James and the York Days

There I was, York Barbell, August 1982, and all was quiet. It was a somber place then, unlike years before; when it was filled with clanging weights, cameraderie, personal challenges, and sweat. Now it was quiet, still, and I was doing what I had spent hours, days, and over three years doing; I was wandering through the trophy room. You can not imagine how many trophies, medals, cups, plaques, ribbons, pictures, (you name it) were in that room.

At the steps of greatness I felt small, humbled by the achievements of those men before me... I was an independant athlete. Forwent football for swimming. I swam and swam; imagining I was a rough-cut diamond, honing myself daily against the mountain of water. Everyday was a climb and no day was easy. I got very honed by doing this for eight years. Was 6', 23, and ripped to shreds at 162#.

I looked at my reflection in the trophy window, mirrored against pictures of some of the greatest weightlifters in history, and I felt small. Not so much in stature, but in dreams...my dreams were small. I was dreaming reduction against growth, refinement against expansion, doing the most in the shortest time, not the most in my time. I wanted to be big, to climb over the big mountain of self-doubt. I wanted to be great and lift great weights, for no other reason than to do it. I wanted to become a monsta' but didn't know how.... then I heard whispering in the gym.

I edged my way over to the door of the previously empty gym and peeked in, "Holy cow, look at those monsters!" I quickly ducked behind the doorjam in amazement. Looking out again, I saw them, there were four. One was Smitty, the manager, the other three were monsters, brute's, Olympic Lifters. The smallest one (I found out later) was 5'7" and 265#, while the biggest was 6'1" and 285#.

They were standing around the platform in the middle of the gym having a conversation. One of them turned and I ducked again behind the doorjam.

He said, "Hey, Smitty, who's that skinny guy hanging around?" Smitty replied, "Oh don't mess with him, that's Jeannie's brother." (My sister worked at the gift shop/protein bar).

Then the big guy said, "Well, get him in here, we'll teach him how to deadlift!" To this, of course, they began laughing hysterically.

Then I said, (still tucked behind the doorjam) "I'll learn how to deadlift!"

They couldn't resist the continuation of my humiliation and invited me in. They got me up on the platform at center gym with an olympic bar and rubber plates.

"Get your butt down!"

"Get your head up!"

"Keep your shoulders back!"

"Pull the bar up in a straight line from the floor!"

"Keep the bar as close to your legs as possible!"

The other guy said, "Forget that, just drag it up your shins (to which I did and still have the scars)." "Press with your heels!"

It went on and on until I had done about 40 reps. Finally, when I thought I had gained their respect the one guy said, "See, you're not so skinny after all!" My sister made me a big protein shake after that, and I could barely move my body for four days. I felt muscles I never knew I had. I was hooked and did deadlifts regularly for ten years after that.

Now I'm on the threshhold of that dream. I'm 250# with mountain's for traps, a 52" chest, 19" arms, 18 1/2" calves, and shoulders over 2 feet across. I only missed 10 workouts since last May, and am slowly progressing onward... lifting more than before, eating more protein, loving life. Last night I was buying milk and eggs at the convenience store and a team of girls lacrosse came in. One by one they walked by with a glint in their eye as if to say, "Wow, look at that monsta'..."

Captain Cut Deisel

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