 My reason by Ajdos
A inspiring read
By "Ajdos" Super Moderator @ Anabolic Science
Another day, another annoying moment in life, another step closer to the final demise...thoughts traveling through his mind as he walks to the front door of his second job...his job that he willing pays to do...lifting.
He enters into the gym- the usual cascade of shitty club music and idiot dolts splashes against his reality-quickly he blocks out the pastel colored background and the floundering gym wannabes...its his time now...time to work.
Walking with a purpose to the back of the gym, the area where most average gym trainees dare not trodden. A worn spot in the rubber matting, a dry rotted, sweat stained, cracked spot where the years of grueling pain has been paid. The toll of countless workouts hangs on him like 100's of years of pain and agony. Why? He asks himself, why am I doing this?
There is no answer just the cold bar lifeless in front of him, he stretches his hamstrings, the left is tight today, its always tight, torn twice in the 20 some odd years, not bad tears he thinks, just small ones.
He warms up his shoulders, tight and rusty, just like usual, the repetitive loading on them has seized them into hard round blobs of scar tissue, not too mention the occasional poke or two he has stuck them with...he chuckles sardonically to himself.
Looking over his shoulder he sees an out of shape trainer giving encouragement to some fat middle aged porker bitch...why? huh..now theres a fucking why? God just go home...
He thinks to himself, not many people want to fucking do this- why am I?
He puts on his ear plugs from his disc player, pulls down his hat looks up in the mirror, and looks directly in the eyes of the reflection ahead of himself...why? Cuz I wanna beat you.
Placing the 45 on one side then placing another on the other end he breathes deep, grabs it at shoulder width and crouches above it- looking up again he pulls the bar from the floor to his waist and thinks - here we go.
135 was easy, its always easy, lets see what 225 feels like.
2 more plates and again the reps feel easy enough, hard to say how high we go today...onto 315.
He thinks to himself - should I save my grip? Should I use the straps? Nah - dont be a pussy- dont need em til 405.
315 feels heavy, shit ,feels alot heavier than usual, its been 3 weeks he thinks- just not used to this weght.
405, NOW, now we are getting somewhere, he digs through his gym bag, the reeking articles of gym gear that smell like unwashed socks...there they are, two old lifting straps one frayed to the point as if it may break if its used on to heavy of a weight. Like the callouses on his hands, the erosion of pain and punishment has taken their toll.
He pulls them tight, then finds his lfiting belt, leather has dry rotted off part and the name is long faded off the back, he wraps it around his trunk, if only to hold his guts in place from here on out, sinching the belt tight he looks at the mirror, looking at the stranger staring back and thinks "fuck you pusssy".
He wraps the straps around the bar thinking this is a light weight, then looks ahead, takes a deep breath, TEN, he thinks- ten of these then 5 plates and we'll start the real sets.
10 reps feels good, feels heavy but he feels the flow and the tightness of the 2 biceps injections begins to loosen, now he feels the lift coming to him, now he feels its time.
He places the weight down, he sits back breathing, he sees one of the ordinary people coming his way, he makes no eye contact, he sees the feet come and face him and can make out a voice, he looks up at some tool with a muscle shirt and some fucked up trendy looking tatts, he cuts the music off and says "what?" the fuckstick points to the weight on the bar, "you using that?" he replies, with a nod "just getting started" and looks back down...the feet stand there for a moment, and he hears the muted voice through the music pounding in his ears...he ignores it, then the feet turn and walk away- he thinks yeah fuck you too punk ass.
Applying the 5th plate per side is a pain they dont want to slide on evenly, guess clips will fix that- clipping the rusty clips on and then walking back he stares at the weight- 495...fucking playtoy.
He scans through his songs, ah yes, this song will work...its a song about pain and sufferring.
Grabbing the bar he knows 12 of these will be tough, 15 will be excruciating...he breathes deeply through his nose, thinking of the years of frustration, the dissapointments and the people he wants to prove wrong...he feels his grip tighening, his cheek muscles clinching, the air feels more like naucious vapors now...the music climaxes, his heels dig in and he drives- the bar lurches forward akwardly and scrapes a chunk of flesh from his left shin- up!!!!- he drives the bar, 1...2....3....4....5....the reps seem easy, too easy...now 10....11.....12..........13...the pain is unreal, his lungs fill with fire and his spine seizes like the arm of a crane.....14......FUCK!! the pain is beyond normal, his legs are shaking as the bar slowly ascends, his form breaking down and his back rounding, its not about form now its about, beating this thing.....15.....one fucking more....his back bows his hamstring twinges with a sting, and the bar drags up his shins and knees taking off the skin as they go, with one last burst of primal energy he pulls the bar into his midriff and feels his traps tingls as if a whole colony of ants is biting into them simultaneously- he lets his grip come undone and the bar crashes to the floor.
