Well, it's time for the meet. My training has been a little bumpy, but I feel good to go. We had some light lifts this week, but the biggest obstacle will be actually getting to Reno. As of tomorrow morning, I have to drive 3 hours to Green Bay and make a 7:30 flight to Chicago and then catch a flight straight to Reno. There's been some rumors of bad weather in Dallas, TX, where many people will be flying in to, so hopefully everything goes smoothly for them. The meet is supposed to be web-cast live on Sunday (also the day I lift) so feel free to tune in and hopefully it'll be a good show.
Dear faithful Readers,
Since I'm so astonished the Daily Northwestern actually published it, here is the article in question and my subsequent Letter to the Editor. (Note: I did not create that really lame title.)
People meeting me for the first time, after remarking on my extraordinary beauty, frequently wonder why, out of all the possible sports in the world, I chose weightlifting. I really have no answer, so I usually pretend I didn't hear the question and quickly change the subject before the person realizes I devote most of my life to a sport that, for the most part, sucks. There are some advantages like, for example, fantastic bone density and fluency in kilos. Actually, those are all of the advantages.
The truth is that I do weightlifting because it's the only sport I can do. Team sports are obviously out since no one would want me on any team. So are combat sports like wrestling and fencing because I'm too much of a wimp. And I've never really liked the mindset of sports that have descending aims--swimming and cycling, for example--because there's an ultimate limit on the possible distance of your goals. That same concept rules out sports like gymnastics and figureskating, which have actually set ceilings on how well you can do. The only sports left are track's field events like throwing and jumping. It just so happens that I'm really not good at jumping or throwing, so I got stuck with the only option still open, which is lifting stuff.
I have to admit that it was a good arranged marriage; I've grown quite fond of the sport over the years. The best explanation of those warm fuzzies I get when I pick up the bar is that it's wonderful to be debt-free for a little while. It's exhausting to walk around trying to be worthy of everything's that been done for me. Just right now, for example, I'm in debt to Ashley for this blog, Freddie Mercury for the music I'm listening to, and Al Gore for the internet, not to mention my darling parents for the genes that made me so amazingly good-looking and...okay, basically everything. Anyway, my point at the end of all of this rambling is that for the couple seconds of the lift, there's nothing anyone can really do to help me, which means there's nothing I really owe anyone. Once I drop the bar, I go back to being in debt to Gichael Mattone for spending sleepless nights worrying about me and to the Wall Street Journal for providing such excellent reading material between sets.
So there you have it, folks--a couple of long-winded paragraphs that don't really answer any questions. I suppose the sport is like how people describe parenthood: frustrating and inconvenient and exhausting but remarkably rewarding, and I can't remember who I was before I began.
Winsomely yours,
Natalie
Because Catch-22 Should Really Be Required Reading for Everyone:
"Soon the only people attending were those who never asked questions, and the sessions were discontinued altogether, since Clevinger, the corporal and Colonel Korn agreed that it was neither possible nor necessary to educate people who never questioned anything."
(from Joseph Heller's Catch-22)
Dear faithful Readers,
As you may have noticed, I only have two workouts left before I leave for Collegiates. You're probably asking yourself right now, "What are Natalie's goals for this meet?" unless your name is Gichael Mattone because then you really wouldn't care. (Confidential to GM: please get some sleep.) Well, young reading grasshoppers, I have exactly two (2) goals for this meet:
01. Weigh more than 66 kilos. I've been threatened with grave punishment (which may or may not include having to listen to Gichael Mattone tell a story about his college years) if I don't achieve this one. In fact, Rambo is under strict orders not to coach me if I weigh under 65. Gichael enjoys positive reinforcement.
02. Catch my flight coming home. My session starts at 4:00, and the plane leaves at 7:50. You may begin placing bets.
I have no purpose for this entry except procrastination. I'm in the middle of trying to dissect a German news podcast. Apparently some German police officers were having a nice vacation in Libya when they decided it would be a great idea to share some combat tips with some charming chaps on the Libyan security forces. I'm still trying to figure out why anyone would go on vacation in Libya. Wasn't that the first clue something was up? On the bright side, I'm learning lots of useful words. For example, some teacher was "erstochen" the other day by her neighbor's boyfriend. Leave it to the Germans to have a special word just for "stabbed to death."
In other news, the Daily Northwestern is supposedly going to publish the Letter to the Editor I submitted today. I don't know how I'll deal with the fame.
