Why I Lift

I love the gym.  I've been going for over four years now, having picked up the habit in my junior year of college.  At the time, it was a matter of convenience; I've got this membership through my school, and one way or another I'm paying for it - why not use it?  Since graduating, it's become more of a chore, but I'm lucky enough to live right down the street from a fantastic facility, and while my schedule can be demanding, I try to get there at least once a week.

When I first started, I was lost.  I'd gotten rudimentary training from gym class in high school and one (extremely bad) year on the wrestling team, so I at least new basic exercises.  But walking in, seeing all these people that were so comfortable, so at home - it intimidated me.  Being seen as a beginner, or struggling with some simple exercise or ludicrously light weight was simply too much for my fragile self-confidence.   I stuck to the simple stuff: elliptical machines, spin bikes, maybe a mile or two on the treadmill.  I stayed in my comfort zone.

I honestly couldn't tell you what snapped me out of it.  Maybe, after a year of experience, I just wasn't intimidated anymore.  Maybe, as I started working full time, some part of me realized I simply needed to be stronger - in more ways than one.  Maybe I just got sick of the TV they showed in the cardio room.  But a year in, I started lifting.  And I haven't ever looked back.

Weightlifters, in my experience, seem to come from two schools.  There's the bodybuilders, the meatheads, the guys that look pro wrestlers and grunt out sets with more weight than I could ever imagine lifting.  And there's the scientists, with their notebooks, their whey protein, and their copies of Starting Strength.  Obviously, these are stereotypes - everyone has more depth than that, and everyone combines the various attributes in their own unique way.  But these, in my experience are the two fundamental schools of weightlifting.  I belong to neither.  I don't lift to look good, and I don't lift to get strong.  These are happy side effects, but they are not my goal.  I lift for the mindset.  I lift for the mental place the iron takes me to.  For me, lifting is the closest I've ever gotten to meditation.

When I lift, it's simply me, the music, and the weight.  I leave my phone in my locker, I ignore the clocks, and I shut myself off from the world.  I don't have a partner at the gym - intentionally so.  For me, weightlifting could only ever be a solitary experience.  It's the absolute distillation of a struggle, with all the bullshit removed.  You, your goal, and the object preventing you from reaching it.  Everything else is noise, and weightlifting is my mute button.

Part for this, of course, is born from my work.  Without bogging the story down in details - my job is stressful.  Extremely so.  I work 13 hours, and face problems that are often simply unsolvable.  Triage, more than anything else, has become my primary occupation.  This stress wears on you, it eats away at you on the inside.  It becomes a constant pain in your gut that simply never relents, and unless you find a way to combat it, it will consume you.

I fight it with the iron.  I fight it with struggles that I can control, and that I can win.  And I fight it by leaving it behind, if only for an hour, to exist in a world where the only thing that matters is overcoming something that seems impossible.