How the Ball Bounces with Bekka: Seven Shows and Zero Chill
At some point in my adult life, I was coerced into trying competitive bodybuilding.
It started innocently enough. I wanted to lose a little weight and get myself back in shape. Then a dear friend of mine, who also happens to be a trainer and coach, flipped the script entirely and convinced me this could be my next thing.
Not just going to the gym. Not just lifting weights. Not just trying to look halfway decent in a swimsuit.
Competitive. Bodybuilding.
Bikini division, to be exact.
Because apparently, I have never encountered a perfectly reasonable hobby that I couldn’t turn into a full-blown competition.
And here’s where things really went off the rails.
I did seven shows in one year.
SEVEN.
Once I got bitten by the competition bug, I just couldn’t stop myself!
I’m pretty sure my body is still considering legal action.
Now, I know what some of you are thinking. Why?
That’s an excellent question. I’m still trying to answer that one myself. And it’s probably a question I should have asked somewhere around show number three. But I’ve always been an athlete. I’ve always loved a challenge. I’ve always wanted to find out what I was capable of doing when I really put my mind to something. And apparently, I’ve always loved pushing myself to the absolute breaking point.
Competitive bodybuilding seemed like a perfectly good way to find out exactly where that point was.
What I discovered was that there is a considerable difference between being in shape and preparing to stand on a stage while complete strangers evaluate every inch of the shape you’re in.
I had spent years playing basketball and softball, where the goal was to make your body perform. Run faster. Jump higher. Hit harder. Outwork somebody. Bodybuilding was different. You still had to work. Boy, did you have to work. But the competition wasn’t about how many points you scored, how fast you ran, or whether your team won. It was about what all that work had produced.
For someone who spent most of her athletic life measuring success by what her body could DO, that was an entirely different ballgame.
And let me tell you something. There is no amount of preparation that can mentally prepare you to take the stage in front of an auditorium full of strangers with an obviously too-dark tan and practically naked.
I mean, those competition suits! I’ve had underwear larger than the sparkly piece of glory I wore on that stage!
And it’s not just a normal walk across the stage.
Oh no!
It’s basically a prance to the center, where you present a series of poses to properly display those beautiful muscles you’ve been cultivating, followed by an equally fancy retreat. And no matter how many times you’ve practiced it, natural is not a word I would ever comfortably use to describe the experience.
Good times!
Then there was the mental side.
Because nobody tells you how strange it feels to take something as familiar as your own body and turn it into a project that is never quite finished. There’s always something to improve. Something to tighten. Something to work on. Something that might be better by the next show.
And if you’re a competitive person, that last part can become a dangerous little sentence.
Maybe I’ll do just one more.
One more show. One more goal. One more opportunity to see what happens if I push a little harder.
And suddenly your coach is looking at your calendar with seven competitions on it, wondering when exactly you lost your mind.
And honestly? I was pretty successful.
Speedy and I spent a ton of money (that we probably didn’t have, LOL), traveled to some really fun places, and won some really sweet hardware.
At the time, most of the shows I competed in gave swords as trophies to the top five finishers. And I have a trophy case full of swords to show for my hard work!
I mean…SWORDS! Right??
I learned a lot during that year.
I learned that I’m capable of more discipline than I sometimes give myself credit for. That my body can do some pretty remarkable things when I commit to a goal. And that there’s a whole world of competition out there that looks absolutely nothing like the sports I grew up playing.
I also learned that a person can apparently sustain life for an extended period of time on eight ounces of Swai or Tilapia and six stalks of asparagus five times a day. Even if your only means of warming it is by sunlight on the dashboard headed to your next check in!
Though I maybe don’t recommend it.
Most importantly, I learned that my competitive streak does not come equipped with a reliable off switch.
That last one probably shouldn’t have surprised anybody.
That season of my life was absolutely incredible and taught me so much about what I’m truly capable of. But it also came with a price. Because I pushed so hard for so long, I walked away completely exhausted.
The following year, I moved from Bikini to Figure, and my body never really made the transition. Yes, I had great form, my muscles popped, and I looked pretty good in my suit. But something about my will to continue and my body’s ability to respond started to miss the mark.
In some ways, I think my metabolism is still reeling from that experience today.
And I STILL can’t look at a Swai fish!
But here’s the part I’ve thought about more as the years have passed.
Athletes are taught to push.
One more rep. One more sprint. One more practice. One more chance to get better.
