The texts usually come late in the evening, without warning. “You want to lift tomorrow morning?”
Logey and lazy from sitting in front of a computer all day, I usually say yes. It seems like such a good idea as I’m zonked out on the couch after dinner.
I’ll start the day out strong, I think to myself. Burn some calories, make up for being sedentary all day, make up for being sedentary right now…
Such a good idea until my alarm goes off an extra half hour early the next morning and I’m struggling to get coffee on in the dark depths of a winter morning. Such a good idea until I’m shivering in the car, waiting for the engine to heat up enough to stop blasting cold air from the vents.
Such a good idea until I’m staring down a bar packed with bumper plates, wondering if I can pull this much weight off the floor. Willing myself to pull this much weight off the floor.
My shins and the tops of my knees are still banged up from a deadlifting session we had a few days ago. The tops of my palms, right where they meet the fingers, are raw from 2 sets ago, when I forgot to chalk up and the grip on the bar bit into the skin hard.
Mike is amped up. He’s intent on upping his 1-rep max. Upping my 1RM. My palms aren’t used to this anymore. I’m not sure I’m used to this anymore, after taking 6 months off of hard training. But I felt good on my warm-up sets. I think I’ve got more in the tank.
I’m ready.
I step up to the bar. There’s a chalk outline of my hands on the knurling. I set up and ready myself, trying to empty my head of everything but the desire to lift up this bar, to pull up the weight, to stand up strong. Up.
Deep breath in. Up. Get up. UP!
…and I fail. I strain, I pull, I clench every muscle I have voluntary control over. But the bar’s not going anywhere.
Mike drops the weight down. He’s doing quick calculations in his head, converting from kilograms to pounds, but I’m not paying any attention. Trying to not psych myself out with the numbers.
Rest up. Chalk up. Step up. Deep breath….
Repeat failure.
We call it a day. My back feels okay. It’s my head more than anything that’s worn out.
Failure’s good in the morning, Mike says. It teaches us to be humble.
Later that evening, I get another text – “Good job today! Want to lift again next week?”
