Competing Matters: The Fastest Way to Get Out of Your Comfort Zone and Into Real Growth

If you’ve ever spent time training with me, you’ve probably caught on to something quickly—I love competing. Whether it’s a local throwdown or an in-house partner WOD, something about being on the floor, hearing your name called, or standing under a rig with a crowd watching just flips a switch in me. But here’s the truth: it’s not always fun. It’s not always hype. Sometimes it feels heavy, intimidating, and even discouraging. The days, weeks, and months leading up to a competition? They're filled with a mix of adrenaline and anxiety, excitement, and self-doubt. I ask myself questions like, “Am I really improving?” or “Why am I putting myself through this again?” But deep down, I already know the answer—I do it because I need to. Because the only way I’ve ever been able to truly measure my progress is by stepping out of my training bubble, facing the pressure, and competing.

The truth is, I compete not just to win—but to uncover. To reveal where I stand. Competitions strip away the guesswork. They expose your baseline in ways training never can. When the nerves hit, when the judges are counting your reps, and when pacing no longer feels like an option—that’s when your real fitness shows up. That’s when you find out what’s solid and what still needs work. For me, it’s often wall balls, rowing, running—those gritty movements that remind me I still have more to build. And it’s hard. Not because I don’t train hard, but because competition doesn’t lie. It shines a light on your strengths and your weaknesses, and it dares you to do something about them. But here’s the thing: I don’t compete to be perfect. I compete to grow. I compete to collect data, to confront fear, and to prove to myself that I won’t break under pressure—I’ll rise from it.

Let me be honest with you though: I’m not totally fearless yet. In fact, I still get scared or shy most of the time. Not of trying, but of not meeting my own expectations. Of coming up short. Of letting my preparation fall flat when it matters most. And yet, I still sign up. I still step onto that floor. Because I’ve learned that fear isn’t a reason to step away—it’s a reason to lean in. Every time I compete, I build mental muscle. I sharpen my focus. I come back to the gym with fire in my gut and clarity in my training. And as much as I love the game-day photos, the highlight reels, the medals, and those moments when people are surprised that a 5'5" athlete can hang—or even win—against taller, stronger, or more experienced competitors… none of that really compares to what happens internally. The way competition rewires how I approach my weaknesses. The way it forces me to respect the process and not skip phases of growth. That’s the part I love the most.

And this is what I want my athletes to see too. Competing is not reserved for the elite. It’s not just for the “fire breathers” or the Instagram-fit crowd. It’s for you. It’s for the athlete who wants to find their edge. It’s for the everyday grinder who wants to measure progress in a tangible, humbling, and powerful way. Competition doesn’t have to be scary—it can be fun. It should be exciting. It should challenge you to prepare with more intention, train with more clarity, and recover with more purpose. When you compete, you build confidence. You gather stories. You create memories that stick. And when you return to training after that competition, you don’t just go through the motions anymore—you move with purpose.

I compete because I value moments a lot. I want to be in a space where I'm given the opportunity to deliver and perform. I love the idea of getting photos and videos taken of me, winning events, and making people impressed at how my technique looks amazing and that a short guy—5'5"—could beat coaches and high-level athletes on the competition floor. It sucks to admit it but yeah, I mostly compete to force myself to really work on the areas that need improvement. Odd-object work, my engine and strength—all of it. But let me clear it out, one thing I am certain of is that I don't pressure myself to skip phases of growth. I compete and I will continue to sign up for competitions just to see if I am growing. Most of the time it is a mental game for me, and I know that if I learn how to deliver and overcome my doubts and negative voices, I'll definitely push myself forward in the leaderboard.

As a coach, I want my athletes to see that competing is FUN. It's an opportunity for growth. It is necessary. It is needed especially if the goal is to be better and smarter as we attack workouts. Again, one thing that everyone will gain from it is the confidence the next time they get back to training—plus interesting stories that make their journey fun.

Here’s the part people don’t talk about enough—what happens after the competition. Once the adrenaline wears off, the judges step away, and the event banners come down, what’s left is the lesson. Sometimes, it’s a reminder of how far you’ve come. Other times, it’s a reality check that says, “Hey, it’s time to get to work.” But both outcomes are valuable. Both move you forward. I’ve had events where I walked off the floor riding high, full of pride and momentum. I’ve also had events where I walked away frustrated; torn up by the rower, beaten by the clock, outpaced by the very movements I thought I had under control. But no matter what the leaderboard says, I always leave with something I didn’t have before: clarity.

Clarity about what I need to train, how I need to fuel, where my head was during the workout, and what I want out of this whole journey—not just as an athlete, but as a coach too. Because the truth is, I’m not just out here competing for myself. Every time I register for a comp, every time I put myself in the spotlight, it’s also for my athletes. I want them to see that I don’t ask them to do anything I’m not willing to do myself. That pushing past limits, testing your skills under pressure, and learning from failure is part of the game. Part of the lifestyle. I want them to witness firsthand that growth doesn’t just come from perfect reps or flawless performances. Growth comes from trying when it’s hard. Showing up when it’s inconvenient. Committing to discomfort again and again because you believe that on the other side of that challenge, something better is waiting for you.

And maybe that’s the bigger picture, right? Competing isn’t just about one weekend, one podium, or one benchmark PR. It’s about raising the standard for who you are and who you’re becoming—not just physically, but mentally and emotionally. That’s what keeps me coming back. It’s that hunger to refine, to keep chipping away at the version of myself I used to be. Sometimes it’s all about having the courage to register for a comp you know you won’t win—just to face the noise in your head and get better at silencing it. That itself is growth too.

Honestly, those are the moments that stick with me the most. Not just the clean lifts or the loud cheers, but the quiet ones. The ones where I’m dripping with sweat, hands on my knees, trying to breathe and reset after a brutal event. The moments where I feel doubt creep in and still choose to go for that last rep. Those are the reps that shift my identity. That’s when I stop seeing myself as someone who trains and start believing I’m someone who competes. Who commits. Who evolves.

That's what I want my athletes to keep chasing. I want them to focus on their personal growth. Their progress and evolution. Not constant hype, but consistent effort. Because if you’re waiting for confidence to magically appear before you put yourself out there, you’ll be stuck waiting forever. Confidence doesn’t show up first. Action does. You step on that floor, you face the fear, you fail or succeed, and then you walk away with something earned. That’s how confidence is built—in the doing.

And for coaches out there, Every competition teaches you how to coach better. You start to understand your athletes more deeply—not just their performance, but their mindset. You see how they panic in transitions, how pacing falls apart under pressure, how fatigue changes their movement. You see what they need not just on paper, but in the moment. That makes you a better coach. Because you’re not just programming for hypothetical people anymore—you’re building from lived experience. You’ve been under the lights, out of breath, second-guessing your plan. And when your athletes hit that same wall? You’re right there with them, with answers forged from experience, not just theory.

That’s why I document the journey. That’s why I share my losses, my fears, my lessons—not just the highlight reel. Because people need to see that growth isn’t glamorous. It’s gritty. It’s lonely sometimes. It’s internal more than external. But it’s always worth it. And if I can be even a small example of that for someone else—then the bruises, the fails, the no-reps? They’re all part of the win.

So here’s my message to anyone who’s been on the fence about competing: stop waiting to feel ready. You’ll never feel ready. And that’s kind of the point. Sign up anyway. Show up anyway. Compete not just to prove something, but to discover something. About your limits. Your effort. Your mindset. Your heart.

The leaderboard might never tell your full story—but your courage will. So, let’s keep showing up. Let’s keep testing. Let’s keep growing. And most of all—let’s keep competing to meet the best versions of ourselves on the other side.