And most of the time, that mentality serves us well.
Until it doesn’t.
Because sometimes the hardest thing for a competitive person isn’t doing one more. It’s deciding you’ve done enough.
I wish I could tell you that I walked away from that experience having mastered the art of moderation. That would be a big fat lie. After all, I’m still the person who turns a trip to the grocery store into a race, who can’t play a board game without wanting to win, and who recently discovered that golf is apparently an elaborate scheme designed to humble former athletes.
But I do think that experience taught me something important. Just because you CAN push yourself farther doesn’t always mean you SHOULD. And sometimes being strong means knowing when to give yourself a break.
Of course, I probably could have learned that lesson without spending a year preparing for seven bodybuilding shows. But where’s the fun in that?
Besides, if I had stopped at one, I wouldn’t have this story to tell.
And apparently, telling stories about my athletic accomplishments is becoming something of a habit. Somebody check and make sure my picture isn’t hanging in a bodybuilding gym somewhere.
Al Bundy and I do not need any more material.
And that’s how the ball really bounces.
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I learned that I’m capable of more discipline than I sometimes give myself credit for. That my body can do some pretty remarkable things when I commit to a goal. And that there’s a whole world of competition out there that looks absolutely nothing like the sports I grew up playing.
I also learned that a person can apparently sustain life for an extended period of time on eight ounces of Swai or Tilapia and six stalks of asparagus five times a day. Even if your only means of warming it is by sunlight on the dashboard headed to your next check in!
Though I maybe don’t recommend it.
Most importantly, I learned that my competitive streak does not come equipped with a reliable off switch.
That last one probably shouldn’t have surprised anybody.
That season of my life was absolutely incredible and taught me so much about what I’m truly capable of. But it also came with a price. Because I pushed so hard for so long, I walked away completely exhausted.
The following year, I moved from Bikini to Figure, and my body never really made the transition. Yes, I had great form, my muscles popped, and I looked pretty good in my suit. But something about my will to continue and my body’s ability to respond started to miss the mark.
In some ways, I think my metabolism is still reeling from that experience today.
And I STILL can’t look at a Swai fish!
But here’s the part I’ve thought about more as the years have passed.
Athletes are taught to push.
One more rep. One more sprint. One more practice. One more chance to get better.
And most of the time, that mentality serves us well.
Until it doesn’t.
Because sometimes the hardest thing for a competitive person isn’t doing one more. It’s deciding you’ve done enough.
I wish I could tell you that I walked away from that experience having mastered the art of moderation. That would be a big fat lie. After all, I’m still the person who turns a trip to the grocery store into a race, who can’t play a board game without wanting to win, and who recently discovered that golf is apparently an elaborate scheme designed to humble former athletes.
But I do think that experience taught me something important. Just because you CAN push yourself farther doesn’t always mean you SHOULD. And sometimes being strong means knowing when to give yourself a break.
Of course, I probably could have learned that lesson without spending a year preparing for seven bodybuilding shows. But where’s the fun in that?
Besides, if I had stopped at one, I wouldn’t have this story to tell.
And apparently, telling stories about my athletic accomplishments is becoming something of a habit. Somebody check and make sure my picture isn’t hanging in a bodybuilding gym somewhere.
Al Bundy and I do not need any more material.
And that’s how the ball really bounces.
PS. Â Because nobody believes you unless you show receipts… and a special shoutout to my coach and friend Sandie Ward Kight at Fine Lines Personal Training. Â She is and always will be the best!
Read more from How the Ball Bounces with Bekka in the archives at www.mysaline.com/bounces.
About the author: Bekka Wilkerson is a lifelong lover of all things sports. Raised in a super athletic household it was no surprise when she too began to love sports at a young age. It seems like from the time she could walk she had a softball bat in her hands, but her true athletic passion came from all things Basketball. That love served her well as a Bryant High School Lady Hornet and ultimately earned her a full scholarship to play at the University of Central Arkansas – among many other adventures.
These days Bekka can be found running around Saline County with her husband, Speedy, or chasing one of her grandsons. She is also the Executive Director of The EMpact One Foundation, a Saline County Nonprofit Organization that helps young people stay connected to extracurricular activities through tuition assistance and equipment provisions.
Reach out to Bekka with questions and/or ideas about things you want to see in this column at [email protected] and learn more about The EMpact One Foundation at www.empactone.org.
