I was never the popular kid in high school. Sure, I played a sport here or there, but I never took it seriously enough to reach my potential. I preferred to run home and play video games for hours on end to escape the reality that I didn't fit in well with the kids around me. Most of them were very wealthy and shallow. While I was by no means poor, my family stressed traditional values such as hard work and practicality. I used to beg my parents to buy me name brand this or name brand that, feeling like they were torturing me when they wouldn't give in. Yet, looking back now, it taught me lessons I wouldn't trade in a thousand years. Years of inactivity had turned me into a pudgy, self-loathing teen without any semblance of self-confidence or respect. I sweated profusely and became severely anxious even at the thought of having to interact with unfamiliar people, imagining they were judging me the entire time.

I decided that when I went to college, I would be different. I would be the man I wanted to be— confident, outgoing, and even charming. And to some extent I was successful. I lost about 20 pounds walking to and from class. I actually had “normal” friends who went out to parties instead of just sitting around playing D&D. I partied hard, joined a fraternity, and assumed a whole identity I thought was actually me. My life was about partying and girls. I actually felt normal for the first time in my life.  I didn't get sweaty palmed talking to strangers. I could talk to girls with success. I was the life of the party at fraternity parties. Life was seemingly good.

That lifestyle of drinking regularly and heavily paired with late night pizza orders caused me to gain back those 20 pounds in a flash. I saw myself in the mirror one day and thought to myself, “Holy shit, you're getting fat again.” I knew that all that self-confidence and efficacy I had gained would be lost if my flabby man boobs reared their ugly heads again. I knew I had to take action right then and there. I made a beeline for my university's gym. I barely knew anything about “working out” at the time, but one thing I did know was how to run. I started doing loads of cardio and haphazard pin machine routines.

When I got home, I realized I didn't know jack. Being an internet nerd to begin with, I used the web to cram my brain full of knowledge about anything and everything exercise related. I learned about high intensity interval training (HIIT), proper recovery time for muscles, circuit training, and more. After awhile, I thought I knew everything there was to know. My system seemed perfect. I went out and partied during the night. Then I woke up the next day and sweated out all the alcohol while burning off calories. I started quarter squatting on the almighty Smith machine. Leg presses, leg extensions, preacher curls—these were the “quality” exercises that formed the basis of my training. Although this appears stupid to anyone with half a brain reading this, I did come to the realization that I had much more mental toughness than I ever could have imagined. Doing HIIT hung over and dehydrated certainly does take you to your limits.

But as I stayed at a light weight for some time, I became more and more preoccupied with being stronger. Being fat was a distant enough memory that I needed something new and fresh to keep me occupied. My bench was nonexistent. I barely knew what a deadlift was and squatting was just hard. (I broke my thumb trying to free squat 225 lbs. I thought it would be a walk in the park because I could Smith machine squat four plates on each side.)

It was then that I started to act less like a moron and actually take some positive steps in training intelligently. I got my hand on Mark Rip petoe's Starting Strength and it opened my eyes more than anything I had ever read. It ignited a fire in me I never thought I had. Squatting and pulling became the mainstays of my program and the test of a true man. And if you weren't doing it ass to grass, you might as well have had a big 'ole vagina. I made insanely fast strength gains. I trained hard, hydrated properly, cut down significantly on the partying, ate everything under the sun, and saw my total (and my stomach) grow by leaps and bounds.

I began to learn what it really meant to be strong. Strength wasn't just the plates on the bar. Strength is keeping on in the face of adversity. Strength is saying no to peer pressure. Strength is knowing you don't have to prove that you're strong to anyone but yourself. Strength is doing what is right and just, regardless of convenience. Strength is honor.

I didn't need to drink a ton of alcohol to feel like I fit in and to have a good time. I stopped needing other people's approval on what is “cool” and what is “uncool.” For the first time in my life, I was making my own decisions. Something about being able to move things I was once not able to taught me more about myself than I could have imagined.

Training hard and making progress became more fun for me than any party of drunken encounters, but those around me didn't understand. Why would someone voluntarily not drink? It used to bother me that they didn't understand. They made me feel bad for being different. But as time wore on, I simply stopped caring. I had found what makes me happy and that is all that matters. Let everyone else do what makes them happy.

In the process of the quest for strength, I gained more than just a sense of self. I gained entrance into one of the greatest communities there is—the powerlifting community. I have yet to meet a truly strong powerlifter who isn't humble and helpful. The very nature of training for strength forces you to check your ego at the door. All are equal in my eyes as long as they train with the same level of intensity and dedication. I don't care if they total 2000 lbs or 300 lbs. There is an unspoken bond between those who truly train for strength. You both know the pain you've put yourself through—the early morning workouts, the hellish GPP, the stuffing food into your mouth even though you are so full your body has stopped producing saliva. None of this needs to be said. All is known with a simple locking of eyes and perhaps a nod or a slap on the back for encouragement. Few things are like it in this world.

Powerlifting has given me confidence, wisdom, compassion, respect, physical strength, and many other things I'm most likely not even aware of. Powerlifting gives me a reason to look forward to each day as something brimming with possibility. Powerlifting has given me something to live for.