After flipping the Pig 100 feet, I had four minutes left for the rope climbs and a 100-foot handstand walk. The ropes dangled from a mountain of steel called Zeus that spanned the width of the soccer field.
I stood on my massive red crash mat and told myself, Okay, this is it. I’m going to do this. My first climb was successful. My confidence soared. I walked away to shake out the fatigue and chalk my hands. I had purpose, but I wasn’t in a hurry. I couldn’t afford to miss. I made my way back to the rope. In my head, I was in CFNE, my home away from home. It was just me and Ben. “Go now,” I heard him say matter-of-factly.
After another successful attempt, I moved to the final rope dangling closer to the finish line. I felt a surge of pride, realizing I had already met my goal. I was already exceeding my expectations with ninety seconds left on the clock. I thought back to my training. I knew exactly how long a legless rope climb should take me under fatigue. Ready or not, I was jumping up with thirty seconds left. I was either going to make it or I wasn’t, but not trying wasn’t an option. I collected myself and watched the seconds tick down. I shook my arms and took a few deep breaths.
Then I jumped up and pulled like hell. I was laser focused at the top of Zeus. The crowd was deafening. At the far end of the field, a handful of women were racing on their hands toward the finish line. Halfway through the climb, I could no longer keep my arms flexed. I was hanging on for dear life, swinging my body for momentum and praying that my grip didn’t fail and send me into free fall. I was barely gaining ground and my forearms felt like they were full of cement.
The top of a rope is a scary place. The final pull on a legless climb forces you to take a chance. You have to release one hand in order to slap the rig and receive credit. It’s scary, and your brain will fight against you the entire time. If your grip with the hand left behind is not strong enough, gravity will take over. Of course there is a crash mat below you, but with an awkward fall from that height the best-case scenario is a rope burn and a bruised ego. You also have to fight your mind, which is trying its best to save your life. The natural tendency when your hand leaves the rope is to clench your thighs around it as a replacement. This would invalidate everything you’ve done to this point, which is as costly as it is heartbreaking.
I made the touch successfully with three seconds left. I was time capped halfway through the prescribed work. My judge, Denise Thomas, presented me with my scorecard for signing. I know her well from training in Boston. With an ear-to-ear grin I said, “Denise, I won!” There was an awkward silence as Denise looked into my eyes, shifted her gaze to the south end zone where a handful of women were celebrating, then back to me. She looked back at me quizzically, trying to assess if I was messing around or had sustained a head injury.
“Honey,” she started before pointing to the end zone. “Those girls over there, they won.”
I could hear compassion mixed heavily with her thick British accent.
“You all right?”
I ignored her and repeated myself, “Denise, I won!” I was louder this time, yelling through a smile that had a mind of its own.
“Okay,” she conceded and gave me a hug after I signed my scorecard. She must have thought I was crazy.
I had actually never been more sane. For the first time in my life, I understood why this finish was a huge win. I had performed to the best of my abilities. Results and leaderboards be damned. And I had exceeded my expectations.
I looked up from the perfectly manicured grass field to the bowl of the massive stadium. It was a beautiful day. It took a second, but I found Ben and my agent, Matt O’Keefe. They were standing above the entrance to the massive tunnel that led from the craziness of the stadium to the underbelly of the arena. I was beaming when we made eye contact. These were the people who had lifted me up. I couldn’t have accomplished any of it without them, and I wouldn’t want to.
By the time I met them in the warm-up area, my face hurt from smiling. We hugged and we celebrated. They were the only people in the world who could understand what I was feeling. They had lived it with me. In that moment, the converted parking lot felt like a little slice of heaven.
This event will forever hold a special place in my heart. It’s hard enough to take the floor for an event when you know it’s not a good event for you. In the Soccer Chipper event, both the jersey and my placement in the center lane were indications to those watching that the viewers’ attention should be focused on me. All this in an event that featured four legless rope climbs, my nemesis. In the past, it would have been a recipe for disaster. But armed with my new mental training and a reframing of priorities by Ben, I flourished. The Soccer Chipper event showed me I wasn’t just a better athlete. I felt like I had become a better person.
