Supreme Court Justice wins weightlifting championship

By REBECCA COOK
Associated Press Writer

OLYMPIA, Wash. -- One Washington powerlifting champion gives new meaning to the term "bench press." 

She's Washington Supreme Court Justice Faith Ireland, who trades her billowing black robe for a skintight weightlifting suit several
times a week. 

Ireland modestly downplayed her achievement as she showed off her first-place weightlifting trophy in her office at Olympia's
Temple of Justice this week. At 57, she was the only competitor in her age class at the Northwest Women's Regional Powerlifting
Championships earlier this month, so winning wasn't hard. 

Still, bench-pressing up to 115 pounds is quite a feat for a woman who suffered a nearly crippling back injury in a car accident 15
years ago. 

Ireland started working out as physical therapy for her back. The weightlifting keeps the pain at bay and gives her strength in more
ways than one. 

"There is a centeredness I get from weightlifting that carries me for several days," Ireland said. "There's a tremendous mental benefit.
It's a good way to vent your frustrations." 

Most people at Ireland's gym have no idea she's a Supreme Court justice whose rulings have a huge influence on their lives. 

"She's just another weightlifter," said her trainer, Willie Austin. But she is an inspiration, especially to women, he said. 

"She has tremendous willpower and consistency," he said. "If there's something she's going after, she's very disciplined." 

The transformation from tender-backed judge to powerlifting dynamo took time. For the first two years, every workout hurt. But
Ireland stuck with it. Working with Austin at Seattle's Gateway Athletic Club, she became a self-described "powerlifter groupie,"
watching in awe as weightlifters hoisted barbells in their designated corner of the gym. 

Her workouts grew more challenging until one day Austin guided her into that special corner. At the championships in Seattle, the
petite judge successfully completed a bench press, a squat lift and her favorite event, the dead lift, in which she lifted a weight from
the floor. 

How did she do it? "Determination is one of my best friends," she said. 

Raising a hundred-pound bar above her head was a walk in the park for Ireland compared to punching through the glass ceiling at
work. She remembers people warning her about "losing her femininity" when she entered law school in the 1960s. 

"When you don't have a lot of role models, it's hard to make an argument against that," she recalled. "But you decide to take the risk
anyway." 

After years of private practice, she became a King County Superior Court judge. Getting to the state's highest court took all her
strength. 

When Ireland first ran for Supreme Court in 1994, she came in third out of three candidates. When she was deciding whether to run
again, she listened to the advice of her husband, her minister, and Austin. 

"He just wouldn't hear no," she recalled of her trainer. "He told me, 'It's your calling."' 

He was right. After facing down seven candidates and enduring a runoff, Ireland won a seat on the nine-member high court last year.
 

She joined a group of justices who are surprisingly fit for people who wear roomy black robes to work. In a court that often
disagrees on matters of law, sports are sometimes the only common bond. 

Don't challenge this Supreme Court to arm-wrestle. Justice Charles Johnson wakes before dawn and works out every day, Justice
Gerry Alexander has run seven marathons, Chief Justice Charles Guy practices water aerobics, Justice Charles Smith performs
calisthenics every morning and Justice Philip Talmadge is a serious baseball player. 

Ireland feels the benefits of weightlifting every day. Before, her bad back prevented her from carrying groceries to the car or wearing
shoes with heels - now she does both. Plus, she's dropped three dress sizes. 

"I like my body better," she said. "I have more energy." 

Her goal is to bench-press her weight, 135 pounds. 

She plans to compete in the National Powerlifting Championships in Texas this January. From there, who knows? Perhaps one day
she'll take on a certain buff, feather-boa wearing, professional-wrestler-turned-Minnesota-governor. 

She laughs at the thought. 

"I don't think I want to mess with Jesse Ventura," she says. 

Then she leans forward and lowers her voice: 

"He probably doesn't want to mess with me."