Why Weightlifting Is Like Writing (And Vice Versa)

Why Weightlifting Is Like Writing (And Vice Versa)

When I think about weightlifting, I think about hitting positions. I think about all the parts of the pull. I think about the catch. I think about creating space off of the shoulder. I think about pulling under. I think about hip height. I think about knee position.

At the same time (and what I don't think people realize) is that writing, too, is very much so about position. I could get all middle school on you and talk about an introduction, and body, and a conclusion. Or, I could kick things up a notch, maybe to your 9th grade year (or a little before or after depending on school district) and start writing "Where is your thesis?!" in red ink all over your paper...

But when I think about writing, for me anyway, it makes more sense to think about hitting positions, just like weightlifting.

And I'm talking about all of the positions.

I'm talking about line spacing. I'm talking about how to begin a sentence. I'm talking about how to end a sentence. I'm talking about when to use rules. And I'm talking about when to break them.

Even then, in that passage above, it's a decision - an active choice (even that dash was purposefully used) to be repetitive.

Is there such a thing as too much of something? Of course there is - because there very much so is such a thing as too much of something in weightlifting.

And the beauty about the two of these mammoth beasts (that's a metaphor for both weightlifting and writing. *fist pump*) is that there's no right way to do it; but there are plenty of wrong ways.

Because we, all of us, are different in the way we move in our environment (I just started a sentence with because... BECAUSE I CAN, YO!).

Some of us have longer femurs. Some of us have a bit of a pelvic tilt. Our wingspans are different. Our shoulders more developed. So we all make due and make and brake rules.

Because that's what it takes for perfection.
Because that's how we make magic happen.

The same thing goes with writing. It's about drafting, over and over again, until you go blind or your fingers fall off or, *gasp*, both.

Learn how to master a comma, and you will find power in places you didn't know existed; master a semicolon, and become a god (Didn't capitalize the G because I'm a bit of an agnostic).

Learn how to use leg drive in a jerk, and, again, you will find power in places you didn't know existed; master ankle mobility and, again, become a God. (Get it!? Do you see what I did?)

Okay... a demigod; and, technically, because Achilles' weakness was in his, you know, Achilles, even HE had work do to... *sigh* Lay off... this isn't easy.

So think about positions when you write - and work to hit them; make them move; make them dance.

Because everything, indeed, is everything.

If your writing doesn't look like this:

You're doing it wrong. 

Be well, 

The Poet and The Platform. 

Everybody Worships

Everybody Worships

“Because here's something else that's weird but true: in the day-to day trenches of adult life, there is actually no such thing as atheism. There is no such thing as not worshipping. Everybody worships. The only choice we get is what to worship. And the compelling reason for maybe choosing some sort of god or spiritual-type thing to worship -- be it JC or Allah, be it YHWH or the Wiccan Mother Goddess, or the Four Noble Truths, or some inviolable set of ethical principles -- is that pretty much anything else you worship will eat you alive. If you worship money and things, if they are where you tap real meaning in life, then you will never have enough, never feel you have enough. It's the truth. Worship your body and beauty and sexual allure and you will always feel ugly. And when time and age start showing, you will die a million deaths before they finally grieve you. On one level, we all know this stuff already. It's been codified as myths, proverbs, clichés, epigrams, parables; the skeleton of every great story. The whole trick is keeping the truth up front in daily consciousness." - David Foster Wallace, This is Water

So... I just got back from my trip to The Bahamas. And it was great. And I highly recommend it.

But what also I recommend you do, regarding any traveling you do, is think deeply about your journey and if you learned anything from it. 

I was in the middle of reading The Great Floodgates of the Wonderworld on the plane ride home (If you're into really great non-fiction and memoirs, I highly recommend it - especially if you skate, surf, like punk rock, or find yourself approaching your 30s a bit lost) and I realized that every page of the book resonated with me in some way or another; I was completely connected. And upon closing the book and exiting our plane as we pulled into Philadelphia with that DFW quote above, for some reason or another, barreling through my head, I let out a comforting exhale thinking - oh my god...

I'm free. 

I don't know what it was.
I can't put my finger on it.

Maybe it was the friendly attitude of the Bahamian people.
Maybe it was that spiritual thing that happens when you read something you completely identify with.
Maybe, after years of writing and reading and, well, everything, I've finally reached a point in my life where I'm completely comfortable -

who knows...

