3 AM Dreaming…Bodybuilding?

Once upon a time I actively competed in bodybuilding.

It may be how you found this blog and me in the first place. I love competing. It is more than a bit crazy, intense, out there and all in – what’s not to love?

Now I refer to myself as a bodybuilding hobbyist and help out backstage at INBF’s competitions. No more more competing, at least not for a long time. Whenever I run into people who know me from the world of bodybuilding, they usually ask me the same question.

Do you think you’re going to compete again? You just have to!


Don’t ask me why, but the idea of competing again is very compelling. BUT as much as I want to, I know it is a bad idea. At least right now. My genes are rather crappy for competing, I have health ridiculousness which I am just overcoming, and I literally don’t have the extra time or mental space required to compete.

  • It is way more complex than simply eating less and working out more.

Last night I watched my ceiling fan spin around and around in my nearly pitch black room and listened to my husband breathe as he slept and I did not.

Adult problems indeed!

Adult problems indeed!


Sleep apparently took a vacation in the Bahamas and forgot to tell me.

At 1:53 am I finally got up and did super awesome things like dusting and filing bills until I had wooed sleep back to my house.

Sleep came back from the Bahamas with the most hilarious dream ever.

I was in a bodybuilding competition and everything was going wrong.

  • We were late to the venue
  • My husband was sleeping in the hotel room instead of watching me compete
  • I didn’t have bikini bite to ensure the teeny, bedazzled suit didn’t disappear into places it shouldn’t
  • One of my shoes broke when I started walking in them
  • Only half of my body was tanned
  • I blanked on posing. Quarter turn….huh?!??

And the best part is still to come.

I wasn’t lean at all. Ok, to be fair I wasn’t chubby either – I was my current size in a teeny, bedazzled bikini. My weight and size is healthy for a normal, fit, non-competing woman. So I am ‘fluffy‘ in places, whatever!

Constantly living in a muscular skeleton state is for the genetically elite, which I am not. As I mentioned before, my metabolism came from the bargain basement at the Swap and Sell.

So there I was muffin topping (yes, this is officially a verb) on the stage in a beautiful cranberry, bedazzled suit.

And I couldn’t have been happier.

I wasn’t ashamed, embarrassed, or anxious. I was rocking the stage just as I was – fluffy, shoe-less, half tanned and unable to remember how do the correct poses.

I hit a ‘rear double bi‘ and a ‘most muscular’  pose, waved to the cheering crowd and ran off the stage so excited to show up just as I was for the whole world to see.

  • I gave the thin women hit fives as I ran down the backstage. I was on fire!

On Tuesday, I shared my story with 40 people whom I know quite well – my coworkers. I embraced who I was, shared vulnerable parts of my story and journey, and was myself.

It was both exhilarating and horrifying at the same time.

Most of all it was freeing.

Learning how to like who I am, bargain basement genes and all, is one of the most amazing gifts I have received so far in life.

  • When the reaction of the crowd doesn’t define who you are, life gets a whole lot better.

Are you ready to have life get a whole lot better?

**All this being said, I am still not gluing a suit on any time soon…just in case you were wondering!**

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  1. This was wonderful, and good fuel for my 35 year long love/hate relationship with bodybuilding. Also a fighter of poor genetics, bodybuilding has been my identity more than it has not. Only recently tough, as a I prepare for my first show in 13 years, could I give a frog’s fat ass what I really look like.

    Friends died this year, and yesterday I learned of another who lost a leg. Family drama, personal drama, tragedies word-wide by the zillions. No way way I’m letting my legacy on this planet be one of, “Oh, he had such good calves…” Kill me…

    • Isn’t it funny what it takes to make the shift? I know for myself the things that it takes to keep my perspective right is often embarrassing. Calves, schmalves. Did I do something with my life? Did I make a difference? Did I leave things better than when I arrived? Did I choose to lend a hand rather than self promote? A few of the many questions I often wrestle with…

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