Winsomely yours,
Natalie
Another Grammar Tip for Dana, Who Enjoys Them So Much:
You lie down and go to sleep.......you lay SOMETHING down on the table.
You lay down yesterday........you laid SOMETHING down yesterday.
You have lain down.......you have laid SOMETHING down.
Intransitive verb........transitive verb.
Cannot have direct object.......must have direct object.
Dear faithful Readers,
Spring quarter has begun (much to your dismay, I know) even though "spring" in the meteorological sense has yet to arrive or even hint at an eventual appearance.
I am now eight (8) days out from Collegiates, which Gichael Mattone has decided he will not be attending. Apparently I've trashed him so much in this blog that he fears "retribution from [my] fans in Reno" should his real identity be discovered. Rambo, who so far enjoys a neutral reputation here, has agreed to be seen with me in public. I learned yesterday that Rambo has ridden in an elevator with J. Edgar Hoover. If he survived that, I'm very confident that he can count attempts.
How are my classes? Thank you for asking. I'm learning much more about soccer in my German Current Events class than I ever wanted to know; evidently the European Cup is the only interesting thing happening in Austria this year.
Now I'm off to more important, productive activities. Like nap taking.
Winsomely yours,
Natalie
Some lovely Conrad:
"'His very existence was improbable, inexplicable, and altogether bewildering. He was an insoluble problem. It was inconceivable how he had existed, how he had succeeded in getting so far, how he had managed to remain--why he did not instantly disappear.'"
(from Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness)
After a couple weeks of more reps and strength building exercises, the focus has shifted to refining technique and doing more singles with the snatch and clean and jerk. We get up to about 90%+ in both lifts twice week. The weights are feeling pretty good, but my technique is a little off, so I am working on trying to straighten that out. It seems winter is on its way out. A lot of the snow melted and its probably only about 30 degrees now. One can even see the dead grass on the ground now. This week we are gifted with a special guest star at NMU. I'll give some clues as to the identity of this mysterious person: Long, blond hair, blue eyes and has a hurt arm (recovering from surgery). If clues didn't scream the identity to you, then Click Here It's Steve Jarvis! For those of you who don't know Steve, he is a 105 kg lifter who is a resident at the Olympic Training Center in Colorado Springs. Steve decided to spend his spring break up here in the remote city of Marquette, Michigan. Part of the reason (besides the excellent company) is that he is originally from Wisconsin and it's not very far from his house. Well Collegiate Nationals is fast approaching and there's only a week left of heavy lifting to prepare for it.
Dear faithful Readers,
I write to you from the Athlete's Center (I'll never figure out who that one athlete is) at the Olympic Training Center on a computer that's creatively named "Cyber 30." I have survived a very snowy Easter and, so far, two nights sleeping in the same room as a Miss Cheryl Ann Haworth. I'd also like to note that we're staying on the third floor in Building 87, which is quite possibly the farthest point away from the weight room on complex. Cheryl reminds me of this fact several times a day.
Bragging Point #1: I just came back from an Art Garfunkel concert. He's still awesome. And he still has his fro.
Bragging Point #2: I can make a mean bag of ice. The creation of ice bags is one of the few activities I really excel at, so I like to mention it as much as possible.
My connection at the USAW office gave me new lifting shoes that are two sizes too big (I forgive her; she's Canadian), but I finally have shoes that a robot with my foot length might wear.
In news actually related to the subject of this blog, we're two weeks out from Collegiates! On a sadder note, that means only two more weeks of updates about my extremely exciting life and my remarkable ice bag making talent.
Winsomely yours,
Natalie
Everyone loves Kundera:
"Ugliness: the poetic capriciousness of coincidence. In the case of a beautiful person, the play of coincidence happened to select an average of all the dimensions. Beauty: the unpoetic average. Beauty, more than ugliness, reveals the nonindividuality, the impersonality of a face."
(from Milan Kundera's Immortality)
Dear faithful Readers,
I have survived finals, during which I tried to remember why on earth I decided to attend a school with a quarter system. No good reasons are coming to me.
I learned this past week that the hamstrings (confidential to Gichael Mattone: they're what we normal people call "hammies") are actually very important in lifting. You can't really do anything, except maybe wrist curls, with only one functioning hamstring. Who knew?
Gichael Mattone has foolishly agreed to let me be in charge of the music for next year's Nationals/PanAms. Gichael Mattone (quite seriously) suggested "YMCA," so all attendees may thank me next year for my excellent musical taste. On that note, if you aren't human don't like Dave Matthews, you might want to skip this meet. I've managed to book Hilary Katzenmeier to sing the National Anthem and am considering organizing a Pan American Open Mic Night to promote continental peace and harmony. Pun intended.
