I looked back at the blog and am rather impressed with myself on how many posts I made a in 2025. I didn’t post at all in 2024 which now makes me question what the hecks I was doing in 2024. I must have been super content or super pissed off. It’s a crap shoot which one that made it so I didn’t even bother to tell the world. And here we are (you’re never supposed to start a sentence with And, I’m rebellious that way), 2026. I’ve labeled 2026 as the year of harsh truths. Here we go.

But first, a recap of 2025. 2025 was the year of weightlifting. Literally. USA Masters Weightlifting, Inc. was going to be involved in the big 4 Master’s meets of the year. Nationals in Boise, ID; Pan Americans in Baton Rouge, LA; IMWA Masters World Championships in Las Vegas, NV; and the Howard Cohen American Masters in Louisville, KY. I realized the bulk of my travel would be weightlifting meets other than a few trips down to Texas to squeeze the tank of a grandson as much as I could and a trip to celebrate the HotHunkyHub’s 50^th birthday.

In general, I love to travel. I’m a fairly decent traveler as long as I can overpack. I am an excellent overpacker. When I went to Vegas for two weeks, I overpacked my standard amount of stuff and then brought another suitcase full of kitchen crap so I could cook as much as possible in my room. In addition to being an excellent overpacker, I am now qualified in being able to crockpot full, delicious, meals in hotel rooms. Yeah me. Anyways.

The fact that 2025 travel revolved so much around weightlifting was a bit daunting for me. See, I’m not really a weightlifter. I didn’t grow up with this stuff. Some of the rules are stupid. Some of the people are stupid. Any weigh-in I need to work before 9 a.m. is stupid. Being in a weightlifting venue, sitting on my arse, from 6:30 a.m. to 8:00 p.m. is stupid. I’m supposed to be on vacation and I generally don’t work very hard on vacation. Add in the fact that I needed to walk miles throughout the day at these meets on two very bad knees was very stupid. Pain makes me less fun. Immense amount of pain makes me crabby enough that tempers can run short in an atmosphere that requires patience. I also wanted to ensure that my mood/energy didn’t rub off wrong on someone else who was going through their own stuff or competing and was working hard themselves to stay pleasant.

There were perks, as there tends to be. I was able to spend weeks and weeks of time with most of my favorite people. I just woke up and there were my friends that usually require a phone or Teams call to connect with. I got to eat fun food that is far off my daily ground beef or chicken and jasmine rice. I rely on the PollyPocket to find fun food and she never disappoints. I met more people from around the globe and have adopted the most amazing family from Puerto Rico who epitomize the word, “family.” Liza and Julio show up each day; work hard; smile (mostly, they’re not robots); parent their two amazing (and strong) children; kick total ass; and look great doing it. I’ve even vowed to head down to Puerto Rico the next time Masters Pan Am’s are scheduled there and withstand the heat that I hate, just to see their beautiful Island and spend some time with them at a weightlifting meet. Spending time with new friends along friends of old is the greatest perk of this weightlifting thing. The hugs, the sometimes tears, the laughter, the espresso martini’s, the sugar, the exhaustion. All of it. I wouldn’t change a thing, except for better knees. Which brings us to harsh truth number one for 2026.

New knees. I haven’t been able to put together a strong enough training block to compete since the 2022 Worlds debacle. Sure, I’ve played a bit at a few Highland Games but I wasn’t able to “Just be Juli” on a consistent basis and that pisses me off. However, I was able to train and that has seen me through more than one pissy moment. Until now. Actually, until the last 5 months or so. Each time I get my squats back up around 100kg, I blow out a bakers cyst in the back of my left knee. For the record, the left knee is my “good” knee. Which means now I’m limping around on my right knee and if you remember correctly, that is my “bad knee.” I do that until the soft tissue damage is healed up on the left and I can go back to limping around on that knee. Since I was blowing out the back of the good knee often enough this past fall, I decided that maybe I shouldn’t be doing that.

Also, I can not extend off the floor because of my left knee. I can block pull like a mothertrucker but floor work is out. For the first time in at least 20 years, I can’t train like I’m used to. I do work and I’ve joined a gym so that I can get on the machines as pain allows and be grateful that there is a lot of work that I can do. But I’m not squatting. I’m not pulling off of the floor. I’m not “just being juli” and it annoys me. So I need to fix it.

Number one harsh truth subpoints: I like my legs. Like, I really like my legs. God granted me a good set. My biological mother had cankles. I was that close but I guess it skipped multiple generations so my daughters and granddaughters can give it up to the Big guy for that. I haven’t liked that a portion of my legs have been so painful that I can’t train but thankfully I can do enough so that they look decent. Not as great as those 10×10 squat days but still okay. Now I’m losing that. No, it is not the end of the world but it is a truth that I still needed (okay, need) to address and be honest about.

Number two subpoint, I’m afraid of the pain. Yup. The pain in my knee wakes me up now. It prevents me from doing what I want to do. At the moment, I can’t find a position to ease the sharp jolts without putting my leg in a position that produces a deep ache. How much worse will post op pain be? It’s concerning. Matt continues to remind me that the post op pain is temporary (glory is eternal. IFYKYK.) Nevertheless, the harsh truth subpoint is that I’m afraid of the pain. Boohoo. The pain of surgery, the pain of recovery, the pain of “getting back.” I’ll do it, but it’s going to hurt.

Truth subpoint, I am blessed. I have resources; the best support crew a girl could ask for; a husband who picks me up off the figurative floor when necessary; family who are not only awesome but super useful too; and a God that has given me all. Aren’t I the lucky one?

Harsh truth number 2. I get to do it again later this year. Yes, some do both knees together but my surgeon doesn’t and he is the right surgeon for me. Harsh truth subpoint number one for harsh truth number two (are you still following?) What if that one is worse? Or better? Or has different complications? OR? OR? OR? Psalm 56:3, When I am afraid, I put my trust in you. On the sunset of the day, God has all of my harsh truths. I’m sure some of them get an eye roll here or there (one question I asked was if I could keep my nails pretty. Sure, it’s low on the totem pole of necessity but it’s importance to me was worthy of asking.) Heh. And at the end of the day, all of the uncertainty that I am labeling as harsh truths, is just that: uncertainty. I can, and at times probably do, let my head roll with all of the “what if’s” or I can, and in all times most definitely do, prepare as best as possible and trust God with the information and environment and people that He has given me.

There is only one way to happiness, and that is to cease worrying about things which are beyond the power of our will. Epictetus