But all I know is that yesterday, something happened.
It all clicked.

Long story short, I bought a new car because I was thrown a deal I couldn't pass up (I am now driving a brand new car paying exponentially less than I was paying a week ago for my old car, and I now have free oil changes for life), and the reason why the deal worked out as well as it did was because I, honestly, didn't really want the car. 

Salesman (who is also one of my good friends from high school): What are your needs for this car you want to buy.

Me: Wheels. 

Him: Seriously?

Me: I don't need the car. I just came because I got an email. 

Him *sigh* Well, I guess this should be easy and quick. Most of the time I ask people what their needs are, what they want, you know, so they can choose things they like.
Me: I don't like anything. I just want something better than I have that costs less than what I'm paying. Judging by the email, this can happen. 

Him: I'll be right back. 

Upper-level sales guy approaches: You make this deal, you'll be paying a lot less, but you're going to lose things that your old car had. 

Me: Like what?

Sales guy: Your motorized seats. 

Me: Fine. 

Sales guy: Your back-up camera.

Me: It was making me lazy anyway. 

Sales guy: Your moon roof.

Me:  Just a hole. 

Sales guy: Remote start. 

Me: Forgot I had it. 

Sales guy: Well this is going to be easy then.

Note: Upper level sales guy is one of my dad's buddies. And at no point in time was I trying to be sold something I didn't need. And at no point in time was this ever an aggressive exchange. If you need a Chevy, ask me where to go, because these guys are the best. 

Anywho...

We were all smiling during the entire exchange, and what felt good - great even - was my lack of want; my inability to be sold.

Because all I could think about were the cars lined up and down the streets of Nassau while we were on vacation and how happy everyone was... and as I was looking at the cars on the lot, all I could think about was, "Why... Why do I need any of this?"

I know people who REFUSE to buy certain types of cars or REFUSE to purchase a specific brand of television. I know people who REFUSE to use anything but an iPhone and I know people who scoff at the idea of using one. I know people who will ONLY live in a certain community and who pray to the school district Gods for things like "School Choice." And I know people who'd bleed for a clothing brand while others would give blood just to see that brand burn to the ground...

One of my problems had always been listening to that noise; allowing myself to be sold; paying attention to all of the things that, deep down inside, I never really cared about but did simply because that's what everybody else did. I was conditioned to want... conditioned to worship. 

But at the end of the day, what I realized stepping off of that plane is that I finally have the ability to choose what it is I wish to worship. I can finally say "No." And, at the other end of it, look at something I genuinely believe in and say,"Yes."

Because, much like DFW discusses in This is Water - true happiness comes from having the ability to choose how to feel (though he never was able to master it himself...).

I know that I love my family, and I know that I love writing, and I know that I love weightlifting - and I've decided to worship those things...

With all of that being said, I'm not saying that people are wrong for worshiping other things. If you love your iPhone, great. Marry it. If you love your car - awesome. If you worship a god, fine (unless you kill people in the name of it, because then you're an idiot).

But all I ask is that you take a moment to ask yourself why. you. worship.

Because I never did until recently. 

Funny enough though, for me, for quite some time, the platform had been my alter all along, and, by the looks of it, books like Moby Dick had been my bible. Strangely enough, too, writing frivolously into the middle of the night had been my meditative peace... my prayer. I just didn't realize it.

The only difference between a few weeks ago and, well, now, is that I don't feel wrong or obscure for feeling connected to the things I'm connected to; I don't feel like an outcast or alone.

Because now I feel empowered by my love for them.

And now I'm excited to see how much more these things have to offer me. 

Be well.

And happy worship.

The Poet and The Platform

By the way, if you write, or want to understand a writer, or wish to understand one of the best minds in the graphic novel world, here's an interview with Alan Moore worth watching about worshiping your writing:

When you're only truly free (And the other things you deserve)

When you're only truly free (And the other things you deserve)

"Call me Ishmael. Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off—then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me" (Melville, Moby Dick)

I am currently writing all of you from The Bahamas. I get it. What the hell are you doing, right? You're on Vacation, with a capital V, celebrating your parents 35th (WHAAAT!?!!???) wedding anniversary. What are you doing strapping yourself to a computer in a hotel room? 

