Sitting at this keyboard, I take inventory of the last three days, The 2012 Emerald Cup, the outcome, and the steps taken to produce that outcome, not as an excuse for my placing, but merely as a chronology leading up to one of the worse episodes I'd had in a very long time.
Let's cut to the chase. Prior to Friday’s
weigh in, my weight ranged between 189 and 191 pounds, from an initial weight
of 214 pounds. My last meal had me weighing in at 194.6 pounds, which I was
happy about. Knowing how I dry out, my projected stage weight was 188
pounds...perfect because I'll look 198. In this sport, a lot of times it's not
so much as how much you weigh as it is how much you look like you weigh. This
takes me back to my last meal.
It was pretty much what I'd been eating most
of the year, I don't like eating strange prior to a show. Ground sirloin
patties were part of that meal. I sear both sides on a super hot grill, leaving
the middle rare. When I nuke it later for three to four minutes, it fully cooks
and is moist and tender. My first patty was perfect. My second however, was a
little rare...no, very rare. I had to nuke it for another full minute, but not
after I had already eaten half of it.
It’s a little before 7 am when I wake up. I
had gotten up several times throughout the night. I step on the scale to see
I'm 188 lbs. "Great," I say to myself, shaking my head in approval.
Di wakes up and checks me out. She knows exactly what to look for. "Let me
see your quads," she says, looking to see if my quad separation goes all
the way to my hip. "Ok, back double Bi...Wow!" Alright…Wow is
good, especially coming from Di. She gives me the thumbs up, and then
goes back to bed. I feel I'm ready.
I decide to take some electrolytes to ward
off any possible cramping. Five minutes later, I'm dumbfounded since that
churning feeling of reverse peristalsis is unmistakable. I'm not three steps
into my haste to the bathroom when vomit spews onto the carpet. "Ok...this
is a first," I tell myself. Di immediately gets up. "Donnie, are you
ok?" "Yeah, I think my body didn't take to the electrolytes too
well." Don't ask me how I came up with that lame freaking conclusion.
I head to the Meydenbauer to get air brushed,
about a block walk from the Marriott hotel, thinking my little episode in the
room was an odd fluke. I get there and as early as it was...its pandemonium.
After about ten minutes, I decide since my class is one of the last to be on
stage, I'll air brush later...good move. My walk back to the hotel was arduous
to say the least. When I get to my room, it felt like I had walked ten miles
through the Mojave Desert...then all hell breaks loose.
It's mostly a blur, but I believe it started
with the bathroom toilet, and instead of spewing...this time, I'm hurling. This
may sound a bit odd to some folks, but as a professional trainer, you can't
help but to marvel at the remarkable abilities of the transverse abdominal
muscles, even if you are literally throwing your insides out. I recall hearing
the flush of the toilet. I'm walking out the bathroom door when..."whoa,
whoa, whoa!" I rush back to the toilet, but instead of kneeling, this
time...I'm sitting. Once again, those transverse abdominal muscles are working
their magic. Hell, I'm just going with the flow at this point. The toilet
flushes again. I hear Di's voice speaking in an inaudible tongue, but I answer
anyway. Then comes the bathroom sink, which I do remember. It seemed as if
everything I'd had for the last week was hurled into that sink, and to my
surprise, nearly filling it. During that moment, the Emerald Cup seemed like it
was a million miles away and there was no way I could remotely conceive of
being on stage in mere hours and at that point, had decided not to do the show.
I collapse on the bathroom floor, and hear Di mention something about getting
Nic. I do recall thinking, "If I had gotten airbrushed, I would definitely
need a touch up."
Before long, I'm flayed on the bed with Nic
and Di watching me."How you feeling Donnie?" Nic asks.
Surprising, I was a little weak, but feeling a lot better. "I'm
good." Nic and Di decide there was no need to call 911. They had me go
through a series of poses and we all concurred I should still do the show if I
were up to it, though my weight had plummeted to 181 pounds.
As a result, I placed 7th in a tough open
light heavyweight class of over 20 competitors, at the age of 51. Next stop,
Oregon State open light Heavyweight in 11 weeks, and then to the Master's
Nationals in Pittsburg where hopefully, I earn an IFBB pro card in the 50 age
group. I'm no stranger to adversity, and life has taught me that there are
times when adversity is greatest before success. With that, I'll see you in
Portland, with a much better outcome...and cook your beef, seriously.