Before I dive into the story, let me preface this… I’m a big dude. Have always been a big dude, even as a kid. Now by big I don’t mean that I was rocking a shredded physique and aesthetic hypertrophy when I was 6… I mean I was always a husky person. I was also a geeky little kid (and am still a geeky adult TBH) and struggled to make friends (in fact I didn’t make my first “friend” until I was around 15, and wasn’t until I was in college that I learned I actually have mild autism, which makes sense). Now, I struggled with this, but I coped by doing a ton of reading and thoroughly indulging an overactive imagination. We had some Woods out by our house growing up, and I used to go back and play alone… pirates, explorer, tree fort builder… and honestly, that was enough for me. I was bullied at school but out in the woods and reading my books I was… free. Boundless. I distinctly remember having lugged my chubby ass up a tree to try to start building a tree fort with some rusty nails an old hammer, and scrap wood I liberated from a construction site near my house, when I felt an incredible stinging pain on my back. Once, then again, and again… was I being attacked by bees? Why did it feel like they were ramming into me to sting me? I fell out of the tree (thankfully didn’t break anything but definitely got the wind knocked out of me) and realized that I was covered in… blood? No, paint. I was covered in paint from the asshole teenagers who lit me up with a paintball gun, then came over and beat on me for no apparent reason. There are circumstances in your life, typically outside of your control, that fundamentally change who you are as a person. Parents divorce. First heartbreak. First familial loss. First time you get jumped by 3 teens in the woods when you’re 11 years old and swear they’re going to kill you. I’ve had many crystallizing moments in my life, but this one continues to stand out as the catalyst for THE fundamental shift in who I would become. I was presented with a crossroad - my safe place of play had been ripped from my life. I could no longer stomach the gut wrenching fear that would come from going back into those woods. I could retreat to my mom’s basement and just read books, or I could seek to make the entire world my safe place. Enter my love affair with collegiate wrestling. I was not a team oriented child (I had the social skills of a blind, reclusive eel) and I wanted to learn how to defend myself. I wanted to never feel helpless again. I wanted to exact a terrible vengeance on those teenagers that forced me to grow up (which never materialized… probably for the best) and so I convinced my mom to enroll me in a local, community wrestling club. It was a journey which ended in my becoming a successful wrestler, attaining that shredded physique that I’d always associated with social success, and not losing too much of my self in my quest for popularity and belonging (still an avid sci fi lover, even when it was lame). And I’ll be honest, life was good. I thrived in high school against all odds, (picking up a pretty aggressive case of body dysphoria along the way) and continued to thrive through college and in my post graduate life. At some point, I decided maintaining a ripped physique by eating like 1300 calories a day and doing probably too much cardio was… exhausting. I wanted a new challenge. I wanted to pick up heavy things and put them down. And so, I embarked on a journey of becoming a semi-decent power lifter at age 25. I noticed something funny happening as my lifts grew (and with them, my body)… I stopped caring as much about how I looked with my shirt off, and started caring a lot more about feeling healthy enough to lift more weight next week. Some would say (I include myself in this group) that I supplanted an addiction to my body image with an addiction to lifting, but I felt so very much better, healthier, and more energetic that I didn’t care. 7 years later, my max lift was just over 1500 (bench + squat + deadlift) and BOY was I feeling great. My newfound confidence had bled its way into the rest of my life… I’d stopped seeking validation from my peers and just started finding out how to enjoy what I was doing. I became a manager, then a director, then an executive, and I developed rich relationships with my peers and my direct reports (turns out it is possible to be a manager and not be a d-bag!) Things were incredible! ***SCREEEEE—— crunch*** The screech was a cab running a stop sign in Brooklyn. The crunch came from somewhere within my body. I flashed back to that day in the woods, when those teenagers were beating me. When I thought I would die. When I first felt truly alone. The damage was bad but could have been so much worse - severely herniated disc, dislocated shoulder, cracked hip girdle. I was in bad shape but I would walk again and live a normal life. TBH the most annoying thing was when Citi Bike kept coming after me to reimburse the cost of the bike I was riding and the insurance company was being willfully obtuse. Needless to say, walking != lifting… my previous max lift accomplishment was gone. To make matters worse, I had a child on the way, and I was genuinely nervous I wouldn’t be able to hold it. Life is full of setbacks… what’s what my circle kept telling me. That I can overcome anything. That I’d be back to normal soon. Platitudes, really, that I had a hard time fully believing as I asked my wife to help me get out of bed so I could use the bathroom at 2 AM. As I saw the concern on her face grow every day I was incapacitated. As I felt myself withdraw from the rich relationships I’d build with my colleagues. As I began to alienate myself from friends and family. How could it be that my journey would end with such ignominy? That I would fade into irrelevance, and then oblivion? And when the f— did I become such a whiny b—? Back to the grind. Back to the gym. Back to picking up a 5 pound plate from the ground and calling that a massive triumph. Back to celebrating days when I didn’t get woken up in the middle of the night by the screaming pain of my sciatica. Back to today. One hour ago. When I was able to deadlift 135 lbs five times. When I was able to benchpress 225 lbs 15 times. When I was able to squat 135 lbs not once, but twice. The first time I’ve been able to do this since the accident. Things are looking up. I’m genuinely excited for tomorrow, and next week, and next year. I can’t wait to teach my son how to wrestle when he’s old enough. I can’t wait to keep growing professionally. That’s it for me - peace.
Best of luck to you OP during your new but not new journey. 💪🏾
This is inspiring OP!! There are many people who may be in similar situation and need hope to move forward! Consider making a blog/YouTube channel talking about your journey. Wishing you the very best!
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Surprised you can only deadlift / squat 135 and can do a 225 bench. You should check your form.
I got hit by a car and broke my back 7 months ago haha… I’m pretty happy with where I’m at
Good on you man