Rest assured, I am NOT in a hotel room. I am sitting on a deck, shaded, looking over one of the most beautiful thing I have ever seen... and I wouldn't have it any other way. 

And I'm writing because I NEED - CAPITAL N.E.E.D. to. 

And I'm writing because I think I need to clear the air about a few things - to my parents, to my brother, to our girlfriends - to everyone. 

I don't write because I'm some manically depressed sap (not all the time, anyway). I write because it's how I function in regards to my ability to be happy. I write because writing - at some point in time or another - was linked to my overall well-being. It's simply something that I need to do. 

Don't get me wrong - there is a time, I guess, for the war. 

And you all know what I'm talking about deep down inside. Most of us need to ruff it a bit; - at least those of us who are not strong enough for those sacred triple X tattoos that I so desperately want (it's called weakness and I'm chock full of it). We need to, after weeks or years of stress, ravage our own bodies to make sure we still exist. We pray to Jack Daniels (God rest his soul) and let the chips fall as they may. And then we wake up the next day and realize - okay, I'm still here...

But then what? 

If we don't know what makes us happy, we may put it all on black again, casting ourselves out into the good night, with the hopes of finding a small piece of ourselves as the sun breaks the horizon on some regretful Thursday morning... 

But some of us KNOW. And thankfully, I know. 

I write because I need to. I write because, like fish needs to swim to stay alive, it's just the way I simply exist. It's how I function. It's how I "get through". 

When I think about all of it, I think about this Regina Spektor interview:

I stumbled upon it one night - lost, for sure, in myself... and it has stuck with me ever since. 

I was sitting - ready to worship whoever - at the foot of my chair today, and I was waiting to feel completely together. Because that's what supposed to happen on vacation - right? You should feel whole... but I didn't.

And in that flash I thought, well, this place would be the perfect place to write and relax...

And then it hit me. Why am I NOT doing that? I know what I love - I love what I love - and why am I not DOING it? I have the means...

... but I lack self-actualization. I lack courage. I lack commitment. 

And if you are "bout it" - I envy you. If you KNOW (and maybe now, I know) - and you HAVE known - hold onto it... because no matter how much you travel, no matter how much you "do", no matter how much you drink or *sigh* whatever - you won't be as happy as you are doing what you love... because THAT is true freedom. THAT is vacation. It's about knowing and then committing to it.

This is what I think about while in The Bahamas for my parents' 35th wedding anniversary.

And I am forever grateful for it. 

If you still don't know - if you still aren't truly in love with something outside of these walls, outside of the concrete 9-5 grind that most of us find ourselves locked into - keep looking. Because, then, you do need to travel. You need to explore; and, for that, I am greatly envious of you - Because your journey is just beginning. 

Have at it. 

Only Truly Free, 

The Poet and The Platform

You're Doing It Wrong

You're Doing It Wrong

Whether it be at Crossfit or training for a marathon or bodybuilding or power lifting, what I’ve noticed is that many people, regardless of endeavor, tend to be able to do and look like most other people doing most other things…

By that, I mean this - If I had a dollar for the number of times that people told me they did X sport or Y fitness regimen to “get to where they are,” ultimately resulting in me thinking to myself, “not working, pal,” I’d be a millionaire. Without fail, at some point in time in during this conversation, I am reminded, time and time again, that "no matter what they do, they just can't (insert measure of improvement)."

Here is where solutions are provided to said individual - all of which are met with nonsense. Most of the time it starts with "Yeah, but you don't understand..."

And before I continue, I want to get this out in the open: I am a jerk when it comes to many things; however, I am NOT a jerk when it comes to giving people credit for working hard toward something they want badly. But here’s the problem: Most people stink at what they do.

They stink.

And here’s why:

Most people stink because they are of the understanding that doing will result in progress. They've gotten caught up in the whole “It’s about trying and failing. It’s about learning. It’s about the journey” crap that you read on bumper stickers and T-shirts and tasteless cliche poetry.

Newsflash: It’s not a journey if you don’t GO anywhere…

They’ve missed the boat on the whole “adaptation” thing. These people are either the products of the “everyone gets a trophy” generation OR they are the proponents of it.

They stink because they have become horribly disillusioned into thinking that it’s about the “doing.”

