I'm Not Working Out to Look Good—I'm Doing It to Get Strong

Flipping the script: from how I look to what I can do

Me in my Crossfit days (2017)

Until last week, I hadn't been to the gym in five years.

The athlete me - the person who did CrossFit every morning, trained in two sports, and based my entire identity around how fit or "lean" I was - felt embarrassed to be trudging back to the gym after such an absence.

After all, I know better. I have a Master's degree in Fitness and Wellness Leadership, was a CrossFit Level 1 Trainer, and have been an athlete for 27 years.

And yet, I "let myself go" when it came to strength training.

I had good reasons. First, there was the plague known as COVID-19.

I fully intended to return to CrossFit full-time once the gym reopened in the summer of 2020, until I realized that if I wanted to avoid getting sick, I would have to work out in the parking lot (which I did a few times).

Also, after I stopped being a trainer, I could no longer afford the membership. Like so many people in the early days of COVID, I wasn't working—our business was closed, and my freelance writing sideline had dried up since there were no sporting events to report on.

It's not like I did nothing - I got in the best shape of my life in the first year of COVID.

I inline skated, teaching myself to jump and spin on the specialized rollers to stay ready for figure skating to return.

I biked, walked, and hiked the rest of the time.

And my body was the fittest (and possibly the leanest) it's ever been.

But stuff happened over the next few years:

• Our business closed, and our building was sold, so we (my mom and I) had to move out.

• We bought a house and moved from the apartment we had been in for 15 years.

• My parents' health got worse - my dad broke his hip and had a cardiac event, and my mom had to address long-standing health issues, including a potentially cancerous carcinoma.

• I lost a long-standing friendship after I refused to accept their mistreatment.

• I went from running a business to writing online and occasionally consulting.

But I kept trying to "get back" to my former athlete self.

I pushed myself to work out every day, even when I didn't feel great, to compensate for my binge eating habits. And I lived in fear of getting "out of shape".

That pressure was probably doing more harm than good.

In the summer of 2023, I got injured.

Ironically, when it happened, I was racing to the speed skating Oval to inline skate.

A car turned too early, and I did too, nearly getting sideswiped. I slid out, pinning my left leg - my jumping leg - under the bike.

"You sprained it," the ER doctor said. "Take two weeks or so off, until you don't feel sore anymore."

For those two weeks, I could barely walk. I hobbled around on crutches and consoled myself with food and Netflix.

Unsurprisingly, I gained weight - first five pounds, then more.

It turns out you can't dramatically reduce your training time, increase your calories, and still expect to maintain the same weight.

In the meantime, my leg healed too slowly. I developed bone marrow edema (BME), and two years later, I'm still not 100% better.

But I decided it was time to return to the gym - not necessarily to lose weight, but to get strong again.

This shift in thinking reminds me of something that changed my perspective completely, especially now that I’m in my 30s:

(r/GymMemes)

This wasn't always how I operated.

I came of age in the 2000s when teen magazine covers said, "You're beautiful just the way you are, but also, here's an ab workout to get ready for summer."

But I was also a figure skater, so constantly being reminded of what a skater’s body should look like was par for the course.

I certainly didn’t fit the standard - from ages 10-12, I was overweight. My costumes were made to disguise my belly, and I felt bad about myself.

Identifying food allergies at 12, after my first (forgotten) ADHD diagnosis prompted me to lose 30 pounds in 6 months.

I entered my teens slim and confident. I could suddenly wear the beautiful skating dresses the other girls wore, and my skating improved. I started winning competitions.

I got my first workout plan at 14. The trainer gave me an ultimatum: I could look like an athlete or a model.

He was telling me to get ready to have muscles.

I went from being a "marshmallow", as one of my skating coaches called me, to a powerhouse.

Speed skating for cross-training and biking up to 10 miles a day helped.

But I was still focused on my appearance. I attended fitness classes for fun, chasing the elusive "six-pack" I was told I could achieve if I worked harder.

I got pretty close (a four pack, at least), but it was never good enough.

I think all athletes have some degree of body dysmorphia—after a while, our impressions of our bodies get so warped that we're not sure what we look like. Looking back at myself in my teens and even at specific points in my 20s, I think I looked amazing. Then, I thought I was fat and could improve if I trained a little harder.

By the time I entered my 20s, though, I was struggling. I was still training, but had stopped competing at 18. I gained weight, then lost it, then gained it again.

I discovered CrossFit in 2016, at an all-time high weight. My first thought was "no way" —I had read about CrossFit online, how intense the participants were, and how they even had not one, but two (unofficial) mascots named after sickness and serious injury.

But the newly-opened "box" (as I was told the gym was called) was approachable, and the then-manager was friendly and laid-back, unlike the CrossFit bro I had expected to encounter. I took advantage of their free first-month promotion and became the first non-management employee at the facility.

I liked the manager who was also the head trainer; while he was fit, he wasn't intimidating and always took part in small talk during our warmups.