There had never been a focus on the destination in our training that season. Ben and I didn’t discuss winning the Games. Success like that isn’t something you can control. Instead, we put all our energy into the journey. Ben has asked how I thought a champion would train. How would they eat, sleep, and recover? Then I would do it.
This is what Ben calls “the process,” and I fell in love with it. I believe you have to. Without a love of the process, success at the highest level is impossible. Not because it’s complicated or difficult to understand; it’s the opposite of that. Ben and I identified what it takes to accomplish the small things required to succeed at the Games. We deconstructed the elements of a Games champion, then we dedicated ourselves to them. The process dictated my success. The daily discipline and practice are what had led to the moment I entered the stadium in the white leader jersey. And the concept solidified when I understood my fifteenth-place finish in the Soccer Chipper was a win for me.
In the athlete area backstage, Ben told me how proud he was.
“Well done,” he beamed. “You know what the difference was? When you turned your thoughts around like that. That’s the mental win. You were upset and you regained control.”
My biggest victory and my proudest moment is still this fifteenth-place finish in the Soccer Chipper event. I’m proud because of what it represents—a better way to measure progress—and of how it was accomplished—by the endless pursuit of improving myself. Being the best me has taught me to navigate challenges with my own personal compass. To do the best I can with the tools I have available. My compass is calibrated to my skills, abilities, and gifts—not to other people or things.
I was forced to face all my fears when I took the white leader jersey. It became the biggest win of my life, not just of the competition.
I took two more top-ten finishes that day, ending in third overall. My body was wrecked, but I was on an all-time high. I returned to the hotel in a joyful stupor. After hours of body work focused on my arms, I got some tortured sleep.
Sunday
“Help! I need help!” The words felt like they were coming from someone else, but they were mine. My voice was weak and quiet, as the words rode on my panting exhalations. My chest was heaving, and my legs were wrecked.
I had pushed my body past its limits and collapsed at the finish line. I wasn’t being dramatic. I wasn’t looking for attention. Something wasn’t right. I could feel my body shutting down. “In order to protect the host,” as my endurance coach, Chris Hinshaw, describes it, the brain will shut down less vital systems in the body and redirect blood flow and oxygen to where they are most critically needed. At that moment, my brain decided all the muscles in my body were less relevant than my heart and lungs, which were both heaving as if they were trying to exit my body.
The medical team reached me almost as soon as I dropped myself to the ground.
Oh no, I thought.
I was now seriously questioning my decision to hit the accelerator when common sense told me instead to reach for the brake as I played the event back in my head.
EVENT 11: MIDLINE MADNESS
6 rounds:
400-meter run
50-foot yoke carry (380/300 pounds)
&
nbsp; Time cap: 25 minutes
Sunday morning was the first time it occurred to me that I could win the CrossFit Games. I hadn’t even considered it a possibility prior to this. My mind was blown that I was doing so well! The other two workouts that would come in the afternoon remained a mystery.
This could be my only chance, I told myself.
I made a quick mental contract to leave absolutely nothing in the tank. I set my sights on a level of effort beyond what I had ever produced in training or competition. The dark place. The pain cave. Hurtsville. CrossFitters affectionately refer to the post-workout misery that is only attainable by the sustained, high-intensity effort of a well-programmed competition event as a “destination.” Once you have been there, it takes mental focus and determination to revisit. Like walking on fire. I had been there many times.
Midline Madness featured a running loop that took us up all four flights of tightly grouped, steep stairs on the north end of the soccer stadium, up and over the sloping hill that overlooks the field, and back down into the bowl on another set of stairs.
We were all assigned lanes based on our placement. Likewise, some people started closer to the stairs. I was in Lane 7. Just like a waterfall start in track, the distance is an illusion because it evens out when you return to the field. I knew this, but I was determined to make a move early. As soon as the buzzer sounded, I sprinted and immediately passed two women.