They don't understand that, at the end of the day, if you aren’t running faster, throwing father, jumping higher, lifting more, or looking better… then, despite all of your work, it don't mean nothin'.

Sometimes this happens because people are genuinely afraid to ask for help. Sometimes this happens because people are so terribly full of themselves that they think they know everything - i.e. the "everybody gets a trophy" crew. Other times, people are afraid to hurt, and because they are afraid to hurt, they just tap dance around actually training. For them, knowing that they have a gym membership they "use" helps them go to sleep at night.

Here is something I see typically at most gyms: 

Turd enters gym. Turd does curls and shrugs. Turd goes home. Turd enters gym. Turd uses elliptical. Turd goes home. 

Sometimes turd will wear cut-offs. Sometimes turd will walk around with a bottle of Red Line. But you get the idea. Said turd is the same person who says "No matter what I do, bro, I just can't grow." or "No matter what I do, bro, I just can't get stronger." Or they blame whatever problems they're having on a high school injury that robbed them of a sweet D3 partial academic scholarship at a 40k/year school. Shucks.

I could go on for hours about this, but the solution for it is very simple for many/any/all people: 

Try harder and work backwards, you idiot.

Think about the end result. If you don't have an end result, that's probably your first problem.

Next, find a person/people who has/have already accomplished said task. If you don't know any, that's your second problem. 

**You are currently sitting in front of a machine that can provide you with resources this guy didn't have, and he made out okay (If you think it's because of steroids, then you now have a third problem).

At the end of the day, don't be the guy or girl who spends hours or, worse, years, doing the same thing over and over again with nothing to show for it. Most of the time, in order for you to progress, it will require you to reflect on the fact that you stink at something, it will require you to humble yourself a little bit, and it will require you to find someone who is better than you and *gasp* asking them for help.

Or you can ignore all of this...

Because someone’s gotta pay to keep the lights on at Planet Fitness...

Big ups to Big Steve at Iron Sport for this pearl:

All Best,

The Poet and The Platform

- One more time, in case you missed it:

Don't Fake the Funk

Don't Fake the Funk

Sorry for the long break, folks. I had quite the weekend. Fourth of July, A wedding, and housework consumed me - but now we can get back to our regularly scheduled programming...

I'm kidding. I don't have any programming. I just have to split snatch a heavy single today. NBD. 

For those of you who don't know what a split snatch is - it looks like this:

Oh my GOSH - this is a video from CROSSFIT!? - Yes. Yes it is. And Josh Everett is a beast. So there. 

Note: if you're unsure of what a traditional snatch is, it looks like this:

I split snatch because my snatch is no where near as good. 

There are a few reasons for this.  

1. My pull is still a bit flawed. Where I receive the barbell, at the top of the pull, it tends to hang out in front a bit at times, forcing me to drop the barbell forward as I descend into the squat. Using a split snatch saves me from having to deal with this error. It's a quick fix but not a solution to the problem. 

2. I have crap hip and ankle mobility for several reasons all leading back to the number one culprit - distance running (poorly and inefficiently and under broken programming). 

Today I have to test my split. My previous split snatch PR was 198#, and I almost his 203# at my meet a few months ago. If I can split snatch anywhere from 215# to #225, I will have a nice chance at qualifying for the American Open. It will also be cool because I'm almost positive it will make me one of the best split snatchers in the country and I may be the only one split snatching at the AO. 

There's an important reason for this - and It's why I'm making this post to begin with;

I am split snatching because I am NOT good enough to traditionally snatch. Most people don't split because traditional snatching is more efficient and, in the long run, they'll be able to snatch bigger numbers snatching traditionally. I am split snatching because my form and my mobility are broken. 

Again - I'm NOT GOOD enough. 

And that's why I think this post is important. Because in weightlifting - or any sport of measure - it's really easy to figure out if you stink. The weight moves or it doesn't; and then you have to reflect.  

Every single day when you enter the gym you can expect to be forced to do the following: 

1 - Deal with a VERY frustrating effort load that makes you question why you're there in the first place.

2 - Become a technician. You can't just show up and punch the clock and start moving things. You need to be thoughtful. You need to become an artist. You can't fake the funk. Posers will be sniffed out.  

