The Tire
I’m not going to lie; this isn’t a happy story. There’s no fairy tale ending, at least for me there’s not. I don’t get to save the princess and there’s no Shrek-esque dragon-slaying victory lap. I do include weeks of ice, elevation, limping, and Advil.
But what else is new, right? Isn’t that the way of real life?. I don’t want to mention the ending too soon—I’ve already said too much.
I remember the night I was finally going to flip the tire like it was yesterday. I had just completed a great leg work out; the squats were strong and fast. Although I technically completed that evening's programming, I still had a little gas left in the tank and decided that night was going to be the night. I was going to flip the tire that taunted me for the better part of a year.
I grabbed my belt, cinched it tight, and marched outside, around to the back of the gym where the brutal 1,000 pound beast stealthily waited. I remember it was dark, darker than it should have been. It was around 10 p.m. The automatic sensors failed to detect the absence of light once again, but I didn’t care—what did it matter? I was shaking with Hulk Hogan-like ferocity. I was going to finally flip that son-of-a-bitch and be done with it. I would cross another life feat off the old bucket list.
I remember crouching and driving my 280-pound frame, chest first, into the tire, my face smashed against the rubber. The monster was so wide, very tall, even when on its side. My face couldn’t quite clear the top. The guys from the gym surrounded me in an excited pack. They were screaming profanity, laced with words of encouragement. As Jets and Sharks, like the fight scene in West Side Story, we were going to chalk-up a win.
All at once my body exploded, and for the first time on one of my attempts, the rubber broke free from the ground. I was going to do it… then suddenly, things went sideways.
***
I remember the day I first spotted the tire. My wife and I were driving up Route 25 into Monroe from Trumbull. I was in the passenger seat and spotted the monster through the corner of my eye; it was sitting smugly atop a pile of gravel overlooking Saugatuck Forest Products.“Hey, could you turn around? I think I saw something.” The lot was closed, but we walked in anyway. I wanted to see that tire up close. What's a little trespassing when you're focused on the pursuit of strength? I knew the moment I saw it that I had to have it. However, it was hard to gauge its size, while it sat atop the rock pile.
Wife: “It’s a lot bigger than you think it is.”
Myself: “You think?”
Wife: “Oh yeah. That’s a big one.”
***
I recall driving to the same lot a week later with my sons. It was after their karate class; they were donned in their white uniforms (Gis). The lot was once again closed, but my intention was to make a run at the tire. I managed to rock it down off of the rock pile, which wasn’t a big deal because the tire had been perched on an angle near horizontal. I looked at my boys and said, “Well, here goes.” I put my chest into the rubber, exploded with a grunt, and well…nothing.
Son: “Wow, you didn’t even budge it.”
To my dismay he was giggling at my expense.
Son: “You didn’t even budge it.”
Why he felt the need to repeat that is a parental mystery.
“Yeah. You’re right,” I reluctantly concurred. I looked at him and smiled, but I wasn’t happy about what had transpired. I’m not a Strongman competitor, but I think of myself as a strong man. I don’t like the feeling of failure, especially in front of the little ones.
I remember when I arrived at home my wife said, “Well, isn’t it better that you found out now [that the tire is too big] before you hauled the thing all the way over to the gym?” I verbally muttered agreement, but couldn't get the tire out of my head. I still wanted the thing. I wanted to own it. I wanted to flip it. Just because I couldn’t flip it on that day, didn’t mean that I wouldn’t be able to flip it one day.
***
A month later I was back at the lot with a friend and a small pickup truck that he’d borrowed from his father. I’d negotiated the release of the tire. They even offered to help put it in the back of the truck with a huge industrial forklift. I watched as they lowered the tire into the bed of the pickup. I knew almost immediately that we were going to need to abort the mission. The truck began to sink and sag; it kept sinking and sinking, as shocks and struts compressed, until finally, in order to avoid a minor disaster, I tapped-out.
“Ho ho yo…Yo! Yo! Yo!…Stop, Stop, Stop,” I yelled. “The truck is too small.” In my mind’s eye the tire would eventually fall on its side and crush the bed of the truck in its wake.
***
So for yet another month, I gave up on getting the monster tire. But it was still calling to me; it was still eating away at my ego, gnawing at my conscious and unconscious desires to flip the beast. When I couldn’t take it any longer, I drove back to Saugatuck Forest Products and spoke with the owner of the operation. “Listen,” I said. “I really want to take that big tire off of your hands, but I can’t determine a way to transport the thing over to my gym, which is just a couple of miles down the street. It’s right over the Trumbull/Monroe town line. Is there any way you can help me take it off of your hands?”
Thirty minutes later they were loading the tire into one of the biggest dump trucks I’ve ever seen in my life. A loader that looked like a giant pair of pliers snatched the tire, like it was nothing and unceremoniously deposited it in the bed of the truck. I threw the driver forty bucks and we were off to The Beast. The driver dumped the tire in front of the gym.
***
There it sat with defiance, taunting me for more weeks.
To be continued...