Powerhouse: Embarking on the Path to Be a Female Powerlifter

My journey to becoming a female powerlifter was not linear.

August 4, 2023. It’s a Friday evening and my husband and I are at my favorite burger restaurant with two of our friends. It’s my 31st birthday and, instead of feeling excitement for the year ahead, I’m coping with debilitating stress. I’m not sure if I’ll have a job this time next week. The fear of the uncertainty is all encompassing. So much so that I didn’t even make a birthday resolution. 

Every year on my birthday, I make a resolution to myself. I don’t do New Year’s resolutions because they never stick. The birthday resolution is something I can carry throughout the year. One year I decided I was going to read a book from every country in the world, then every state. Another year I decided I was going to pay off some debt. As of today, I’ve made a dent in the debt and I’ve read books from about 30 countries or states.

But I didn’t make a resolution for my 31st birthday because I couldn’t imagine what the coming year would be like (especially considering I was a victim of corporate Stockholm Syndrome and I had no way to plan for the future). I knew my work life would be stressful in the upcoming year, but I couldn’t even begin to guess what my 31st year would bring in other areas.

My Brain Was Dripping Out of My Ears

I took a leave of absence from work because my brain felt like it was dripping out of my ears. At least that’s how I explained it to people. During the first week of my leave, I had a flare up of my autoimmune disorder which made walking virtually impossible. My body was telling me I needed a break, and I was thankful I was giving it the time it needed. 

I had doctor’s appointments almost weekly because of the flare up, and for a psychiatric event I was enduring. My psychiatric provider was concerned about my high blood pressure and told me I needed to start taking my health more seriously. She said if I didn’t find a healthy way to manage my stress, a stroke was in my future.

Then she gave me the name of a personal trainer and told me to reach out. Now, I’m not usually one to be told what to do; however, something about this stuck in my mind and kept telling me I needed to reach out to this person.

Enter Phyllis

We met on October 12th at a coffee shop. I gave her a quick medical background (Poly Cystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS), Hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (hEDS), severe ADHD, Binge Eating Disorder) and to my surprise, she said “I can work with that.”

I was shocked. This was the first time anyone had responded to me in such a way that didn’t make me feel like a burden. When Phyllis asked about my workout history, I explained I’d been some level of athletic since middle school. Volleyball in middle school, swimming in high school, weightlifting in college. My dad taught me how to lift and we used to go to the gym together for a while, until I was able to outlift him. Phyllis’s face lit up. She tells me her passion is lifting heavy and she loves helping lady lifters-this is her bread and butter.

I left the coffee shop feeling excited, but also worried about how I was going to make this work financially. I was still on my unpaid leave of absence and my husband I and were doing what we could to get by. To my surprise, Phyllis came to me with a proposition: in exchange for my expertise in ADHD communication, she would train me for free. This was such a gift, and I was determined to make the most of it.

When we started our program, I told Phyllis I needed a goal to work toward but running a 5k or something was not going to cut it. I needed something that didn’t sound like a special kind of torture. This was the first time we talked about powerlifting. Powerlifting is a series of three lifts; squat, deadlift, and bench press. The goal is to lift the most your weight class. Pretty simple in concept, but the technical skill requires body awareness, attention to detail, and intricate form.

I decided this was what I wanted to do. I wanted to be a powerlifter. A lady who lifts. A female powerlifter. Most importantly, I wanted to be strong. I promptly started powerlifting training.

No Other Word for It

By December 21, 2023, I’d been back at work for about 6 weeks. I had created a new routine and was doing better at managing my stress. One day at the gym, I was minding my own business. I was in the middle of my workout and someone tapped me on my shoulder. I expected him to ask me how much longer I’d be using a machine, but to my surprise, he said “I just want you to know, I’m so proud of you.”

I’d never met this person or seen them at the gym. I was part of a group of regulars, this guy was not. The other three regulars were at the machine behind me and I heard them audibly gasp. I looked at them in the mirrors and their expression looks like an old cartoon, eyes popping out of their skulls in disbelief. I was stunned. I didn’t know how to reply. I looked this stranger up and down, put my headphones back on, and continued with my set. I was enraged. There’s no other word for it. 

As someone with PCOS, I have a lot of fat on my body. It often seems that nothing I do works to remove it. I’ve tried everything. Powerlifting changed something in my mindset. I had a moment of vulnerability where I realized my determination to be strong came from my desire to justify the space I occupy in the world.

Taking Up Space

As a fat person, I’ve always been made to feel guilty for taking up space. The goal was always to blend in. I never wanted to stand out. The stranger that came up to me in the gym that night put a spotlight on my body shape.

By saying he was proud of me, it implied that I was doing something worthy of outward validation. I wasn’t at the gym for anyone but myself. Who was this man to comment on my existence in this space? I’m not here to be his inspiration. I’m not going to take feedback from a man that I don’t know and that I didn’t ask for.

