someone once told me. But no matter how much I tried to jolly myself along, I remained terrified at the prospect of doing such a physical challenge.

I hoped someone would take pity on me and say I didn’t need to bother. I could cheer from the sidelines. When that offer never came, I decided to be direct. ‘Just so you know,’ I told one of the instructors. ‘I don’t do any strength work. I do Pilates.’

He stared at me for a long time, his eyes wide, mouth slightly open—like you’d expect someone to look at an alien who’d just dropped in from Mars.

‘Once a week on a Wednesday,’ I added. ‘I have a strong core, but not much else.’

He gave a flicker of a smile before jogging off in search of some smaller weights. Given it was a professional body building gym, he struggled to find anything suitable. He plonked the lightest weight he could find in front of me. When I tried to lift it, I almost dislocated my shoulder.

‘I’ll do what I can,’ I said.

He nodded, then wrote all the exercises on a chalkboard—just in case we forgot what we were supposed to be doing and also to make sure we didn’t cheat by missing any of them out (as though I’d do that!).

• 300m run

• Ski

• Row

• Wall balls

• 300m run

• Dumbbell thrusters

• Synchro down ups

• Kettle bell swing

• 300m run

• Deadlifts—90kg or 60kg

• 300m run

I read through it quickly and, when I did that, it didn’t seem difficult—easy, almost.

‘Maybe I can do this,’ I thought as I took my place on the start line.

The others were jostling into position, ready to sprint out of the blocks and get ahead. I was ready for a cup of tea and a sit down, but the second we were underway, my competitive spirit returned with a passion.

I didn’t want to come last and be the weakest link. I wanted to be first across the line. Never mind taking it easy. Never mind my advancing years and lack of training, I was going for it.

I excelled on the run, did well on the rowing, didn’t have a clue on the strange ski machine, lacked any strength for the wall ball throwing, coped with the kettlebell swinging and laughed my way through the dumbbell thrusting. Thankfully, each exercise was followed by a 300m run and each time, I went for it, catching up where I’d fallen behind and really enjoying myself.

Until seven years ago, running was a huge part of my life. I competed across most distances from 3k to half marathon, but then I’d hung up my racing trainers and not done much since. This was a reminder about how much I loved to race. I’ve always loved pushing my body to its limit, seeing how fast or how far I can go and then celebrating afterwards, usually with a cuppa and cake.

I hadn’t realised how much I missed racing. Really missed it. ‘Could I get back to it?’ I wondered as I sprinted up the hill. ‘Or was it too late?’

I completed the challenge with a big smile on my face. It was hard. My legs were burning and my body shaking, but I was proud of myself for having a go. I was without doubt the weakest link on all the exercises, except the running. That one was mine.

Afterwards, there was no warm down, no stretching and not even a cup of tea. I got in the car and drove straight back to Yorkshire on an endorphin high. Even the next day, while my colleague was a little stiff and sore, I felt amazing. ‘I’ve obviously adapted well to the training,’ I thought.

Then at four o’clock, I stood up from my desk to go downstairs to make a tea, and my body refused to move. Every part from my head to my toes, and even my wrists, had seized up. The pain and stiffness were on another level. Then came the cravings. I was so hungry I found myself in the kitchen at ten to midnight stuffing my face with flapjack and fruit pastilles.

‘Your body’s not used to the muscle tear and repair cycle,’ my colleague explained. ‘You’ll be okay in a few days.’

It took a fortnight. For 14 long days, I was a shadow of the woman I used to be. Each time I stood up or climbed the stairs, I would groan like a ninety-year-old in need of a knee replacement. My energy was gone. When I went for a walk, I was almost blown away on the breeze. And the tiredness. I have never been as tired.

If this is what strength training involved, it wasn’t for me. I lack the desire, the power and the fast-twitch muscle fibres. But the running, maybe I could make a comeback at that…

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