Ducks on a Pond

I talk a lot about regret. Or at least I try to. Regret, doubt and hesitation always seem to be looming over me. Permeating my mind with doubt and second guessing my every decision. As much as I would like to think I’m a stronger person now than I was yesterday, or a year ago, I know that I still have miles to go. In an attempt to ferret out some of my issues, I offer up an example of me holding myself back.

At the peak of my lifting days in college, I was unmatched by my roommates. I took pride in the few shirts I used to wear that suddenly were form fitting. Steroids? well I do use a lot of needles. After another solid gym outing my roommates and I noticed a flyer for the annual bench press competition. Small entry fee. Each participant gets a t-shirt. I figured my output was above average considering my weight so after a little internal back-and-forth I decided to enter into the competition.

The basic idea of the competition, from what I remember goes like this. The men were divided into 3 divisions, based on weight. And the women were all in the same class. Your “score” was simply the maximum weight you could put up, after you subtract your weight that was measured at the beginning of the competition. Participants have 3 attempts at the weight of their choice. After a successful lift, you can move up to any weight above the previous amount. After a failed attempt, you must retry the same weight. Finally, you can’t just bounce the bar on your chest and arch your back like an idiot, we had to hold the bar on our chest until the judges tell us to press, then wait to rack the bar until told. It all takes place in a matter of moments, so it’s not really sitting on your chest while you contemplate the meaning of life.

From what I remember (this was over 3 years ago), my first lift was at 255. I decided to lift something I was comfortable with, to get a good number on the scorecard and go from there. Piece of cake. After that lift you have to tell the judges what weight you will attempt when it is your turn again. I told them 260.

Normally I would have gone up 10 pounds. Put a lil’ 5 pounder on each side. But no, I went with a pathetic 2.5 on each side. Needless to say, I put up 260 with ease. Now after 2 successful lifts, one would think I would have the confidence to go up to 270. One would think….but one would be wrong. 265.

I put up 265. Again with ease. But that was the end of my run. After 3 lifts I had to sit and wait for the rest of the competition to end. There were some rather large men that participated in the heavyweight division. Ultimately I don’t know how I ranked compared to the other participants in my class, but I didn’t make the Top 3.

Now I’m not sure if it would have made a difference if I finished at 275. The point is that I was too afraid to try. Even in something as trivial as a bench press competition, I fell victim to my fears and was afraid to take a chance. I couldn’t do it. I can’t do it. If something like a bench press competition is too much pressure for me, imagine what more meaningful challenges do to my psyche. No matter how calm and collected I may appear to be on the surface, on the inside I am still an indecisive, nervous wreck.

What’s that metaphor about a Ducks floating on a pond?

PS. That competition was a long time ago. I’m up to 280 now and aiming for 300 by the end of Summer. HULK SMASH