Recap Of My 1st Powerlifting Meet

I am a very competitive person, by nature. It doesn’t matter if I’m playing Mario Kart (best game ever, by the way) or competing in a sport, I love winning. Since I competed in the Mr. Southern Indiana a little over 4 years ago, I haven’t really officially competed in anything (there have been plenty of game nights with friends though that typically end in a competitive heat with chairs being tossed, fists flying, you know, basic stuff).

 

 

Since I have pretty much only been lifting heavy things since I graduated from college, and I knew that I definitely would not be competing in bodybuilding again (I love to dirty bulk WAY too much), I decided a few months ago to throw my hat in the ring for the American Powerlifting Federation (APF) Patriot Games. I chose to only compete in the deadlift, because…well, deadlifts are freaking awesome and I don’t have the relative bench and squat strength (yet) to compete in a full-on meet.

I also wanted something to focus my training and knowing that my strength would be on full display lit that fire within me.

 

To put it bluntly;

It was an AMAZING experience.

 

I mean, c’mon, my friends and I got McDonald’s the morning of the meet, how legit is that? There was no need for meal timing, sodium loading/depletion, manipulating my water, or being tan, it was glorious. In fact, I went in with a BA farmer’s tan that you could see from a solid 3 miles out.

 

The meet was held in Buellton, California.

Yeah I know, I didn’t know exactly where that was either until the night before when I Google Mapped it. Little did I know, Buellton is world-famous for it’s split-pea soup.

Seriously, everywhere you went in that town, there was a billboard for split-pea soup. I’m pretty sure there was actually a trace amount in the water.

 

 

I rolled down there with a few friends of mine, which made the weekend special, because it would not have been nearly as fun without them.

One of my friends actually asked me on the drive back,

“Can you imagine spending the past 24 hours in Buellton by yourself??”

 

No…no I cannot.

What’s the point of farting if there is no one around to laugh?

 

The morning of the meet at the Motel 6 I got prepped blasting my hardcore Disturbed and Korn music, along with a few songs that didn’t quite fit the powerlifting mold, including my all-time favorite prep song, Whip My Hair, and a new addition, Lip Gloss, by Lil Mama. Sick beat.

 

Considering this was my first meet, I was excited to see how a meet was run and get a feel for the atmosphere. We got there a little before 8am for the weigh-in, where I checked in at 192 pounds before I took down the aforementioned McDonald’s. I typically weigh a little over 200 pounds, but the weight class jumped from 198 to 220, so I wanted to come in right at the top of the 198 class. I obviously overshot that a bit, but losing weight for me takes approximately zero effort, so I wasn’t that surprised.

 

Being at the meet reminded me of my high school track meets. A lot of downtime and waiting! This was exaggerated because I was only competing in the deadlift, which was the last event. But again, I was with my friends, plus we met some really awesome people. The majority of the competitors were quite a bit older than us, but they were all so willing to help and share stories and jokes. It was cool being around a group of like-minded people who only cared about lifting maximum weight. At times I forgot I was in a competition, as there was so much laughter and friendship-making.

Let’s just say that when someone introduces themselves and offers you beef jerky, you don’t let that person go.

One comment that kept coming up,

“You don’t look like a deadlifter. You’re tall.”

“Yeah, I’m going to surprise some people today.”

There was no judging or showmanship, just a mutual respect amongst everyone who had the courage to compete. We were all there for the same purpose, and being in a somewhat-isolated town, I felt very little stress. I surprised myself, but I didn’t really think about anything else that day except the deadlift. Nothing about work or what needed to get done when I got home. It felt nice.

When the bench press was finishing up, I put on my singlet and wore my Mr. Southern Indiana posing trunks underneath for good luck.

Actually, it was mainly because Jess said, “You cannot wear nothing underneath that” when I tried it on at home.

 

 

One of my friends, who is a fellow trainer, put me through a dynamic warmup and foam rolling session, which attracted quite a bit of attention. It was like that scene in Jurassic Park where the scientists are watching the baby raptor getting ready to be born out of the egg. It was a mix of intrigue and confusion.