The poodles and kitties, startled, look over too see whats going on, as he stands and surveys his victim, then glares at them as if a predator would over its fresh kill.
They quickly return to their Jane Fonda and pilates training.
This is the moment he must decide...he has to decide if hes going to train to be complacent or take the risk, the risk he may fail.
The enemy of fear and doubt perches heavily on his shoulders, thoughts of failure and embarrassment, thoughts of pain and even worse..injury. The music plays and the the lyric chants "....I AM NOTHING! I FEEL NOTHING!!! NOTHIIINNNGGG!!!" he clinches his teeth....not today he thinks, Im not going to be the pussy today!
Slapping on a sixth plate and then a 25 per side he realizes that after 16 reps with 5 plates this may be asking too much....just want one he thinks...JUST ONE!
The anxiety builds as he sits peering from under his wool hat, staring at his souless opponent laying silently on the floor.
He stands and walks to the bar, crouching onto one knee, he looks into the mirror, he sees a figure, a figure praying, praying to HIS god...he doesnt pray for strength, he doesnt pray for success, no he prays for pain.
Gripping the knurls with the straps he bonds his aged old hands to the bar, he twists the bar so that the bend is bending up towards the ceiling. He feels the lump in his throat, his constant companion in life, fear, fear telling him he WILL NOT SUCCEED, that he will fail and fail miserably, to quit and quit now...it is here that he summons all the pain, all the ill will he has, here that his body and his emotions become one, his mind is a single thought- LIFT IT! The music is approaching the crescendo, his adrenaline is pumping his heart is slamming into his ribs like a broken piston....now its time, time to see if I have any balls left.
Pulling the bar tight and straightening his arms , leaning back on his heels, and coiling up...JUST ONE!! The music is pounding...the convergance of music, hate and anguish approaches....JUST....FUCKKING.....ONE!!!
His body explodes against the bar breaching its grip from the floor as pulls the bar up tediously the first few inches are like pulling it through a pool tar, his toes curl into the sole of his shoes his back stings as if someone has bisected his lumbar with a hot scalple, and his leg sears with pain up the side...with a gutteral scream he yells "UUUUGHHHHHPPPPPP!!!" spit flies from his mouth and he opens his eyes through the squinting anguish of pain and sees blood running from his nose into his mouth and onto his shirt- the bar now nearing his mid thigh slows to a halt and fear casts doubt upon his mind, and he yells again "NOT TODAY!" as he pulls with every fiber of his body and being- his traps feeling as if they are peeling from his neck, his glutes and lower back seizing under the pressure his body contorting into a symphony of twisting flesh....the bar slowly inching towards his belt and his body erecting and evlolving slowly from the slumping figure as he leans back into the pull...he looks again in the mirror and now he thinks...ONE MORE....three deep breaths and he holds his breath as he slowly lowers the bar- its here...at this point that most ordinary people give in, they succumb to the pain, to the doubt and to the fear. For him its that stubborn angst that drives him against an unseen detractor and in that the moment of clarity is upon him, there is no sound, there is no time, no pain or any other sensation, its a split second to peer into the eye of ones own soul, like those who come near to death its a region of ones mind and spirit few will ever know until they have passed from this world, it is unlike anything that anyone can ever experience- the apex of pain and mental anguish it becomes like some kind of dream, its here one answers the question of "WHY?" this is my reason, my existence, my rite of passage and my definition of self. A rare glimpse into what many will search for their whole lives, now the surreal becomes real as the bar halts and the gravitational constant becomes overbearing, he flexes every muscle in his body and the mighty weight begins to slowly ascend, his legs are trembling and his back is numb, the grip on his left hand is coming undone and he feels the bar slipping onto his finger tips...yet he pulls and the goliath of weight and it slowly ascends...now the final inches it grinds like a rusty gear onto the buckle of his belt, he pulls back into the weight like a coachman pulling the reigns in on many beasts of burden, the weight settles and he opens his eyes to see his opponent in the mirror, blood running like a rivulet down his mouth and in between his teeth, as if he had been beaten and bludgeoned, the strap begins to rip and he lets his grip come uncoiled from the bar and the unholy matrimony of man and weight are broken with a singular crash to the floor, and in indignation he spits at his enemy and growls "FUCK YOU!"
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