It was a Friday, in late may, when I felt I failed myself the most. I had completed three of four "maxes", or the most amount of weight possible on one certain lift, for one rep, and I was coming up on my final one. I had done well so far - I'd gone up twenty pounds in bench …show more content…
I rolled the bar forwards, once, twice, three times... I slowly began to extend my legs, and drive my hips forward. The bar began to bend as it cleared the platform, as it rose up my legs. Quickly, at first, but then... Slower, and slower. And slower. The bar reached a full stop as it hit my knees, and my body began to tremble from exertion. Cheers of reassurance, of confidence came ringing in from all sides, but I knew it was lost. I continued to try and work the bar up, as my body shook more and more... Until I collapsed downwards, the bar slamming into the wooden platform, making the old wood creak. The weight room spiraled into a stunned silence as I simply stared at the weights for a few moments. A few pats of reassurance came, but I waved them off. At first, I was as stunned as they were, but then I was angry. I was angry at myself for not getting the weight up, at my friends for not pushing me hard enough, at anyone I could be angry at. I couldn't understand why I the weight simply wouldn't go up, I had pushed myself to my limits and past them countless times - I couldn't have worked any harder. But then it hit me, and I learned my lesson from that dead lift. I learned to accept failure, probably one of the most important lessons I could learn, and I had the luck to learn it