I'm not a competitor or am I?

I've always been what some would call a tomboy. When I was 8-11years old, I'd walk around the house, nerf football in hand, convinced I'd be the first women to get drafted to play in the NFL. I'd practice spirals in the backyard, throwing them to my brother. In my mind back then, I was a competitor, an athlete.

A few years older, I realized my body type meant I could be a "natural" at running. The long lean frame, legs for days. When I placed first in my age group at 12, in a 5K I ran with my dad, I felt like a competitor, an athlete.

A few years after that, I began playing in sports in middle school. Basketball, volleyball, kickball. All things that I hoped would allow me to get better, because I started them so young. I was convinced if I learned some of the sports when I was in my pre-teens that by high school, I'd be starting on varsity teams, unstoppable. Did it help I was one of the tallest (even compared to the guys in my class), you bet? I was an athlete now, a competitor.

Cut to high school, when my lanky, and sometimes clumsy frame became a detriment. When much bigger girls with more power pushed me aside, and I began riding the bench. I no longer felt like an athlete, or a competitor, even as I walked the halls, letter jacket covering my shoulders.

I gave up on being a competitor. I decided I wanted to be a spectator, PR on my cheering, podium as a fangirl of my friends. This past weekend, I attended a CrossFit competition where 10 of my friends from our box worked their asses off. For some it was their first competition, and their drive, their passion for just wanting to do their best inspired me. Maybe I wanted to be a competitor again.

When I started CrossFit I knew how hard it was. I knew how much I would be challenged. But I never realized it would light the fire in me to again want to consider myself an athlete, a competitor. Even if I am last, even if I am struggling to breathe, even if I watch kids 20 years younger than me run circles around me. They are the same ones who don't let me quit.

Last year, I fell apart, on Open workout 14.5. Thrusters are one of my worst lifts. Pair that with burpees over bar and I became a mental wreck. A workout that took the top "athletes" less than 20 minutes took me 45. Every emotion in me screamed in anger, 'you aren't any damn athlete, Jess. You aren't a damn competitor, what the hell are you doing even trying?'

Yet it was my friends, the people who cheer me on in the gym, the ones who have become close for reasons other than shared workouts, that reminded me I WAS an athlete, I AM a competitor, and to keep on chipping away at what hurt. Just one more rep, one more push, one more jump.

I make no claims to being the fastest, the strongest or the most adaptable to a challenge, but I AM A COMPETITOR, I AM AN ATHLETE.