On April 19th of this year I won the lottery. Our new precious baby girl, Taylor Lea, was a long time coming and definitely worth the years of waiting. We literally hit the jackpot and thus I refer to our bundle of joy as Lotto. However, a strange thing happened in regards to my competitive mindset. I realized immediately that this little gift brought me more satisfaction with her first smile than twenty years of lifting or any accomplishment or award ever could. I clearly lost my “mojo” or magic inner desire to push my body to the outer limits. Unlike Stella I doubt that I will ever get my groove back because I am now pleased to open a new chapter in my life and I certainly do not see it as “going gentle into the night.” After all, is bench competition my whole life? Did Lance Armstrong recently become deceased because he hung up his bike shorts? I think not.
I teach high school social sciences and I inform the students about John F. Kennedy and his bad back along with a plethora of other health problems. He was a walking, talking pharmaceutical. JFK was a gilded man in that he was bronzed and beautiful on the outside, but yet in reality he was only gold plated. Below the exterior veneer of gold was a dilapidated and decrepit core. Kennedy often struggled to pick up his children even though he was characterized as the epitome of health, youth, and vigor. I too am beginning to realize I am in the same boat as the man on the 50 cent piece. My new goals are to be able to toss a ball overhand, play jump rope, and to squeeze the bloody hell out of prospective beau’s hand when I greet him at the door. I always said I would stop competitive lifting when I started to say “I used to do that.” Now I realize it is time to stop when it infringes on what I can do with my daughter. After all, lifting is in my veins, but my family is in my heart. She deserves the best dad, not a bionic, immobile, osteoarthritis ridden, self interested glory seeker. I can hear it now. “Hey daddy how come your angel in the snow has no wings?” I could explain that I have no ROM(range of motion) or that I am a fallen angel who has lost his wings. “I’ve been grounded honey.” Honestly, I think my angel would look more like a flasher opening a trench coat. Yeah, these are the things I now think about.
Other situations have also slowly eroded at my mojo. For instance, individuals debate all day on the forums the equipment issue. I am not so self- righteous as to say who is right and who is wrong concerning the debate. As with all my articles I will give my honest opinion. I have created a scenario. Let’s say that my wife and daughter were in a car wreck and I came to the scene. I would rip the fucking door off to save them or if the situation called for it, I would lift the vehicle off them. On the other hand, “Johnny equipment whore” would have to dive into his bag of canvas, denim, and poly quickly suit up and then attempt to save his loved ones. The current state of lifting and equipment reminds me of the 80’s classic, Footloose. Dancing was banned in the town, but yet when they did succeed in swaying the town leaders to allow it, the youngsters miraculously had more moves than a clock. The same thing goes on with lifters because someone who looks like they never even lifted shocks everyone similar to the kids in the banned boogying town. Today, some guys cannot lift anything sans equipment and then suit up and hit astronomical figures. It boggles the mind when individuals with legs so skinny it looks like they are riding a chicken manage to squat 700 pounds.
Well I gotta cut loose, footloose
Powerlifting has become a ruse
Oh Milo, you don’t have to squat that low
Ooee Marie, having judges as your friends is the key
Oh please Louise, help me double wrap my knees
Jack, push back, you can ride it up the rack
I have concluded that there is no way for me to personally keep up with the Jones’s concerning gear and that it is a lose, lose situation for me. Dave and Jim at Elite have provided me with the best bench shirts, the Metal Vikings. I know I could bench 750 or more in a Viking if I actually practiced in the shirt. However, my shoulder problems make me incapable of handling heavy loads that are required with the shirts. I discovered that it is rather useless to do a lot of board presses with the Viking because it is a whole new ballgame when you go all the way down. I could do 800 off 3 boards, but that did not mean shit when I went to a 1 board or to the chest. I simply could not practice correctly to get as much as possible out of the shirt and for that I apologize to Dave. I actually felt OK going heavy raw with 2 and 3 boards, but my joints could not handle the consistent 700 plus attempts in the equipment. This leads up to another point. You don’t wear a shirt to protect yourself; you wear the shirt to lift more. I have accepted the fact that guys will press more than me in the 242 lb. class. My only bitterness is that some will be benching 405 without their shirts and will go to a meet and hoist 700 or more. I have been able to bench 540-550 raw for the last decade. I suppose it doesn’t bother me if someone benches more as long as they can also lift something without supportive gear. Lifting has become more of a circus sideshow dominated by gimmicks. Another absolutely asinine situation is 24-48 hour weigh in. If individuals wish to do this then, much like Maris’s record, there should be an asterisk by the lifts. For instance, if a guy depletes down to 165 lbs. and makes this class, but lifts at 190 lbs., then he should not be credited with a triple bodyweight lift if he lifts 495. No, triple bodyweight would be a 570. This is ludicrous and is equivalent to having sex with your step sister. It may feel OK and is fornication, but it just ain’t right and you know it.
I have fought my pain for years, but when my daughter was briefly hospitalized in July because she stopped breathing for 20 seconds I was god smacked and suffered more than I ever had due to injuries. I knew then that I had to be as healthy and capable as possible to provide and care for her in a proper manner. Another eye opener at the hospital was when I was holding her and could not reach back slightly to get her bottle to feed her due to my arthritic condition. On July 30, 2005 I lifted in my last meet. Unlike many, I did not exit on a positive note. On my second attempt with 725 pounds on the bar, I drove the weight up and right at lockout my right shoulder collapsed and I heard a loud pop. Within minutes I was sporting a right deltoid that would put Ronnie Coleman to shame. Upon returning home to Indiana I showed my wife and then proceeded to take a much needed shower. When I walked by a mirror in my basement weight room I noticed a baseball sized lump on my rear deltoid. By the way, the mirrors are only there to insure proper form is being utilized by my clients. I visited an orthopedic doctor on the following Monday and failed several tests for rotator tears. I had an MRI arthrogram four days later and I am waiting on the results. I now sport a Picasso like abstract bluish design on my back. I know it is time to go because unlike previous injuries, I have no inner demons whispering in my ears to push it and prove myself once again. I’ve been at the crossroads and made deals with old Scratch, but now I choose to work with his minion, the doctors. How long will magic elixirs and fountain of youth fuel work anyway? For the last few years it seems as though my personal little ditty should be Lolly, Lolly, Lolly get your Lortabs here. Lots of funs with Lolly, chase them down with beer. I feel comfortable in knowing I did the best I could for the time, but when I knew better I did better. I know some nay Sayers will act as if it is a badge of honor to keep abusing one’s body. I guess I have a different perspective on what a man and a father is. I grew up watching The Little House on the Prairie. In my eyes, Pa Ingalls was a real man. I also admire Dave Tate and Jim Wendler for putting their families first because it is harder than hell to do. It’s a tough pill to swallow, but I know I am doing the right thing. I certainly do not want to be the guy who packs up his suits of armor and loads the family into the SUV with the Yosemite Sam mud flaps that say “back off” and pretend that my next meet is a mini vacation. “Boy dad this is swell in Sheboygan!”
Yes, I will always lift. As a matter of fact, I will lift more often and will focus on overall fitness and strength. My new goal is shoulder health, not prodigious weights. In the words of the superlicious 80’s band REO Speedwagon, “it is time for me to fly and I’ve got to set myself free” and yes I am content in knowing that’s how it has to be.
GB “The magic is risking everything for a dream that nobody sees, but you