Coach Jeff's PLU Nationals Meet Recap

PLU Nationals 2026: Meet Recap

To understand how I feel about Nationals, you have to go back to Pumpkin King 2025.

That was my first meet in almost a year and a half since Fight Or Quit IV. Going in, I wasn’t expecting much. The qualifying total for Nats was low. I figured it was going to be an easy SBD day, maybe push the deadlift a little. Then the attempt spreadsheet came across and I thought, “oh boy. This is an actual meet. We’re doing this.”

I had to shift fast. Drop the “fun day with my friends” mindset and go in with intent. And I did. Nine for nine. PRs in every lift, PR total. From there we rolled almost directly into the holidays, and then my grandmother passed away while we were on vacation at my mom’s house over Christmas.

Training kind of sucked for about a month after that going into prep.

Then it turned a corner. Squats started clicking. I was hitting 530 for multiple weeks in a row, faster each week. Finding a real stride in producing force out of the hole, producing better movement on a consistent weekly basis. Deadlifts were coming around too. Then about 12 weeks out, I pulled my hamstring.

We rehabbed it. A week and a half and it felt better. Not a devastating injury. But it planted a bit of doubt that didn’t leave. Doubt has a way of setting up camp and making itself comfortable, and this one did exactly that. Prep after the hamstring never felt the same. I could still hit my numbers, but bench and deadlift lost something. My right shoulder started bothering me. Elbows a bit too towards the end. Manageable. Nothing new. But it all stacked.

On the nutrition side, I had brought Monica Cahalan in after Pumpkin King. At that meet I felt heavy, sluggish, and slow, like I was carrying weight that wasn’t contributing anything. We worked our way from about 269 down to the mid 240s before starting to put it back on for Nationals. Meet day I came in at 259.5. A very undersized 275. I know I’m not competitive at that weight in that class. But the goal was always to put up the best total I was capable of on the day, regardless of what the scoreboard said.

Going into meet week, I was already running low. Cottonwood was everywhere, allergies were blowing up, and I was hammering zinc and vitamin C trying to stay ahead of it. By our coaches call Wednesday I thought I’d turned the corner. Then Thursday was travel, and by Friday I just had nothing. I had every intention of getting a pump in, but it was very hard to get motivated to go, so we opted for a walk instead. Sleeping in the Texas heat with a barely functional AC was miserable, the humidity was thick, I was bloated, and I was beat up before I’d even touched a bar.

And then there was the coaching piece.

This was my first time ever coaching and competing at the same meet on the same weekend. Doing that at a national event was probably not the wisest decision I’ve ever made. But I wanted to be there for my athletes and put forward the best performance I could. Dave, Monica, and I had a plan. The plan didn’t hold exactly as designed, and I ended up carrying more of the meet-day load than expected.

That morning I was in Latrell’s corner. Latrell is on the autism spectrum, and large unfamiliar crowds can genuinely overwhelm him. The warm up room at a national meet is loud, packed, and full of strangers. I had tried to give myself some separation to prepare for my own lifts. But when it came down to it, he needed me there. So I was there. That’s my job. He ended up having a tremendous day, PRs across the board, performing on a national platform in his fourth meet including the Special Olympics. Watching him shine on the platform that day is something I’m not going to forget.

Scott came in around 1:30. He was in the same session as me but a different flight. By then I was sitting as much as I could, eating, drinking, and trying to manage the bloat. I ended the day at 17,000 steps. Best guess is I was around 14,000 by the time I touched the platform.

I’m not saying any of that to excuse the performance. I chose those conditions. And I’d choose them again. If sacrificing some of my recovery means my athletes have the best day possible, that’s the trade.

Squats

I walked into the warm up room and Dave had the rack set. We had a good crew — Sam, Dave, Kayla and Tenaya loading plates, Joel Raymond and Team OPS member Trey were warming up with us.

First warm up, last rep hit 1.35 m/s. That’s fast for me. I looked at that number and something settled. Squats were going to be good.

We worked through the warm ups clean. Four reds was a little slow but it was just a bracing issue, nothing structural. Last warm up I hit well above a 35. We’re ready.

First attempt, 260 kg (573 lbs), went up and it was probably the best opening squat I’ve ever taken. I’m usually off a little on openers, the commands, the crowd, the lights, all of it shifts something. I get a little anxious and either bottom out or drift forward or just don’t feel like myself. This one felt exactly right from the walkout.

I racked it and Dave started to come over. Started to say something, probably to keep me loose, keep me in the moment. I cut him off. “Don’t talk. I know exactly what I need to do.” Then I walked away and immediately felt like an asshole. So I turned back around and apologized. He already knew. He’s been in that room enough times to recognize what focus looks like on someone. He let me have it.

What I didn’t appreciate until later was that Dave was doing exactly what a great coach does: he was reading me, adjusting in real time, and backing off when he saw I didn’t need what he was about to give me. That’s the kind of attentiveness that makes Dave an elite coach.

Second attempt, 272.5 kg (600 lbs). The walkout was steady, the brace was locked in, and it was the best 600 has ever felt on my back. When I came up I looked at Dave and told him I trusted him to make the call on the third. He went 282.5 kg (622 lbs) instead of 287.5 kg (633 lbs), which is the number I’d been chasing for two years.

I wanted 633. But the logic was sound. I’ve never squatted more than 617, so hunting a 15-pound PR on attempt three at Nationals with two lifts still to go is a big ask. The 622 made more sense. It moved great. And he was right to load it.

