Winning is Not The Point Anymore

On a stage in Las Vegas, inside a casino resort, I once again put on clear stripper heels, a sparkly bikini, and multiple coats of spray tan in order to flex my muscles as #138.

I couldn’t believe I was doing this again.

The road back to that stage had taken years.

I first competed during the height of the pandemic in 2020. After a series of personal losses, I entered the strange world of female bodybuilding and became deeply interested in the power of muscle, and what building it could do for the body as well as the mind. I wrote about it for The Wall Street Journal, where I was a reporter at the time. Then I wrote a book about it.

And then, life happened.

I lost that job at The Wall Street Journal, where I had been a reporter for nearly 30 years. I navigated perimenopause. Parented tweens and teens. I launched a book, a radio show and a business. I parted ways with the coach who had gotten me this far and found myself a new one. There was a kitchen fire (a real one) and a thousand and one other interruptions that I can’t even remember.

I pushed back competition dates one after another. For a while, stepping back onstage felt unlikely.

But I kept training.

At 51, I’m a professional bodybuilder. (That sentence still surprises me).

I’ve always been drawn to the process of training more than the outcome. The precision of nutrition, the steady discipline of lifting metal plates, the way muscle reshapes the body and makes you stronger and more capable. I discovered all of this in my 40s while recovering from traumas and old addictions. My life changed for the better, and I questioned why I spent so many years of my adulthood grappling with ways to make myself thinner. Muscle offered something different, something better. Capability. Swagger. Breadth.

When I first started competing, I wanted to win.

And I did–winning my pro card on my first attempt, something that earned me the opportunity to compete as a pro. But it turned out competing at the professional level was way harder than earning the title. Building a business while raising children, managing the weird symptoms of perimenopause means training feels very different at 51 than it did at 41. The body responds differently, too.

Instead of obsessively tracking every gram of protein and carbohydrate in an app, my new coach put me on a structured meal plan. It was simple. Less mental gymnastics, more consistency. We checked in every Monday. I’d send photos. He kept telling me he saw changes.

I wasn’t so sure. But I trusted him.

The first competition, in Boston, was a warm-up. I wasn’t at my best, but that wasn’t the point. The point was proving to myself that I could get back onstage.

Las Vegas was better. I didn’t place anywhere near the top, but I was happy with my showing.

These days, I don’t expect to stand in the center of the podium. I’m competing against women young enough to be my daughters, many with genetic gifts I’ll never have. That’s simply reality.

But something has shifted along the way.

Winning is no longer what keeps me coming back.

Improving does.

I love the discipline. I love sacrificing for something that matters to me and seeing what happens when you pay attention to your body instead of fighting it. I love connecting with other athletes. One competitor backstage told me she was inspired to try the sport after having read my 2020 article.

That’s when I realized the competition had stopped being about beating other people.

It became about staying in the game and lifting others along the way.

And at this stage of life, for me, that’s the biggest win there is.