Performing below your best

We’ve all been there.  You’re coming back from an injury and training lighter, or maybe you’re done with your sets and you’re hitting accessories, or you just plain aren’t feeling it that day.  It never fails, that’s when “that” guy comes over and sets up on the rack, bench or bar next to you.

Now you’re bigger, and you know you’re stronger… but he doesn’t.  To him, you look like a giant pussy with all of that light weight!

You’re doing a downset with a percentage of your capabilities and he’s warming up with just a little less.  He’s gonna pass you in a few minutes.  And when he does, YOU know that you were smashing a couple hundred pounds more than his sets, but HE doesn’t.  Neither do the guys who are working in with him, slamming the bar down and giving each other bro-fives. There's no instant replay here, so what are ya gonna do?

They’re looking over at this big guy sweating and out of breath in front of a bar loaded with mere peanuts.  They just missed your last set where you smashed that heavy triple, that would have crippled them, like it was a fucking toy before all but unloading the bar to get some extra work in.

Now I’m not gonna lie, I’d like to sit here and act like I don’t give a fuck about how I’m viewed and I’m above the petty pissing matches between me and complete strangers.  But that’s bullshit.  I’ve worked hard to be the Caucasian silverback I sit here today as and I didn’t do it by lifting light weight.  It’s important to me, the red bearded bastard, to let the 19 year old dub step fans of the world know that this was my house back when I was 100%.

Really?

YES, I’m THAT petty.

Now I don’t lift in box gyms often, maybe once or twice a month when I’m away on business.  The majority of the time I train with a powerlifting team out of a small power gym in Raleigh.  These are guys I see 3-4 times a week who are all goal oriented and put the same work in that I do.  That has been what I’ve been accustomed to and if you have the chance to train at one, take it.

But on the road, I go to this box gym.

It plays lil jon and maroon 5 almost exclusively.  The old strength equipment has been replaced by cookie cutter “Lifestyle” racks and benches.  There are rules posted on the mirrored walls that stretch from front to back.  The clients range from the guys in the bro science to the guys in the awkward gym moments vids.  Gloves, sporting good store belts, wrist straps, beats by Dre head phones and dew rags… on white dudes.

This is my haven a few times a month.

I’ve done some decent lifts here. Not elite by any means but I’ve broken plates, bent bars and bled all over the floor there. I’ve had it out with the manager about using chalk and slammed weight down there to the amazement of onlookers on several occasions.  I don't scream and yell to get attention, hell, here I don't have to.  Usually a front squat gets people to look up from their own 15" arms.

But gym lifts don’t count, and don’t mean shit.  All that matters is what you’re doing now and what you could do in a meet.  And right now I ain’t 100%.  I belt up early on lighter weight, I struggle with what used to be warm up weight. There’s just shit I plain old can’t do right now.

So when the kid with the string tank and lift strong bracelet comes up along side of me puffing his chest out, tossing a plate on the bar and yelling like a fool, there’s a part of me that wants to load that bar back up and watch his little hairless jaw drop to the floor.  I want to lift the bar overhead with one hand and give him the finger with the other.  I want to tell him his music sucks and maybe, just maybe even punch him in his little fucking FACE!

But I don’t.

I don’t because I know who I am and what I’ve done.  I have a total that I worked for, one that I know that I’m capable of beating when I’m as healed up as I’m gonna get.  My lifts aren’t astounding or earth shattering, but they’re mine.  I know the pain it took to add every pound.

So when this kid thinks he’s the shit when he’s bent over rowing 135, yelling and slamming the bar, I just have to remember.  That was me way back when, and the old heads I used to see never punched me in the face or told me that Pantera sucked.

So I just put it aside. Rather than run over there and throw the bar 10ft in the air with one hand, I block out the terrible music and finish my shitty set. All the while imagining the buffet that awaits me when I’m done.  That, and avoid eye contact so nobody asks me to spot them.

 I really fucking hate that, because they’re people and they’re talking to me.

2 more sets and I can eat.