What I Learned Competing Against the Fittest People in the World

I stand five feet from a 225-pound barbell, listening as the countdown clock ticks toward zero.

It's only been three days since I strained my quad attempting to snatch this exact weight. After 45 minutes of failed attempts, I finally managed one successful lift and injured myself in the process.

I gave it two days of rest and then, for some reason, paid $100 to compete in the CrossFit Semifinals, knowing full and well there was absolutely no chance I would win.

For those unfamiliar with CrossFit, the sport begins with a worldwide Open where hundreds of thousands of athletes compete. The top performers advance to Quarterfinals, and from there only a small percentage move on to Semifinals. Somehow, I squeaked into one of the final qualifying spots.

For context, I do CrossFit to stay healthy. Many of the people I was competing against do CrossFit as their full-time job. Signing up for the Semifinals was like Chad from the YMCA challenging LeBron to a one-on-one game.

There were five workouts to complete between Thursday and Monday, which meant five opportunities for me to get thoroughly humbled by some of the fittest people on the planet. But as the clock counted down and the first workout began, I wasn't thinking about any of them. My attention narrowed to the barbell in front of me.

The strange thing was that I knew I was physically capable of making the lift. I had successfully snatched heavier weights before. The issue wasn't strength. It was doubt.

Ever since tweaking my quad a few days earlier, doubt had been running laps in my mind. What if the quad wasn't ready? What if I missed the lift? What if I re-injured myself? What if I didn't belong here in the first place?

As the clock hit zero, I stepped to the barbell, took a breath, and pulled.

Over the next four days, I completed the remaining workouts and finished exactly where I expected on the leaderboard, near the bottom. As I discussed my performance with a friend, I told him it was a good experience, but I wasn't anywhere close to the top guys.

He shook his head and said, "Yeah, but even being on the same leaderboard with those guys is pretty incredible."

The biggest lesson I learned from the weekend is that if you ever get a chance to be near the best, take it. A lot of people qualified for Semifinals, knew they couldn't win, and chose not to pay the $100 registration fee because of it.

For me, the $100 admission to "be in the room" was invaluable.

It reminded me that in most scenarios in life, winning isn't what truly matters. It's pushing your own limits, overcoming doubts, and reshaping the narratives you tell yourself. It reinforced that our biggest competition isn't the person on the other team, it's ourselves.

It also gave me the opportunity to prepare for something difficult. Oftentimes, the most difficult part of any competition isn't the moment itself, it's the build-up. The waiting, the self-talk, the sacrifices. If you can arrive at the moment prepared, you've already done 90% of the work.

Finally, confidence usually arrives after action. In that first workout, I successfully hit all 15 snatches at 225 pounds. After each successful lift, my confidence grew. Action provides evidence, and evidence shapes belief. Success builds confidence. Failure provides feedback.

We may never be able to beat the best in our field, but that's not who we're really competing against, is it? If you're waiting until you're the best person in the room before you walk in, you'll spend a lot of time staring from the outside.

The next time you get the chance to be in the room with the best, take it.

Fact

Researchers at Cornell found that people who intentionally seek discomfort are more motivated and experience greater personal growth than those who try to avoid uncomfortable situations.

Action

Sign up for something you're unlikely to win but likely to grow from.

Question

What room are you avoiding because you're afraid you won't be the best person in it?

Quote

“If you're the smartest person in the room, you're in the wrong room.” - Often attributed to David Ogilvy