“There’s no invitation coming.”

My very dear friend and fellow lifter, code name Rampage, had chosen to deliver some crushing news to me.

“I understand. Thank you so much for telling me. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it, and I can’t tell you how much it means to me. I’m sure Matt felt terrible.”

“Yeah, he was going to call you, but he also looked a little sick about the situation. I think he ran like 50 different scenarios to verify it before he told me.” Rampage and I worked with Matt Gary and Sioux-z Hartwig Gary regularly for technique work, and Matt had done my day-of handling at Nationals.

Typically, if you win your division at Nationals you get an automatic invitation to compete on the National Team at IPF Worlds. Matt had mentioned this to me, but being a “trust but verify” kind of girl, I looked at the USAPL website to review the eligibility criteria. I remember repeatedly staring at the website in the weeks after Nationals dumbfounded with joy and disbelief. The first selection criteria is that “eligible national champions get [an] automatic invite.” I was just beside myself with happiness. After nationals I practically danced to the gym every day with extra energy, thinking that an invitation to be part of a team — a real team with a collective purpose — was on its way. Not only was I working to make myself stronger, but I was going to be able to work with other masters athletes to try to win a team medal for the U.S.

While the information on the website seemed clear and definitive, as I was about to learn it’s just not a perfect description of how the process works for Masters athletes. If you are a masters athlete, someone can age into your group after nationals and before IPFs, and, if they have a better total, you are out. This situation happens rarely.

I could imagine what Matt might have been feeling. He was the first person to see the joy on my face winning Nationals, had chosen the perfect numbers to get me there, and he got to see my subsequent doe-eyed enthusiasm at the prospect of being on the national team. Discovering that there was one 39-year-old who had competed in the open category at Nationals who had a better total in the same weight class and who in 2019 aged into the masters division . . . breaking the news to your athlete that she wasn’t going to get an invitation is a really miserable situation for a coach. These situations are no one’s fault. But when they get invested in you, coaches empathize with you. It’s painful, and they care about you. After graduating, I coached collegiate track and field for three years. I remember each of those three years feeling a little sick during Nationals selection season, hoping desperately that I would not have to tell an athlete who was on the cusp of qualifying that she just missed the cutoff to make it to the competition that year.

“Rampage, you are one of the best humans around to take this on. Thank you so much for calling.”

“Well, I figured you might actually answer if you saw my number. You probably would have ignored Matt’s call.”

Rampage and I are hard-core introverts, and we both work in data. We have known each other for about 5 years now, and we have spoken on the phone exactly twice. In this era, introverts don’t have to talk on the phone anymore. We can text. And use emojis.

I laughed. “You are absolutely right. Well, this sucks.”

“Superboy is going to be bummed.”

“Oh, man.” Rampage’s son was a huge fan of hers, mine, and Sam’s at these competitions. He was excited about attending IPF World’s in Sweden. “Well, listen, there’s an upside here. NAPF has a competition, and it’s in Costa Rica. Which is awesome.”

“Hmmmm . . . I think we can recover from this.”

“I do, too. Plan B isn’t sounding so bad.”

We hopped off the phone.

 I took a deep breath and reflected on how amazing Rampage was. Do you know that expression about not shooting the messenger? My dear friend had taken it upon herself to deliver bad news that she knew I would be really disappointed to hear. She took that responsibility because she felt like she was a better messenger and didn’t want to see one of our coaches suffer. It really was a gift. Delivering bad news is hard. It doesn’t matter if it’s your manager giving you developmental feedback at work or a family member being the first person to deliver news of a loss. That person takes on a deep, hard duty. The news will shake you, but it’s really important to recognize that person has just done you a deep service because they thought hearing this from them would be easier for you than getting the information from another source. As lousy as you feel, your messenger feels lousy too. Greet the generosity they have shown you with appreciation. Cry with them, hug them, be sad with them, and thank them. I will always be grateful to Rampage for this, because it means that I’m important enough to her to do this for me.

I was sad, but I also felt deeply cared for by both Rampage and our coach, who I knew was also disappointed.

And then I had to face my better half, who was my other coach. He heard me on the phone, which he knew was weird, and came over to stand in front of me with a quizzical look.

I took a deep breath. “We’re not going to Sweden.”

“What happened?”

I explained the unlikely situation that a woman in my weight class had just aged into the masters category with a better total, so I was out.

“Oh, Joah.” He hugged me in his big, wonderful way.

It was hard to tell him both because I knew he’d hurt for me and because he was invested in doing the programming to get me ready for this. And it was going to be our damned vacation. With our favorite people. Traveling with Rampage, Superboy, and Mr. Fantastic (Rampage’s husband) during Nationals had a been a blast, and we were planning a re-do for Sweden.

“But we might have an excuse to go back to Costa Rica.” I giggled between a couple tears.

“You know, we could head over to the Atlantic coast afterward, and if it’s the right time of year, we can help baby sea turtles get to the ocean.”

“And defend them from seagulls?” I exclaimed.

“Yes. You either carry them or help scoot them along to make sure they make it into the ocean.”

“Baby turtles!”

We hugged again.

I sighed. “I’m going to be disappointed for a while. And it’s going to be hard to tell people because somehow it feels like I failed. But I’ll bounce back in a couple days.”

“Joah, you’re still a national champion.”

Then I really cried.

This is the hard part in sports. Sometimes you lose. And sometimes it doesn’t happen in head-to-head competition. Mystique, the now-master athlete who would get the invitation, had pulled a 920-lb total at nationals, 22lbs more than I had. I could sit back and whine and pound my fists that my squat improvements alone were going to overcome that margin, so I should be going, but that’s not how organizations should be run. Organizations need to have fair, objective rules that help to pull together the best possible team to represent the U.S. I wanted to be part of that team. I wanted to represent the U.S. It’s a dream I’ve had since I was a kid — competing and earning a spot as the best representative at that point in time for my country. I never thought there would ever be a world in which that could happen.

But Mystique had earned that spot based on her performance. She was the right choice to represent the U.S. And part of being an athlete is accepting the risk that you will experience disappointment like this. That doesn’t mean not feeling it; it means feeling it, accepting it just like we accept the discomfort of maxing out, being resilient — something that has been a personal goal for me for a long time — and finding a new goal.

I could potentially set my sights on competing at NAPF to have the experience of international competition. The meet has an open tournament that individual athletes can sign up for so no worries about getting an invitation to a team. But also, I now had a new challenger for my title. Lady Grace, whom I edged out at Nationals, was continuing to train hard, and in a February meet had totaled 904lbs. My Nationals total had now been surpassed by two masters competitors. Nationals this year will be a battle. And even as my tears dried up, I could feel something hardening in my mind.

A war was coming in October. And I would be ready for it.