Zitat:
After everyone attempts their lifts, it’s my turn again, but I tell my training partners that I am done.
“What the hell do you mean you’re done? Put on a quarter and get the hell under the bar!”
Now I am faced with a decision…
Do I risk killing myself or being stigmatized as a puss?
I choose not to look like a puss and put the fear of failure out of mind.
This is the time I have to dig deep inside and pull out another person to deal with this shit.
Dave is not made for this but my alter ego, Zippy, is.
Zippy comes to life and approaches the bar.
The shouts of encouragement are louder than before, but I can barely hear them.
The task at hand cancels out everything else that is going on.
As I get under the weight, I feel my heart pounding in my chest and the aggression and rage is at an all time high. As I unrack the weight, there is no doubt in my mind that I will win…After racking the weight I think, “Could this be it? Could lifting a weight I first thought would kill me be the reason I do what I do?