I finished my workout and texted my husband to tell him we were going to get dinner and drinks so I could talk about this. This was a big step because I NEVER ate in public. I always felt like I was being watched because of my body and I didn’t want to subject myself to that. But on this night, I was making an exception. We had dinner, I was able to decompress, and by the time we got home, I was in a better space. 

Here Comes a Set Back

December 24, 2023. I went to my dad’s house to learn how to make lefse, a holiday delicacy in Norwegian homes. I felt horribly sick. My stomach hurt and I had the worst gas of my life. I could hardly keep water and crackers down. I was miserable. A few days later I had the beginning of a rash on my arms. I decided to just keep an eye on it because it was just a couple dots, they didn’t hurt, and they weren’t raised.

Just a few days after the appearance of the rash, my husband and I went to Bozeman for our friend’s wedding, and we were so excited to share this special day with them. However, I had horrible gas. I mean horrible. I had to frequently excuse myself to try and relieve the pain and pressure.

We joked that we were a couple of degenerates hanging out by the dumpster, clearly up to no good. But I hung in there and we tried to make the best of a terrible situation because this was such an important event. Meanwhile, the rash was starting to spread further up my arms.

What’s Plan B?

By January 6, 2024, I could hardly get out of bed. If I did leave the bed, it was to go to the bathroom. My rash had become beyond painful. It was now covering both arms and even the soft sleeves of my jacket were too much to bear.

Finally, while we were out running errands for the week, I told my husband I needed to go to Urgent Care. I’d had this gut ache and everything that went with for almost two weeks, and now this rash was making me really nervous. I thought it might be shingles or something along those lines. I needed some answers.

The Urgent Care doctor told me my symptoms were likely a complication caused by another flare up of hEDS. Having hEDS means having a laundry list of additional conditions, specifically Mast Cell Activation Syndrome (MCAS). The rash on my arms looks like a textbook MCAS rash. I was given a list of medications to try to calm the rash. 

January 23, 2024. It’s time for my appointment with my doctor. I’ve had to call out of work because I can’t spend the entire day in the bathroom. Nothing is making this stomach bug better. For the past two weeks, I’ve eaten fermented foods, for what feels like every meal. The Asian restaurant next to my husband’s office knows to include extra kimchi in our order because I had eaten so much of it. 

My primary care doctor is concerned. She said this is something that should be resolved. She orders several tests, gross ones. If these tests don’t show anything, we have to go to plan B. What’s plan B? No one knows.

Give it Some Time

A couple of days later I saw the words “You have a new message from your provider in MyChart.” The results are in. The message read, “Keri, you have a food-borne bacterial infection called Campylobacter. I’m sending a prescription for a blast dose of antibiotics. You’ll be on these for 14 days and then we’ll have to retest. This is something that should have worked itself out but because of your hEDS, the bacteria just decided to hang on. The rash is part of this. Your body is working really hard to try and eradicate this but nothing is working. Check back in two weeks.” 

Next comes the email from the county health department. They need to know where this bacteria came from. After looking in my calendar, talking with my husband, and thinking about times when we ate different things, I determined the bacteria came from the dinner we shared after my incident with the guy at the gym.

From that dinner, I got a horrific case of a food-borne illness in the same family as Salmonella. All because some dickhead decided he needed to tell me he was proud of me. At this point, I had been unable to lift or go to the gym for almost two weeks and was hoping it would only be another two weeks before I could get back at it. I was ready to feel better. 

Two weeks come and go. I go to my follow-up and tell my doctor I’m feeling a little better (but really I’m still pretty miserable). She says that’s not uncommon when bacteria like this live in your body for this long and I should give it some time. She wants to wait to run more tests until the antibiotics have really had a chance to work.

I’m Clearly an Overachiever

It’s now the end of February. I’m still not feeling better, and I’m also out of PTO at work. So I’m basically working part time, in the office long enough to request more time off. I’m exhausted, sick, and miserable.

I redo the tests and as of February 20, the bacteria count is so low that it’s basically gone. I’ve had this bacteria living in my body for 61 days. A quick Google search tells me the longest recorded case of anyone with this illness is 41 days. I’m clearly an overachiever, I know this, but now ’m considering myself a world record holder. 

By the time the middle of March rolls around I’ve been struggling to make it to the gym consistently. I’ve changed memberships, too, for a more specialized facility. Everyone is kind and mostly keeps to themselves. I’m not able to do my usual routine because every time I try to lift heavy, I worry I’m going to crap my pants.

Yet, I set a goal to compete in a powerlifting meet in October. But I know if I can’t get my body healthy, I will struggle to be at a place where I can be successful at the meet.

The Nasal Surgery

The next six weeks are filled with more doctor appointments, lifting restrictions (where I wasn’t allowed to lift as much weight as before), and a major nasal surgery. I’ve been going to dance classes to keep myself active and keep my body moving, but it’s no substitute for the heavy weights I’m craving.