In breaking news: my first cousins once-removed are still adorable.
I'm leaving Saturday to spend a wild spring break at the OTC in Colorado Springs, where it's rumored to be warmer than Chicago...three workouts a day beat naps on the beach any day. This, of course, means I have to brave O'Hare. If I don't update in a couple weeks, start praying for my soul.
Winsomely yours,
Natalie
Heller Fix for the Week:
"'You're wrong,' answered the old man. 'Prostitution gives her an opportunity to meet people. It provides fresh air and wholesome exercise, and it keeps her out of trouble.'"
(from Joseph Heller's Catch-22)
The Arnold Classic was an awesome meet. There were many unique individuals and people of all different sizes (many with muscles never previously seen in existence). My performance was not quite what I was expecting. I technically made all three of my snatches, but only one counted because of the "press out" rule. For those of you not quite familiar with Olympic Style weightlifting, both the snatch and jerk portions of the lifts must be completed in a single continuous movement. Therefore, even if a lifter makes the lift, is able to stand up and control the weight as they drop it, they may receive a no lift because their elbow bent or their shoulders relaxed (although the judges are supposed to differentiate between the two). And due to this lack of consistency, many of the spectators and athletes are often times confused as to what made a lift invalid. The meet was otherwise very fun and helped to show me what I need to work on to perform better at Reno. I did get to see Gichael Mattone, but I won't compromise his identity by giving out any more details. Here are a couple pictures of the Expo at the Arnold.
Continue reading "Post-Meet" »
Dear faithful Readers,
For those of you who may be glancing at this entry as you search for blogs about other sports (eating, for example), I have compiled a list of popular but incorrect myths about weightlifting. Yes, you're right, nothing exciting happened to me this week.
01. Weightlifters are ninjas.
False
Contrary to the beliefs of basically everyone I know and most of those whom I don't, a clean&jerk isn't the same as a left hook. I don't even know what a left hook is, although I'm sure it has something to do with the hand that makes the "L" shape. Weightlifting is not: boxing, karate, judo, taekwondo, jujutsu, or any form of martial arts I've omitted. Just because I can snatch your bodyweight doesn't mean I can beat you up or even have any inclination to do so. Yes, most weightlifters are terrifically well-rounded athletes who can probably outjump and outrun you, but the feigned fear of our supposed similarities to Bruce Lee was old fifteen stupid jokes ago. Of course, I can't really threaten you effectively unless you're an IWF-certified 15-kilo barbell, preferably Eleiko Werksan.
02. Weightlifting is synonymous with wrestling.
False
I'm always astonished by the frequency of this one. They don't even start with the same sound. Okay, they're the only two sports in the Olympics that begin with "w," but I don't see anyone confusing triathlon with table tennis. Both sports have weight classes, are very old, and usually compete indoors; but the similarities really stop there.
03. Weightlifting is simply the best sport in the Olympics.
False
It's also better than all non-Olympic sports (sorry, eating fans).
04. Weightlifters are snobs.
False
Okay, nevermind, that's true. But for good reason.
05. Weightlifting = benching
False
No.
06. Weightlifting and powerlifting are really just the same thing.
False
Psh. Powerlifting isn't even in the Olympics. We incorporate squats and deadlifts into our training to improve our actually athletic movements that take much more than grunts and brute strength. Also, powerlifters bench.
07. Weightlifters resemble their brothers in sport, body-builders.
False
It's true that weightlifters tend to be much better looking than athletes in other sports and that weightlifters can have very impressive muscular structures, but weightlifters' bodies are built to be functional, not cool to look at. In conclusion: just because we're beautiful doesn't mean that's what we set out to be. It's an enjoyable by-product.
08. All weightlifters are on steroids.
False
Only the ones who beat Americans.
It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood for once, so I'm off to the Lake to play frisbee.
Winsomely yours,
Natalie
Passage of the Week from the book I just finished:
"Some woman writes about how she's started a prayer chain for me. A spiritual pyramid scheme. As if you can gang up on God. Bully Him around. The fine line between praying and nagging."
(from Chuck Palahnuik's Choke)
Dear faithful Readers,
As some of you have deduced, the answer to Tuesday's riddle was a coffin. I also would have accepted an urn. Props to Ashley for emailing me the answer .24 seconds after I posted the entry. (Exciting Note: Did you know that "props" in that context is short for "proper respects"? Did you know that it first appeared as slang c.1999?) No props to Gichael Mattone, who admitted that he gave up and googled it, the cheater. Italians.
