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Saturday, January 26, 2013

Go Under

Pull my head out of the sand and go under.  Sometimes your thoughts don't look good on paper, and right now my paper has been stamped defeat.  What am I so scared of anyway?  The boogie monster?  What's under that bar that has me doubting myself?  What lies underneath the bed that makes me hang upside down before falling for cover underneath the blankets?  I pull the shades up for light, only to slam the door in front of my own face.  I play peek a boo with going underneath.  Every time I peek, the crowd boos throughout my head, leaving me feeling gutless, shameful.  I have always said that weightlifting is like going to Vegas, your odds of making the lift go up significantly when committing.  In a sport where I truly believe is based on 95 percent skill, and 5 percent luck, we must at least go under even if the weight feels like a dead body.  Go under and cross your fingers for the 5 percent that could land in the palm of your hands, sending a shock wave of surprised emotion to our face.  Go under for nothing more than respect, to show others and yourself that you are a warrior amongst droids.

I realize this is easier said than done.  It's very easy for me to sit in front of a computer screen while sipping tea....but I'm aware that its one of my biggest problems at times, the balls to go under, or better yet, the wits that stopped me from going under.  This can leave you turning in your bed while sheltering your thoughts with a pillow.  I don't "clark" as much as I used to, I have mentally trained my body to go under no matter what.  I have come to the conclusion that I would rather break my arm than bathe in my own shame.  And yes, I have missed thousands of lifts, but I have made hundreds as well.  It only takes two lifts to win, just like it only takes two white lights for a make.  Give me two made lifts with two white lights and a million misses, over a million makes and two misses.  I would rather lose knowing I went under... than win knowing I left something on the platform.

I came to this realization about a year back when the bar landed on my head, splitting a small part of my skull open.  As the blood dripped down my arm I realized something fascinating....I was ok.   Like a kid who has fallen and scrapped his knee, the kid is not hurt, but will cry if others around him panic.  I wiped the blood with my shirt, and began to finish practice.  "A bloody bar makes for a strong heart," Shankle replied to my confused face expression.  Confused in a way that has helped me to this day.  Confusion led to understanding, and understanding led to realizing that the bar is all talk and no chalk.  The bar doesn't hurt.  The bar looks mean, but hits like a girl.  I smiled and kept lifting like a kid getting released back to recess.  Shankle winked at me, coach nodded at me, and the bar wouldn't look at me.  I slam you bar, you don't slam me. I am in control, not you.  Now don't get me wrong, the bar put up a fight, and it still is.  Landing on my back, my head, spitting me out from the bottom like a baseball player and his chew. The bar ain't got time for me, and I ain't got time for the bar.  Now I don't give the bar respect, I stopped giving it lunch money years ago.  No more bar, fuck you.  Now miss or make I go under, and the bar hates it.  Going under means make, means success, means good.  There is such thing as a good miss, and no matter how bad the miss might look, going under will get you one step closer to your goals in the bitch of a sport.  

Under, under, under, make it, miss it, squat it, press it, get red lighted, get white lighted, who really cares?  The only thing that really matters is going to bed knowing you left everything on the platform.  Bleed from your head and piss blood from striking the bar so hard.  Stab your legs with squats and beat your shoulders up with a hammer.  This means you are getting strong, and not just physically, but mentally.  Thick skin means strong legs, bloody skulls and bruised backs means big balls, standing tall and ripping the heads off lions.  This blog is what I have learned throughout my career, what I have learned from the streets of weightlifting.  A melting pot, dark and light, misses and makes.  Anybody that says this is not a technique blog....well then they are dead wrong.  Dead like the dead weight of the bar at it crashes on our backs.  Dead wrong like how our bodies will feel the minute we retire and have to become normal sheep.  Technique comes in all shapes and sizes.  Learning how to become a weightlifter is technique of its own.  Training your mind to go under weights you are scared of takes hundreds of mental hours of training.  Never ever listen to your body.  Listen to your mind.  Train your thoughts to paint a picture...then fucken paint.  Paint what works. Paint a miss and put it up above your bed.  Stare at it, get to know it.  Understand that misses will occur more than makes, and this sport holds more bad days than good.  It's the athlete than can understand and cope with this that will succeed.  Miss a weight or make, at the end of the day we are training, and training is what will rise us above the rest.  Train hard, and always go matter what.  

Ain't got time For The Bar 2016

1 comment:

  1. i cant even begin to explain how much i love this post... may be one of your best EVER.