“What in the world is that guy doing?”

“Does he know something we don’t?”

“That doesn’t look like a squat, bench, OR deadlift!”

 

I did a few singles with 315, 365, and 405 to get my CNS ready to take on loads it had not yet experienced. Heading into the meet, my personal record was 500. I had done this twice, once at the end of my senior year of college and then last summer. There was no way I was leaving Buellton without a PR. In fact, I was flipping through the record books they had on-site and saw that the national record for the raw deadlift in the 90kg weight class was 550. I decided 555 had to be my last lift. Go big or go home.

My first lift with 468 came up like a breeze.

It got the nerves out and gave me mad confidence to hit a PR with 519, which I did shortly thereafter. Not to mention, hearing one of my friends shout,

 

“ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?”

 

before the lift just sealed the deal.

 

The lift was by no means a breeze, but I had to go for 555, or I would have regretted it. A chance to set a national record? Please.

When I went to pick the sucker up though, it barely budged, which shocked me. I had never encountered a deadlift that didn’t pop off the ground. Suffice to say, I didn’t get it, which disappointed me. I really wanted that record.

I was happy I set a PR and would more than likely win my weight class, but the competitor in me wasn’t satisfied.

The chairman of the APF, Scot Mendelson, is one big mofo. The biggest powerlifter I have ever seen. He is also the strongest bench presser on Earth, having benched 715…in a t-shirt. I can only imagine the responses he gets when a bro asks, “So, whaddya bench?”

He doesn’t have to inflate ANYTHING.

I say all of this because he was giving out tips all day to the guys who squatted and benched. He hadn’t said anything to me specifically, but one of my friends pushed me to go talk to him afterward to see if he had any advice for me. I’m glad he did.

 

Me: Hey Scot, do you have any tips for my lift?

Scot: Get your grip wider. But bro, you’re cock strong as a mothereffer!

Me: Ahhh…..

Scot: Bro, where do you live?

Me: Los Angeles

Scot: BRO, you have to come train at my gym!

Me: You have a gym in LA?

Scot: Yeah bro, Sherman Oaks…we have a team that trains Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday nights…you need to come…I’ll turn you into….I don’t know what I will turn you into, but it’s going to be crazy!

Me: Passed out on floor

 

That conversation definitely cheered me up and left my missed lift in the past. Getting complimented by one of the strongest dudes to ever live was sahweeetttt!!

After talking to Scot and getting a taste for powerlifting competition, my focus is now amped to seriously reaching my absolute strength potential. And that means training around people far stronger than myself. It’s safe to say that I am going to be taking advantage of the opportunity to train under the tutelage of Scot and his band of powerlifting champion trainers at Next Level Training. I haven’t been this fired up to train like an animal since college.

I ended up winning my weight class and getting a sweet trophy plate. The shirt I am wearing is modeled after the shirt Arnold wore after he won the Olympia in “Pumping Iron”. My brother-in-law and his wife made it for me for my bachelor party 3 years ago and it was perfect for an occasion like this. I love it.

 

 

We hit up the world-famous Pea Soup Andersen’s after the meet and dirty bulked like bosses. I started coming down from the 2 caffeine pills I took and the tiredness started to set in at dessert. That changed however, when we got in the car and I tuned it in to Buellton radio and Kesha’s, “We Are Who We Are”, was playing. I hadn’t heard this song in a few years and we maxed out the Ford 500’s sound system and sang along at the top of our lungs. I was wired the rest of the trip home.

 

What an awesome weekend. It’s tough to capture how special it was to me just writing a brief recap, but it’s a weekend I will never forget. I got to spend time with people that I love, compete in a lift that I love, and win, which I, of course, love. I took the leap, experienced a new place and got exposed to a group of people I probably would have never met otherwise. It will no doubt spawn a chain of events that will help me grow as a person and a lifter.

I can’t wait to train, compete again and make my way back to Buellton for the next meet. Next time, records are going to fall.

 

Take the Leap,

Kasey, CSCS

 

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