A bottleneck started early on the stairs, but I could see that all the women were lined bumper to bumper on the right-hand side of the staircase. A metal handrail was all that separated the left from the right and there were open segments in the railing where spectators could easily switch from side to side. I stepped into the left stairwell and put it in high gear, passing both Chyna Cho and Lindsey Valenzuela. On the final set of stairs, I passed Nicole Holcomb and joined the stronger runners on our first ascent of the berm. I take pride in my ability to take chances on the downhill and this was no exception. I passed Emily Bridgers and moved into third.
The yoke felt light and there was no issue. I knew right away this would be all about the run. On my second run, I arrived at the stairs at the same time as Margaux Alvarez and Stacie Tovar. The left side of the staircase was open again and I exploited it. At the top of the second berm run, I was officially in the lead, but Sam Briggs and Anna Tunnicliffe were quickly closing in on me.
As I started my third run, viewers at home were hearing the voice of the 2008 Games champion, Tanya Wagner, another Games commentator.
“I’m so impressed that Katrin Davidsdottir can hang in this event with Anna Tunnicliffe and Sam Briggs. This is not about who can move the yoke, it’s about who can maintain that speed on the run,” said Wagner.
It was a moment too soon.
The adrenaline was long gone now and as I arrived at the stairs, my lungs were fighting for air after being compressed by the heavy yoke. This time, I grasped at the handrail for help on my ascent. Sam successfully made a move here, jolting me out of my tunnel vision. I tied an imaginary lasso around her and willed myself to catch up. Anna and I were now shoulder to shoulder.
For the next two rounds, I kept them in my sights. Margaux Alvarez and an Australian rookie named Tia-Clair Toomey had closed in on me from behind. At the time, I didn’t realize who they were, exactly, but their constant presence in my peripheral vision would remind me to push every time I wanted to let up. I wasn’t thinking anymore. I was just competing. The top of the berm was refreshing not only because the role of gravity shifted from antagonist to assistant, but also because the slight breeze felt like I was jumping into a cold pool compared with the scorching heat on the soccer field below.
In the sixth and final round, I knew I had passed the point of no return. Even if I had stopped right then and there, I knew the waves of pain would continue to wash over me. So I decided to push even harder. It was the last conscious thought I had. My lungs felt like they had been dipped in gasoline and set on fire. My legs had either gone numb or my brain had stopped sounding the alarm bells after falling on deaf ears for so long. I kept running, trying to catch Margaux, who had moved just ahead of me. The entire summer I had competed in this very scenario with imaginary foes. Now it was real, and I had trained for this very moment.
How bad do you want to win?
I answered the question for myself with one final charge. Tia, Margaux, and I arrived at our yokes at the same time, sprinting them to the red line in the end zone. The crowd in the soccer stadium was deafening. Our time differences came down to hundredths of a second with me sandwiched between the two of them in fifth. That’s when I called for help. The leaderboard placement meant little to me. I had found another gear that previously hadn’t existed. In my mind, this was another event win.
CrossFitters affectionately refer to the anabolic hole that envelops your body after a dose of high-intensity training as “the dark place.” I had visited this place in nearly every training session. What I felt now was a deeper level of self-induced pain. I was hurt. It made me nervous. Two heavily muscled volunteers from the medical team were now wrestling me to my feet. It was a terrifying feeling, but not one I was unfamiliar with.
“Today I will do what others won’t, so tomorrow I can accomplish what others can’t.” That’s a quote by the legendary receiver Jerry Rice that Ben often recites and we try to live by. “Today I will do what others won’t” looks like pouring your soul into brutal sprint intervals up a lonely ski hill outside Boston in the heat with no one around to see. It means running so hard on every single interval that you can’t stand under your own power for fifteen minutes. It means giving so much effort in training that newbies don’t know whether to high five you or call an ambulance. Doing what others can’t looks like finding another gear when your gearbox is shattered. It looks like giving more than you think you have. More important, it looks like getting carried off the field but still having the confidence that you’ll recover before the next event and then do it again.