My goal for today is to PR my split snatch. And I'm going to do what I have to to qualify for the AO. But, at the end of the day, I also understand that if I want to be the best I can be, I need to fix those broken parts. I need to get more mobile. I need to get more technical. I need to get better. 

In anything you do in life - don't be the guy or girl that tries to fake the funk. Don't fake the grind. Don't make up excuses. Because people can smell it; or, at least, cool people can smell it.

... if you want to hang out with people who suck - fake the funk. They probably don't know any better and, by default, you're probably the coolest person in your circle of friends anyway - but remember, to other cool people, you stink... and you are only cool in your circle by default. 

It's about progress, people. In anything. 

And you're either bout it - or you're not. 

Best, 
The Poet and The Platform

Listen to this song and then go get better at something. You're welcome (ignore the weird 13 second intro). 

Why You Should Work For Your Music

Why You Should Work For Your Music

You should work for  your music because, if you do, your music will work for you. And I'm not only talking about this from a training perspective ( and though I believe listening to music helps, I actually don't listen to any music and prefer to, if I can, lift in silence). 

I grew up listening to punk and emo (that's right, I said it) and hardcore for most of my life. I listen to hip-hop every once in a while, and as I age, I've gotten into folk and electronic and everything else in between. 

But I still love pop punk melodies and breakdowns and screaming and everything else. 

And I'm really really thankful for it. 

Because most people don't know much about music other than those few songs they hear over and over again on the radio. From a technical standpoint - I don't know much. But from standpoint of depth of appreciation, I know quite a bit.

You should work for your music because you will, in turn, develop a sense of ownership of that music. It will allow you to live in the moment.  It will become as important to you as it is to those who made it in the first place - You can take that feeling with you, forever. And it's yours. And what's even cooler is that it is someone else's, too. 

Working to find new music to listen to, even if it sort of sounds just like other music you listen to, will open up new doors for conversation and new places to go emotionally and spiritually. I know it sounds corny - but even when I'm lifting in silence - sometimes I can hear licks from this song, for some reason, at the bottom of a squat:

And here's the thing - I don't even like Set Your Goals that much. And I had to work when it came to finding this song because I had to listen to a bunch of tunes I wasn't too fond of. It's like collecting anything else. If you collect antiques, you might spend HOURS driving and visiting shops only to come away with nothing. We're at a point now with music, because of how accessible it is, that it's the same thing. And for this song, everything that happens after the 2 minute mark was worth the hour or so of listening to other SYG songs that I didn't like all that much. 

The beauty of it is that "Echoes" lead me to other songs I love from other bands. It's the gift that keeps on giving. It's just a matter of how much you want to dig. 

Now I know that, for some people, I'm preaching to the choir. Because you guys know what its like to spend hours at the record store or in a line at a show to buy a band's record at their merch table. 

But for those of you who have no clue what I'm talking about - who think I'm simply being dramatic or embellishing or... whatever... just try it. Give it a shot. Take an hour to look for a song and fall in love with it - all by yourself. 

Circling back, though, just to make something clear and explain myself a bit: I prefer to not listen to anything before I lift. I grab the bar and then this is almost on a loop over and over again in my head: 

         “All visible objects, man, are but as pasteboard masks . . . If man will strike, strike through the mask! How can the prisoner reach outside except by thrusting through the wall? To me, the white whale is that wall, shoved near to me. Sometimes I think there’s naught beyond. But ‘tis enough. He tasks me; he heaps me; I see in him outrageous strength, with an inscrutable malice sinewing it. That inscrutable thing is chiefly what I hate; and be the white whale agent, or be the white whale principal, I will wreak that hate upon him. Talk to

me not of blasphemy, man; I’d smite the sun if it insulted me" (Melville). 

But understand that I had to WORK (anyone who reads Moby Dick is working, for sure) to find that and fall in love with it. 

(I'd like to appropriately cite it. I know. English Teacher. I get it. I'm thinking it's from the chapter "The Quarter Deck" - Chapter 36... maybe? No idea what page number. My pages fell out of my copy. Glue melted in the sun while I was reading it in Italy. Another story, perhaps.)

Anywho. That's what I have rolling in my head. Most importantly, though, there is no sound anymore. Even if there is sound, there is NO sound. I've managed to finally go to that place. And it's awesome. So in my head, all I have looped are phrases from above. Most of the time it's "strike through the mask," or "smite the sun," because... who has time to recite all of it, know what I mean?