My nasal surgery was extremely hard on my body. It wasn’t originally a reconstruction surgery but it turned into that very quickly. My husband decided to stay home the day after my surgery but he was going to work from home. I was hurt that he didn’t take time off to help me but I couldn’t bring myself to tell him because he’d taken up so much of the household tasks since I first got sick in December.

For the first time in my adult life, I was fully dependent on another person. Losing that independence over the last 5 to 6 months caused a real crisis in my world. I felt like a failure as a wife because I’d spent all this time in bed, recovering.

When my husband and I got together, he didn’t sign up to be a caretaker, yet there we were. The guilt and shame I felt because of this lived silently in my body. When I would bring it up to him, he would try to reassure me that everything was okay and he didn’t mind taking care of me and our house. I tried to believe him, but I knew it wasn’t the truth. 

By June, I was on a full lifting restriction because of my surgery. Suddenly, my hair started falling out in clumps, my skin dried out all over my body, especially my face, and I felt like my brain and body had a full disconnect. I would later find out from my doctor, that this was a result of my body being in a constant state of stress for a prolonged period.

Your body isn’t meant to be under physical stress for 6+ months. As a result, mine decided to send me into a perimenopause state in order to preserve the essential functions of my body. Believe it or not, this caused a bigger issue in my marriage than my husband becoming a caretaker. 

Our First Massive Fight

On July 4, my husband and I had our first massive fight. Our relationship was built on a foundation of communication. Many times I’d said to him, “I can’t fix something if you don’t tell me something is wrong.” On this day, during the fight, I realized we hadn’t been communicating in a very long time, and it felt like our marriage was falling apart. I was so upset with him that I left the house, the tension was too unbearable.

When I came back, we continued to talk and it turned out that he had been keeping a list for nearly 7 months of all the things I was doing that upset him, but he didn’t want to mention since I was so sick and he felt like it wouldn’t be helpful. I was devastated. My husband had good intentions but felt that he couldn’t talk to me about things that bothered him. At the same time, I wasn’t telling him when I was upset about something.

We agreed to start talking again and work through our problems. Although the rest of the month was like walking on eggshells, we made it though. My husband sought psychiatric help to manage his anxiety and our relationship has healed quite a bit. Soon after I was also able to start lifting again. I found a powerlifting coach who is bad-ass, and I’m finally starting to feel good again.

 My 32nd Birthday

August 4, 2024. It’s my 32nd birthday. I’m in Missoula with my husband and we’re getting ready to see a concert with my oldest friend and her husband. I’ve reflected a lot on the past transformative year, and I’ve established my resolutions for the year ahead.

I’m proud I survived 31. It was the hardest year of my life. I survived a food-borne illness and had my medical records studied. I didn’t give up on my powerlifting goals. The goals had to change, but I was able to adapt. Most importantly, I learned I can survive, thrive, and I’m resilient. Sometimes you don’t have any other options but to bounce back from the pitfalls. 

So for 32, I want to remember that I am That Bitch™ and I can say and do hard things. I want to prioritize my lifting goals so I can compete in 2025. And most importantly, I want to make 32 better than 31. 

The Only Way Through It, Is Through It

As I write this, three months into 32, things are still hard. I’ve had another lifting setback after tearing my calf, work is still stressful, and my heart is broken after losing my beloved dog Dottie. Even with all of this, I’m still in a better head space than I was this time last year. I’m thankful for everything 31 threw my way because I experienced profound personal growth that I wouldn’t have otherwise.

I started this journey to be strong. I know I’m physically stronger, even after all the setbacks. Muscles all over my body are becoming more defined and my body composition has changed. I’m healthier overall. 

What I didn’t expect was the changes to my mental strength. I developed a sense of discipline I never had before. I’ve always struggled with motivation. ADHD makes it hard to force yourself to do things you don’t want to do. If it doesn’t give me dopamine, I’m not about it. But lifting created a routine. I’ve had to change that routine a few times, and sometimes my autoimmune disorder doesn’t like to cooperate, but I’ve learned to give myself grace and embrace the process.

My 31st year taught me that I am resilient. I had to be. I couldn’t give up. My mantra for the year was ‘The only way through it, is through it’; and boy, did I go through it. 

The Female Powerlifter Phenomenon

Female powerlifting has been on the rise recently, with women setting incredible records and gaining recognition in the sport. For instance, Sonita Muluh recently broke the world squat record with an astonishing 285.5 kilograms at the 2023 IPF World Championships.

Participation is also growing steadily—women made up nearly 28% of competitors in USA Powerlifting meets from 2012 to 2016, showing that more women are stepping onto the platform and proving their strength. It’s an exciting time for female powerlifters, with athletes pushing limits and inspiring others to join the sport.

Want to become a female powerlifter or just interested in knowing more? Check out the website usapowerlifting.com or peruse the USA Powerlifting Rulebook to get acquainted with the sport.