Ben met us at the tunnel. “She’s fine,” he told the medical staff, dismissively, as he pulled me to my feet. I draped one arm around his shoulder and the other on O’Keefe’s. “This is what she does.”
I was reaping the benefits of those self-torture sessions. I reminded myself there was nothing to hold back. It was now or never. I started to come out of the fog, and I even managed to smile and wave to the camera before the medical staff escorted me under the stadium, one under each arm. My moment of self-doubt was over. Now I had to trust in my ability to recover. I had prepared for this. I had come so far.
By the time we reached the shade of the building, I was able to walk under my own power. After some coaxing, I convinced the medical staff I was fine to join the other competitors on the north side of the tennis stadium, where Dave was about to brief the final event. I found a sliver of shade next to Kara Saunders and hid from the sun.
“The last test will have something none of you have seen at the CrossFit Games.”
Every year there is something that we haven’t touched before. Odd objects and specialty devices, like push or drag sleds. I feel like it’s one of my favorite parts of the test. You get to see what people can figure out on the fly. No one gets to touch it in advance. You have to use your brain, as well as your physical talents. It’s an opportunity to show off your athleticism and how good you are at adapting to situations.
The introduction of unknown challenges is an element that’s wholly unique from any other part of the season. In the Open, people are in their own gym with their own equipment. Before Regionals, there is time to practice the events and strategize. At the Games, we are all on equal footing and it’s up to you to see how you will react and perform on the fly. Every year there is at least one moment where I have to stop and ask myself, How am I gonna do this? And the only way to do it is by yourself. That’s awesome.
“Let’s reveal the rig,” he said ceremoniously.
The Rogue equipment team pulled back the t
arp to reveal tall plexiglass walls in each lane. They were peppered with a diamond-shaped pattern that repeated itself from bottom to top.
“What is it?” he quizzed us. “That’s right. It’s a pegboard.”
I was pissed at myself immediately. There was a pegboard at CFNE that did nothing but collect dust when I was there. I had never once even considered touching it. Now all of a sudden I found myself wishing I had spent more time in that dark corner of the gym that no one goes to. I had knots in my stomach. The other part of me was excited to see what I could handle.
“Let’s see it, Dave!” someone shouted from the crowd. The comment received laughs and cheers.
“What, me? You guys want to see me try it?” he taunted, and the crowd cheered back.
He agreed after making the crowd give him some love.
“I’m gonna guess that in fifteen seconds, this ends up on Instagram with me on my ass.”
He didn’t make it look easy, but he made it look doable. I would find out long after that that Dave was once a rock-climbing enthusiast and loves pull-ups and legless rope climbs over most other movements.
Dave finished his briefing of the final, which was composed of two, separately scored events. Each heat would stay on the floor and the events would be done back to back, with a brief reset. The event names, Pedal to the Metal 1 and Pedal to the Metal 2, told us how Dave expected them to play out. They would be fast and aggressive. The buy-in and buy-out for each was different, but both events featured calories on both the Assault Bike and the row machine in the middle.
PTM1
For time:
3 pegboard ascents
24-calorie row
16-calorie bike
8 dumbbell squat snatches (100/70 pounds)
Time cap: 6 minutes
PTM2
For time:
12 parallette handstand push-ups
24-calorie cow
16-calorie bike
8 kettlebell deadlifts (203/124 pounds)
Time cap: 7 minutes
As we walked to the warm-up area, all the women were massaging their biceps, a clear indication that they had similar concerns to mine. I was wondering how my arms could be expected to get me up a pegboard, when I could hardly even scratch my nose. All the women were having issues with their biceps. Mine were so bad that my bodyworker, Chad, was actually moving them for me to jump-start my warm-up. Every time he moved them, I wanted to throw up. We had eleven events under our belts and they had been performed in harsh conditions. The cumulative effect of a weekend that started with 100 weighted pull-ups in Murph was finally catching up. Now we knew the final hurdle that stood between us and the end of the competition.
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