So, for me, it's silence and Moby Dick. But the real question is, where do you go?

For fun, listen to this song:

And then read these Moby Dick Quotes along with the music. 

I'm giving you pearls here, people. 

But really it's about the art. It's all about being able to live inside something and own it. And that's my challenge for you all this weekend. Go to the beach (or lake if you're land locked... ew...) and get a bunch of songs that you've FOUND... that are YOURS... and crank up the radio. Get nostalgic. Be 18 again. And be it forever. 

And on that note, I leave you all with this (because I have to test my 1 Rep snatch and clean and jerk tomorrow  and those numbers will decide my fate leading up to qualifying for the American Open): NOTE: I'm not a Kanye fan and my interest in Jon North is fading a bit...

... but this video...

Be Well, 

The Poet and The Platform

Plenty of Rest for the Wicked

Plenty of Rest for the Wicked...

So, I'm supposed to be posting my programming, and I'm supposed to be talking about how I've been feeling - go figure, I've got rest days for the next few days. 

To put things in perspective, though, I'll let you know that this last week was pretty miserable - finishing up week 8 with 3X as many reps as possible (AMRAP) back squats at 85% (Wound up being 3x10 at 315# - double my body weight) and then heavy singles of snatches and clean and jerks. 

My hips are shot, to say the least. 

Here is what I want to say about rest days, though: Take them. And be smart about it. For me? Today I'll be watching episodes of X-Men the Animated Series (Yes, the early 90's version) all day because I'm a teacher and I have summers off and I want to feel nostalgic. I'll probably head back to the gym to stretch and hit some lift progressions later on, though. 

I think when we think of rest days, we think of either ignoring them altogether or laying around and doing absolutely nothing. I'm a fan of staying loose and staying stretched, dedicating about an hour to  keep everything where it needs to be. I recommend Mobility Wod.  Kelley Starrett (click his name, watch the video) is a beast and will steer you in the right direction. If you run, he's got you. If you lift, he's got you. If you Crossfit, he's got you. 

As far as eating is concerned, I either use a rest day as a day to cheat and eat literally whatever I want (I'm a fan of champing a half a dozen donuts... but, you know... I don't want to twist your arm) OR I use a rest day as a day to eat clean because the night before, AFTER working out, I had a cheat meal. 

Everyone has their own philosophy about what works best for them. Experiment. I say do whatever it is that makes you feel stronger that following week so you hit your lifts. In my opinion, as long as you hit your lifts, who cares. If you are expecting to look a certain way from your training, then keep that in mind as well, but that's not the world I live in right now. 

And on that note - Jean Gray just turned into The Pheonix. It's about to get real. 

Be well, 

The Poet and The Platform

Why It Matters

Why It Matters

I get into discussions pretty frequently about lifting weights. And it’s funny because when I look in the mirror, I don’t see anything all that special. I don’t see Mark Bell or Donnie Schankle or Lui Xiauxun or Phil Heath or Marshall White. I see a person who is scrappy and oddly shaped. What I see is 16 year old version of myself.

I’m twenty nine and I still feel like I’m leaps and bounds from where I want to be. My students and my friends and people who meet me tell me that I have “good size.” That’s a term that gets tossed around a lot. My students call me “husky.” Apparently, it’s a good term now - but even that…

Even that word, “husky,” zaps me back to when I was thirteen with my mom at KMart doing back to school shopping and being told that Kmart was all she could afford and that if I didn’t like the clothes she bought for me to get a job and buy clothes of my own. I remember angrily tossing a pair of jeans over the top of the dressing room door and my mom yelling back to me, “You’re not a regular fit! I don’t know what to tell you, hun! You’re a thirty two by thirty, husky!”

I found myself pretty upset pretty often when I was thirteen. And now, when I hear the word “husky,” all I can think about is going into school in the 8th grade with a new pair of jeans from KMart on, awkwardly fitting like cardboard, with a forgotten sticker, a stowaway, still running down the side of my right leg:

32x30Husky32x30Husky32x30Husky32x30Husky

Growing up sucked.

But now, apparently, people can “tell that I lift.” And apparently I’m pretty “strong for my size.” And I always find myself in the same conversations. The subjects of these conversations ebb and flow around the following:

How much do you bench/What’s a good bench number?