Some gentlemen on the second floor of my dorm indignantly informed me that the riddle was entirely misleading since some people actually do choose their coffins before they die. I find this practice very prescient. If you're going to spend an eternity in one place, you'd better be sure it's comfortable, the right size, that it has a nice view. People don't buy cars without a test drive first, and then they're only stuck with their choice for about fifteen years. The Egyptians really got it right.
In some exciting news, Rich Schutz (Confidential to my inferior nonlifting Readers: Rich Schutz was a two-time Olympian and gazillion-time National Champ back in the day) visited the gym this morning. He said I "looked good today," (!!!) which could be a reference to my lifting or to my very well-made ponytail.
In other news, it's still cold and snowy here.
To my Lieblingskusine: have an excellent birthday tomorrow.
Winsomely yours,
Natalie
Speaking of death, here's your Inspiration of the Week:
"'We always imagine eternity as something beyond our conception, something vast, vast! But why must it be vast? Instead of all that, what if it's one little room, like a bath house in the country, black and grimy and spiders in every corner, and that's all eternity is? I sometimes fancy it like that.'"
(from Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment)
Dear faithful Readers,
So as not to break tradition (and we all love tradition, don't we, Benito?), this entry will have nothing to do with my training. I realize this blog is a mutual medium of procrastination, not an actually useful source of information about my progress in weightlifting.
As many of you have already heard, I have secured a room at Northwestern's University Christian Ministry for this summer and next school year. "But why, Natalie? Why there?" you are asking if you haven't already done so. "Because it is cheap." I answer. "And convenient and clean." "But Natalie, do they know anything about you?" you will ask next. Which offends me slightly because I am charming and quiet--what more do they need to know? The Reverend Julie herself approved me, so hah. The worst they can do if they discover my secret heathenness is kick me out, which will, if nothing else, make for a very entertaining blog entry. (Note: heathenness is actually a word. And here I thought I was being clever again.)
I'm afraid I have to cut this entry short and go learn everything there is to know about conversational implicatures before my linguistics final this week. But yes, it is really National Grammar Day, not just any ordinary Tuesday. Celebrate and rejoice.
Winsomely yours,
Natalie
Riddle of the Week
The person who makes it sells it. The person who buys it never uses it. The person who uses it never knows he's using it. Qu'est-ce que c'est?
Dear faithful Readers,
If you didn't know because you aren't obsessed with all things weightlifting (shame on you), this weekend is the Nationals in Ohio. Our very own blogger Colin Ito lifts at 2:00 on Sunday. "How can I spend my weekend devoting myself to weightlifting even though I'm not in Ohio?" you're no doubt asking yourself right now. Well, eager Readers, you can go watch the the live webcast! You don't even have to register with your real name and email, which will be potentially exciting for those of you who are big enough losers to take the time to create a sufficiently ridiculous pseudonym. (Mine was "Gregory McKitchmufflestein," so don't steal it.) "But Natalie, how do I know what time my heroes are lifting?" you might be asking. Which is a silly question because it implies that you might be doing other things this weekend besides watching the Greatest Sport on Earth. But for those of you who have lives (then why are you reading my blog?), here's the the schedule. I'm getting so good at html.
And if you didn't know because you aren't obsessed with all things Gichael Mattone (perfectly understandable), today is his 11th birthday. To celebrate, he decided to make me wake up at 6:30 (in the morning!) and train at 8:00 so that he could spend the rest of the day at the World's Largest Indoor Waterpark. I'm glad he has priorities.
Winsomely yours,
Natalie
Actually Inspirational Inspiration of the Week (in honor of Nationals):
“But should a man carry out impossible orders knowing what they lead to? Even though they come from Golz, who is the party as well as the army? Yes. He should carry them out because it is only in the performing of them that they can prove impossible. How do you know they are impossible until you have tried them? If everyone said orders were impossible to carry out when they were received where would you be? Where would we all be if you just said, ‘Impossible,’ when orders came?”
(Hemingway, For Whom the Bell Tolls)
Well, it's time for the meet. Training this week has been mostly lighter reps in the snatch and clean and jerk and with the major focus on trying to keep good movements. There's been a lot of icing going on, helping the body to recover during a lighter week. Along with the body, I've been training my mind as well. After an intense two day period of studying, I am free of academic responsibility for the next couple of weeks. Sure, some people may be bored with having that much free time from assignments and reading, but its a little different when you're an experienced video gamer. At NMU we hone our minds with intense fast-action games of combat. Our current games include Super Smash Brothers Melee, and Call of Duty 4, where physical prowess matters very little. Well, I will get into the details later because right now, we have to drive to Milwaukee.