I liked the format: We all gathered in a circle and discussed the workout, and the head trainer asked us a "question of the day,” presumably to build camaraderie.

Then, we had a lengthy warm-up (which often felt like a workout) before moving on to the main workout.

I liked that they were different every day - my ADHD brain hated routine - and also liked that the accountability of a group forced me to do things I wouldn't otherwise do on my own, like run 1 mile TO START a complete workout.

Best of all, I liked that there wasn't an emphasis on what we looked like. As with all boxes, our gym didn't have mirrors. I was happy with that, especially at the beginning - I didn't want to see anything jiggling, or have to see myself struggling through a workout.

Flash forward a year, and I was one of those people who won't stop talking about CrossFit. It had revolutionized my body.

Before CrossFit, I couldn’t hang from monkey bars for three seconds—a year later, I was climbing ropes and working towards unassisted pullups.

Yet, in the back of my mind, my ego was driving me. I went to CrossFit every day (besides my afternoon and evening training) because I believed it worked. I felt strong, mainly because I felt superior. I knew my body could do things most people couldn't, and I was determined to sculpt it into something I could be proud of.

I earned my CrossFit certification in 2017, a little over a year after I came to the gym unfit and unhappy.

CrossFit got me into the best shape of my life, but it wasn't sustainable. As mentioned above, many factors led me to walk away, but most of all, I didn't like the cliques and interpersonal dramas. Becoming a trainer had unwittingly put me in the crossfire, and I was done.

So I took off for five years. And I realized that my life-long focus on training for form rather than function wasn't helping - it was hurting me.

I have always compared myself to others, but my comparisons increased when I got involved in CrossFit. Watching fit friends on Instagram just made it worse. If they were doing the same workouts I was, why did they have a popping six pack, and I never could?

This pressure often, ironically, led me to binge eat to push down the feelings of inadequacy.

Somewhere in the last year, as I entered my 35th year, I realized that I was done trying to compare myself to others. I needed to start embracing who I was now, even as I wanted to change it.

And I needed to stop focusing on what my body looked like and instead on what it felt like.

Once I did that, I realized it didn't feel good.

I'm overweight, my knee still hasn't healed, and I'm ready for a change.

When I went to the gym, the owner asked me my goal.

Years ago, I would have said, "I want to lose weight first." It's true, after all. But that's not my primary goal—not anymore.

So I said, "I want to get strong". And I meant it.

We need to get strong to get healthy.

So here are the rules I'm living by to focus on getting stronger and healthier rather than looking better:

I'm focusing on cleaning up my diet. Over the last few years, I've been eating too many sweets and carbs. I needed to eliminate and/or reduce them to start feeling better. That will give me more energy, too.

I got a trainer. I could easily create a plan (that’s what I went to school for), but having that accountability is necessary.

I work out when I feel best and when there are fewer fellow gym-goers. Lately, that's been at night.

I check in with how I feel rather than looking in the mirror. Since I started weight lifting again, I feel better able to do daily tasks, like carrying heavy boxes and taking out the garbage bins. I'm focusing on the tangible feelings of increased strength rather than looking in the mirror.

I pay attention to gradual progress. My first workout (which was pretty easy by CrossFit standards) left me sore for two days. But the next time I went, I didn't feel as bad, even with the same weights and exercises.

I'll celebrate small wins. When I show up at the gym, I'll recognize that. When I stay under my calorie goal, I'll notice it. I'm not taking my good habits for granted anymore.

The best part of this? Working out for strength instead of appearance makes me feel free.

I'm not trying to model myself after others—I'm trying to be the best version of myself. Instead of trying to get abs like the friend on Instagram, I can focus on getting stronger and making my body as fit as possible.

I'm also not trying to "go back" to who I was. I realize my body probably won't look the same now at 35 as it did when I was 19 or 29, and that's okay—all I can do is my best, with the tools I have.

So instead of focusing on what you want your body to look like, try focusing on what you want your body to do.

It can be as little as wanting to walk without knee pain and as big as doing an Ironman triathlon.

Take out a sheet of paper and list the goals. Then, determine what you need to do to achieve them.

For example, my big goal is to be able to jump again. To do that, I'll need to:

✔️Lose weight (refining my diet, exercising daily, getting enough sleep, tracking my meals). I don't have a "goal weight" —when I feel good and my body is performing well, that's where I'll settle.

✔️Strengthen the muscles around my knee for greater stabilization. This requires movements like squats, deadlifts, and core work.

✔️Be responsible. I can’t go overboard or I’ll reinjure myself. So I’m focusing on listening to my body and not letting my ego take the wheel.

Ask yourself what your big goals are, then get granular. We can't start working towards what we want unless we know WHAT we want.

Most importantly, be kind to yourself. Any change takes time, and all you can do is your best in the moment.

That's what I'm doing—and for the first time in years, I'm genuinely excited about what my body can become. 💪