How deep should you go on a squat?

Should I power clean or full clean?

Why do you front squat?

What are you eating and why?

Is fat bad?

Am I eating enough?

Are you talking about lifting, again?

Is that ALL you do?

But your knees!!???

And the whole time, I can’t help but think of those pants. Those stupid, stupid, uncomfortable pants. And I think to myself - am I qualified to respond to any of this? I’m an English teacher. I never played a Varsity team sport. I never participated in athletics collegiately. I was a distance runner, remember? I was a really, really BAD distance runner. Who am I to speak about any of this….

I try to rationalize anymore. I look at my certifications and think, well, USAW, USATF, Crossfit, it matters, right? Or I think about my coaching credentials that I literally built from nothing… or I think about how I can back squat double my body weight for sets of 10...

But at the end of the day, I don’t care about any of that. Because all I can think about is how much I want to be like all of the guys I mentioned above and how much I want to forget that stupid 32x30HUSKY sticker.

Because, at the end of the day, all that matters really is the squat rack - and being terribly terribly afraid. And I think that’s why I lift, really. I even tried saying it before to people, but it’s never really all that welcomed. What I’ve realized is that all of the answers to the questions I respond to that I listed above ultimately lead to that same very place. The rack. The platform. That’s it. And they ask;

Why?

And I say, “Because.”

Then they say: I just want to, you know, be healthy.

Or they say: I just want to, you know, get in shape. Lose some weight. Blah Blah Blah.

And then I ask, “Why?”

And then they look at me like I’m the lunatic.

Because ultimately, I guess, I am. I am the lunatic. And so is everyone else who does what I do. Think about it. Silly us. We actually think that we can work hard enough to ACTUALLY cause adaptation; despite time and age and injuries and our past. We ACTUALLY think we can CHANGE things. WE ACTUALLY, GENUINELY, POSITIVELY BELIEVE THAT WE CAN AFFECT CHANGE IN OUR LIVES SO MUCH SO THAT IT CAN ALTER THE COURSE OF OUR GENETICS AND OUR MINDSETS AND OUR CURRENT PLACE IN THE UNIVERSE.

And then I take a bite of my carrot.

And then they eat their Gogurt.

And then no one speaks.

*sigh*

I lift because it matters. And it matters because I want to challenge the very fabric of who I am each and every day. The results that come of that are an added bonus. I look the way I do not because of my “Metabolism.” I’ve got plenty of pictures in a drawer somewhere of that kid who used to wear 32X30HUSKY, and I’m sure I’ve got that damn sticker tucked away in a binder somewhere, ridden with the peeled and speckled blue fabric that screams “product of the third world.”

Because who are you, really, if nothing else but the challenges you put yourself up against each and every day? And I know - I get it. Lunacy. We’re all a bunch of God damn maniacs for “caring so much.” It is ALL we do. But what keeps me going back is the same thing that keeps people from starting in the first place. It’s the fear a new kilogram brings to the barbell. It’s soreness the next day. It’s the satisfaction I get each and every time I tell people that I’m looming in on thirty and I feel better now than I ever have and at one hundred and fifty five pounds I can lift more than most guys ever could when they were in their prime.

I lift because I’m a god damn lunatic. And so does everyone else. Because in that place… in that small moment - that brief second where we can taste failure, whether it be a centimeter too high or too low or too short or too far or too forward or too backward - we find solice. We find satisfaction. For that single moment we find cohesion and family and love and honor and respect. And for that single moment we aren’t lost anymore…

And then it ends…

And then we strap back up. And it makes you a psycho.

But I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I think it’s a bad thing that people don’t know that weightlifting is a sport in the Olympics. And I think it’s pretty bad that when people think of weightlifting they think of bicep curls and shrugs. I think it’s pretty bad that people have completely eliminated fat from their diet, and I think it’s pretty bad that people think soy is a “great option.”

Lifting matters to me because for only a few short hours of each day,  I can finally tell people to piss off WITHOUT having to say anything. It’s my new sticker. It’s my way of explaining that 32X30 was just a rep-scheme I hadn’t tried yet. It was the formula for my re-birth. It was my ID number; and Lifting matters to me because I, at any time, can write a new one.

Stay Husky,

The Poet and The Platform.