Dear faithful Readers,
I'm certain you've been refreshing this page (confidential to Mom: don't worry about what "refresh" means; it's just computer jargon) every twenty seconds since Saturday afternoon in hopes that I'd updated. "Natalie," you might be protesting right now, "I simply can't go an entire three days without finding out what happens next in the fascinating life that is yours." To which I would reply, with an empathetic pat (or two, depending how long I've known you) on your shoulder, "This is supposed to be a bi-weekly blog because I actually have better things to do with my time than enthrall strangers with daily updates." To which you would probably reply (perhaps with a smirk, depending on how long you've known me), "First of all, all you do when you're not updating this blog is online crossword puzzles, a habit that is bordering on addiction. And secondly, 'bi-weekly' means 'every two weeks,' not 'twice a week,' you idiot." After which I would give you a condescending smile no matter how long I've known you and reply, "First of all, you're wrong; I also doodle a lot. And secondly, 'bi-weekly' can mean both--Look it up." (<--Do you like the link? It took me forever to figure out how to do that. Precious time I could have spent solving crosswords.)
Here's an exclusive inside look at a typical day at WCS Mattone Sports Performance:
I usually pull into the parking lot between 1:25 and 1:35 and start grumbling to myself because a giant mountain of ice and snow has been hogging my favorite parking spot (the one that requires the least amount of aerobic expenditure to reach the gym) since November. After parking next to Mt Kilimanjaro and hiking the extra five feet to the door, I wave hello to the former FBI agent (who has chosen the blog code name "Rambo" and will henceforth be referred to as such) and dump my bag and coat on the platform. Rambo is usually always wearing Adidas pants, a long-sleeve shirt that has something to do with weightlifting, and a black USA vest. He prefers his Adidas sandals with socks but grudgingly breaks out the boots if it's snowed the night before. He's also recently begun showing great affection for a very awful jacket with shorn sleeves which, if he reads this, I sincerely hope he discards immediately.
After greeting Rambo, I meander into Gichael Mattone's office, where he is frequently on the telephone, deep in a conversation that always seems very important, even if he's just ordering Chinese. (Note: he's probably never actually ordered Chinese from the gym. Lunch is always some weird pasta mixture eaten out of Tupperware.) Gichael usually acknowledges me with a nod of his head or a half-hearted quiver in his right pinkie that I always assume is his version of an enthusiastic salutation. I check my weight and, depending on the number, decide whether to report it to Gichael. Then I retrieve the black binder that holds my workouts and try to escape the office before Gichael can subject me to one of his "jokes" that only he finds hilarious.
Before I can even touch a bar, Benito Gichael has me do various "warm-up" exercises whose sole purpose, I'm sure, is to make me look ridiculous. Then I put on my shoes, tape my thumbs, complain to Rambo about how cold it is, and pull out the Wall Street Journal I'd stolen from another dorm at lunchtime. Then I lift stuff for a while. After my workout is another round of joyous remedial exercises, followed by ten excrutiating minutes of Gichael Mattone's stretching. At this point I try to sneak out the door while Gichael is busy making his third gallon of coffee and/or green tea for the day, but he usually catches me (those sneaky Sicilians) and forces some brown "protein" sludge down my throat. The timing of my departure is crucial because my favorite radio station has a Beatles Break at 4:35.
The best of luck to everyone going to Nationals this weekend.
Also: The best of rehab to Steven Jarvis.
Also: Nominate Gichael Mattone for assistant coach for Jr Worlds.
Also: Congratulations to my IM basketball team, which finished the regular season 0-5 and still made it to the play-offs.
Winsomely yours,
Natalie
Awesome Feminist Rant of the Week:
"'I have been looking at the marriage service in the Prayer-book, and it seems to me very humiliating that a giver-away should be required at all. According to the ceremony as there printed, my bridegroom chooses me of his own will and pleasure, but I don't choose him. Somebody gives me to him, like a she-ass or she-goat, or any other domestic animal. Bless your exalted views of woman, O Churchman!'"