What I’ve come to understand about working with a coach you genuinely trust: sometimes the right call isn’t the one you wanted. The 633 was for me. The 622 was for the total. Dave was coaching the whole meet, not just the squat. These distinctions matter at National and Pro level meets. And who could be mad at a PR anyway.

We’ve got a squat-only meet coming up. 633 is already in the rearview.

Bench

Warm ups felt solid. A couple of miscommunications on a cue but nothing alarming. Opened at 157.5 kg (347 lbs), caught a red light for locking out after the start command, two whites still count. Second attempt was 165 kg (364 lbs), just under my PR, and it felt good.

Dave put 170 kg (374 lbs) on the bar for the third.

After that second attempt I started to feel the weight of the day. Not the bar weight. The day weight. All of it, the steps, the coaching, the heat, the sleep debt, the bloat,  it started settling into my body at once. I looked at Dave and told him I didn’t know how much I had left.

The bar came off the chest and slowed. And I decided it wasn’t moving.

I got out from under it without really trying.

When I stood up, Dave looked at me and asked what happened. I said it was stuck, it wasn’t moving. He said flatly: “It was moving.”

I said, it was?

“Yeah. What do we do when it gets stuck?”

I showed him.

“Right. Why didn’t you do that?”

I didn’t have a good answer. Because the answer was that my mind had already checked out. My body wasn’t done, the bar was moving, but I had already decided the lift was over. That’s a gap that no amount of physical preparation can close on its own. You can build the strength, dial the technique, hit every number in prep. But if you’re not willing to stay in a hard moment and keep fighting for one more inch, none of that matters.

Dave told me that in five minutes I was probably going to be pretty upset with myself. He was right. And what I appreciate now is that he said it without judgment. He wasn’t disappointed in me. He was pointing at something important because he knew I could see it too.

Deadlifts

I walked back to warm up and the first thing I noticed was that I couldn’t reach the bar without overextending. I was so bloated. My hands were swollen. I knew right then it was going to be a fight.

We worked through the warm up progression. Then on my last pull before the platform, the bar was misloaded with an extra 25 kilo plate on one side. I grabbed it, wedged in, and went into about a 2.5-second isometric before I finally let go. My hand was on fire. And that’s when the negativity came flooding in.

Then Monica called it. “It’s Misloaded.”

Immediate relief. I had a reason. The lift wasn’t a sign of anything, it was just the wrong weight. I reset, ran through my cues, and gave myself the reaffirmations. Pulled it. It wasn’t pretty but it was enough. I knew what I needed to do.

I was still an anxious mess in that room. Pacing, wanting to go before it was time, not staying in my body. Dave kept having to pull me back and tell me to sit down. We had literally just talked on the podcast about breath work and composure a couple days earlier. Joel Raymond told me to ‘sit down and do my breath work like you talked about on the podcast.’ That one landed. There’s something humbling about having your own advice thrown back at you.

I sat down. I calmed down. Three more lifts. 

The first attempt, 255 kg (562 lbs), was heavier than it should have been, but I got it. The moment I locked out I could breathe again. I had a total. The day wasn’t going to end in a bomb-out.

Dave called 265 kg (584 lbs) for the second. There was a little forward lean and some disconnect in the lower back, but I pulled through it. At lockout the bar started slipping out of my right hand. I got the command just in time. Monica came over after and said she thought I might have gotten a gift on that one. It was close. But I got it.

Then I told Dave I couldn’t make a fist.

I was clearly panicking. He didn’t panic. He didn’t talk me out of the third attempt or start managing my expectations. He just said, “Okay. Let’s get a wrist wrap on it and see if you can make a fist.”

That’s it. No drama. No speech. Just the next smallest step forward. And that’s what a great coach does in a moment like that,  they don’t try to solve the whole problem. They give you something small enough to actually do, and build from there.

We walked to my bag, got it wrapped, and it felt a little better. Still hurt. But I convinced myself I could do it.

That conviction matters more to me than the result. Deadlifts are where I have historically given up on myself. At Fight Or Quit, I didn’t take my last attempt. I hurt my SI during my 2nd attempt. The injury wasn’t bad enough to justify pulling out, but I chose fear over the attempt anyway. That’s sat with me since.

This time I walked onto the platform believing I was going to pull 272.5 kg (601 lbs). I went through my cues. I controlled my breathing. I believed.

My body had nothing left. The moment I squeezed the bar and tried to wedge, my hand opened up. Zero grip. No tension. Nothing. I stood up, looked at Dave, told him my hand wouldn’t close. He laughed and pulled me in. And that was that.

712.5 kg total. 411.63 DOTS. 7 for 9 on the day.

What Actually Matters

A younger version of me would be devastated right now.

I’m not.

There’s a version of this story that’s about missed lifts and a subpar total at a national meet. That version is accurate. But it’s not the whole thing.

I coached two athletes on a national platform while competing myself, under conditions that were stacking against me from the moment I landed in Texas. I didn’t quit on my deadlifts when every signal in my body was pointing toward the exit. I walked onto that platform believing I was capable, even when the outcome didn’t follow.

The thought I keep coming back to: belief isn’t soft. It’s not a poster in a locker room. It’s not something you either have or don’t. It’s a choice you make in the moment, usually the hardest moment, to keep going before you know how it turns out.

If you’ve already decided it’s over, your body will listen. It will give you exactly what you told it to expect. But if you can stop, slow down, and actually convince yourself you’re still in it, your body will do more than you thought possible. Maybe not everything. Sometimes not enough. But it will give you something.

And if you quit before you find out, you’ll never know what was there.

I know what was there that day. I found out by showing up.