I got an IT band injury while training a little over two weeks ago.

It may have seemed random at the time, but my body had been firing warning signals for well over a month: fatigue, stress, poor training performance on deadlifts – everything I had been ignoring cascaded into a painful pop while finishing up my last warm up. All things considered, it was pretty remarkable that it took 10 months of programmed powerlifting training for me to finally injure my right knee, the same joint that had gone through two reconstructive surgeries between 2017 and 2019. These were surgeries that resulted from me ignoring warning signs during competitive soccer for years, finally coalescing into a destroyed MCL, meniscus and ACL (aka the terrible triad) and effectively capping any possible athletic progression in soccer or rock climbing, sports that I still love. My athletic background, physical therapy, and supportive husband eventually led me to start powerlifting as a relatively older athlete, so getting injured was always inevitable. Despite this first semi-serious injury, I can still train and compete in less than a month, and I’m physically and financially able to access training facilities, powerlifting equipment, and health care centers as needed.

Yet, as oftentimes with any injury, logic and reality don’t always prevent depression from sinking in.

Depression only lasted briefly because I readily admitted it as an issue 2 days after the initial injury. I have a medical history of depression, and years of therapy have helped me develop a personal protocol for when it hits – the first step being acknowledging that it’s happening to begin with. To deny depression would be turning away from the underlying  issue driving it, just like denying an open wound needs cleaning and bandaging could lead to an infection or sepsis.

Once I admitted this reality to myself and others, it allowed me the opportunity to reflect more honestly about the situation and without judgement: Why was I depressed? Why had I ignored my body firing warning signals for a month? Why did I feel so ashamed, angry, frustrated? Why was I training as hard as I was if the end result was less than what I had hoped for?

The answer hit me after completing my first post-injury secondary top set and seeing a fellow athlete and friend cheer me on.

I had gotten hurt because I’d become obsessed with qualifying for nationals at my upcoming meet, and I had forgotten why I started powerlifting to begin with. I’d been so preoccupied chasing numbers instead of focusing on what my body needed until it gave out in protest, and I’d inadvertently wrapped my own self worth in lifting numbers high enough to put me in the top 5% of powerlifters less than a year of actually doing the sport. I was ashamed at the numbers I was lifting, frustrated at the new jolts of pain, and angry that I was suddenly scared and couldn’t push myself hard anymore. Most notably, powerlifting training had quietly shifted from the joy of progress to a myopic end goal of being ‘the best’, no matter what toll it took on my body or psyche.

It took seeing a friend happily cheering me on to realize how dumb I’d been for a month, and how lucky I was to actually get injured at this moment.

Getting injured forced me to slow down and reevaluate not only my own reasons for powerlifting, but to see if there were any adjustments needed to set up and tech for squat, bench or deadlift, and then to implement and practice those changes. (Spoiler: they all needed adjustments.) Injury also provided an opportunity to self-reflect and revisit why I chose powerlifting 9 months ago, and why I continue choosing the sport instead of walking away. I have a life outside of the sport, so why keep going?

It’s simple really: I powerlifting because it brings me immense joy, and it’s an incredible privilege to be able to do so.

Powerlifting is a relatively niche sport that can be out of reach for many. Whether it’s physical capabilities (eg can you do a body weight squat without pain or impingement?), availability of equipment and/or training facilities, or even financial means to afford equipment and coaches, powerlifting can have a high barrier of entry for most people. Even for current powerlifting athletes, overtraining, programing issues or pure bad luck can result in injuries that may not heal as fast due to lack of healthcare resources or a lack of proficient clinicians who know how to diagnose and treat such injuries.

I cannot emphasize enough how incredibly privileged and lucky I am to be physically capable of performing squats, benches and deadlifts properly; to have access and be able to afford training facilities, coaches, and lifting equipment; to have access to an amazing wealth of information and feedback on training, tech, and performance through my coaches, husband, friends, and the internet; to know enough about medicine and the healthcare field where I can navigate and access services if needed; to be married to the most loving, supportive, and knowledgeable man in this world who also happens to be an excellent physical therapist; and to be able to train around people physically, mentally, emotionally, and psychologically stronger than me in the powerlifting community, people that I have the privilege of calling friends.

Powerlifting is a choice, and I choose to do it because I’m lucky enough to be able to enjoy the process and find joy in growing with other athletes I respect and admire. Everything else – qualifying totals, world records, numbers – is just extra. The fact that I’m knocking on the door of a qualifying total for nationals less than a year into powerlifting (eg I only learned how to low bar squat in July of last year, and I only learned how to bench in April 2023) with a compromised right knee and left ankle is, for all sakes and purposes, kind of ridiculous.

Injuries are never easy, and they certainly shouldn’t be ignored. I got lucky with my most recent one, and I certainly won’t ignore the lessons this episode provided. Resetting to my core values lifted a huge weight off of my chest, and I’m excited to compete instead of dreading the possibility of not getting a qualifying total. I’m looking forward to how much more I grow instead of focusing on how my numbers compare with others.

Most importantly: this recent injury showed me the importance of being around people who understand and support you, especially when you’re not feeling the greatest. Getting messages and being asked in person from friends and family about how I was doing did wonders for my mental health, and I still get rather emotional thinking about how caring everyone has been. While powerlifting is technically an individual sport, I’d argue it’s truly a collective sport where you’re only as good as the people and environment around you. In my case, I’m truly surrounded by some of the best out there including my husband, friends and family.

This injury has allowed me to rehab my relationship with powerlifting, and I’m grateful I still get to keep growing with everyone – heavy circles and all.

(See you all out there on the platform in a few weeks!)