(Sue Bridehead, Thomas Hardy's Jude the Obscure)
Hello, my name is Collin Ito and I have also been asked to talk about Olympic style weightlifting and my training for Collegiate Nationals. I train in Marquette, Michigan, at the United States Olympic Training Center (USOEC). Along with weightlifting, sports such as wrestling, speedskating, and boxing are a part of the training center. Marquette is located on the upper peninsula of Michigan (actually looks like it's part of Wisconsin) and sits on the edge of Lake Superior. It is a fairly rural area, but we do have several amenities, such as a Super Wal-mart, bowling alley, and Applebees. I attend Northern Michigan University and am currently a junior majoring in criminal justice.
The Dome (seen below) is where I train. It is supposedly the third largest wooden (dome?) structure in America. We have a gym with 5 platforms and a set of jerk blocks. There is a sport medicine service staffed by 3 employees who deal with over 100 athletes. On a normal training week, I train 9 times a week. However, I am just now getting ready for the Senior Nationals that will be held in Columbus, Ohio at the infamous Arnold Classic. Right now, most of the heavy lifting is done in this training phase and I am getting ready for my competition on next Sunday. 
Dear faithful Readers,
Since I'm still not sure what the purpose of this blog is, I thought I'd regale you with a description of a typical journey to the gym. Hold onto your hats. (<--that was actually an answer in a crossword puzzle I was doing yesterday instead of writing my utilitarianism paper)
I, like every other person in the world, believe in the importance of goal-setting. Before leaving for each workout I try to focus on my goal for the day, which has actually been the same one since November due to its difficulty: making it to my car without slipping on the ice, which is everywhere. Back where I come from, the great state of Georgia, ice exists for only two purposes: to cool one's drink or to come before the word "queen" to describe a particularly stoic female. Up here it's probably responsible for at least six broken arms a week just within campus limits.
After defeating the ice and making an average of twelve unfulfillable promises to God so that my car will start, I'm finally on my way. (Note: "unfulfillable" is not a word, but it should be.) (I could say something nerdy right now about the glory of morphemes, but I'll resist for your sake.) The drive from Evanston to Buffalo Grove usually takes about 35 minutes. You might be asking at this point, "But Natalie, 70 minutes of driving? Doesn't that get dull?" To which I would reply, "No, young grasshopper." The kind folks at the Illinois DOT have foreseen such a predicament and cleverly provided entertainment during the trek: potholes. I'm not talking about your typical hole in the road; these babies can get up to four feet wide and two feet deep. The police routinely have to rescue cats and small dogs that have foolishly strayed too close. To hone my pothole-dodging skills, I like to pretend I'm playing one of those driving games at a video arcade. Every time I successfully avoid a pothole, I imagine that I just drove through a large green jewel that made an annoying sound effect and gave me an extra power boost.
Tune in next week for an even more thrilling account of a typical workout.
Winsomely yours,
Natalie
Inspiration of the Week:
"To Yossarian, the idea of pennants as prizes was absurd. No money went with them, no class privileges. Like Olympic medals and tennis trophies, all they signified was that the owner had done something of no benefit to anyone more capably than everyone else."
(from Joseph Heller's Catch-22)
Dear (soon to be very) faithful Readers,
I don't wish to alarm you, but CSTV (the lovely ladies and gentlemen in charge of putting the Collegiates on TV) is in a desperate situation. So desperate, in fact, that they have asked me to write a blog (confidential to mom my technologically unsaavy Readers: "blog" is slang for "web log") about my training for the Collegiate Nationals in April. Please send your thoughts and prayers in their direction. I think they live in New York.
First, a brief introduction, which I'm sure is unnecessary because the only actual Reader is my mother. I'm nineteen. I'm in my first year at Northwestern in Evanston, IL (the setting of Mean Girls). I'm a Scorpio, so I can't be held responsible for my various personality flaws. I participate in Olympic-style weightlifting. Why is it called "Olympic-style," you ask? "Olympic" is an ancient Greek word that roughly translates to "that which only really cool people do." I train under a former FBI agent (totally not kidding) and a fascist but charming coach whose name I'll change to Gichael Mattone to protect his identity.
I'll try not to stray too off-topic since I've been informed that the "appropriate and intended manner" of my posts is "to promote CSTV's 2008 Collegiate Nationals." Obviously CSTV didn't do too much research about me beforehand. But in an effort to follow directions--you should all go to the Collegiates and give CSTV lots of money.
Winsomely yours,
Natalie
Grammar Tip of the Week:
It's less weight, fewer kilos. Less fat, fewer calories. Less money, fewer dollars. You get the picture.
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