On Feeling Weak.

Not emotionally weak. I’ve gotten that down pat. On feeling physically weak.

A year ago, thirteen months ago, I set out to challenge an internal belief. An adjective. The internal identification of being a Pale Scrawny White Boy, of being physically weak, and visually diminutive. Okay, that’s not what I “thought” then, but it’s definitely the retrospective clarification. I noticed I was afraid of things associated with exercise because I was afraid people would think I was an idiot, or I was too weak. You know, normal shit people feel when they join a gym.

I started with whatever weight I could handle. I said, “Okay, you’ll get stronger.” And I have, really. For most heavy exercises, I’m using more than just the 10 lb plates. I recall when I was squatting all of 55 lbs. I’d struggle to do it, but I kept at it. Now 135 (a 45 on each side) is a warm-up for me. My current PR 1RM is 195 lbs. I’m sure I could break 200 now. I remember benching all of 65 lbs. If you told me I’d be benching over 100 for reps a few years ago, I’d think you were kidding. And then there’s deadlifting. The rush one gets from being able to move that much iron is incredible. I can pick up 245 lbs. Dude, I can pick up 245 lbs! Someday, I intend to deadlift over 300 lbs. It’s not that far away, folks.

Yet for all this accomplishment…

I’m afraid of telling people I’m an exercise science major. That’s what this entry is about. I’m afraid I’ll be scoffed at and told I’m too weak. This isn’t a childhood thing coming back to get me. Nobody ever told me I was a weakling. This is an internal identification which I didn’t realize was so horridly strong.

I feel good when I’m in the gym. Most days, I feel like I’m pushing myself harder than everybody else in the place. I huff and puff and suck down water. I sweat like crazy, and I even caught myself groaning a little today, due to sheer physical exertion. Seeing guys pick up dumbbells heavier than what I’m using doesn’t bother me much, because I know I have the intelligence to haul just as much iron, if I have the patience. I know that benching 300 isn’t that good if you’re only rowing 150. (Anybody with lifting knowledge will know how bad muscular imbalances can be for the shoulder joint.) So, offhand, the comparison thing doesn’t SEEM to be a factor.

Then I look in the mirror. I see my vastus medialis slowly forming a teardrop below my knee. I see my rectus femoris starting to bulge a little more. Progress, no doubt. I’ve grown boobs. Seriously, I look at old pictures of myself and realize, “Holy shit, I was FLAT!” (No doubt what so many chicks think, har har.)

But most of the time, I look in the mirror and I feel weak. I get told now and then from people that I’m looking stronger. I think, ‘What pictures are YOU looking at?’ I don’t see much progress. I think my traps have grown, but it’s not that noticeable. My shoulders seem small. My abs aren’t even CLOSE to popping out.

I wonder how much of it is truth, and how much of it is me being overcritical. I wonder if it’s possible the identification of being weak was really THAT strong. If I make progress, I should feel satisfaction, no?

Is this the same as when chicks look in the mirror and feel fat, despite all the knowledge of what they’ve accomplished? Way to prove gender roles.

It’s not about ‘good’ or ‘bad’. It’s about.. ‘good enough’? I have a small frame. I’d like to someday have people look at me and just know from looking at me that I lift. If you think I’m close to that, you’re out of your mind. I look exactly the same with a shirt on.

Of course, I’m not going to let an internal quandary stop me. I’m going to keep educating myself, and I’m going to keep lifting. I just thought I should let it out. I think I look weak.

Maybe. When I was little, I didn’t give a shit that I was weak. I bet this was my solution, to celebrate my weaklingness, so that it didn’t hurt me. And now that I’m challenging it, I care about whether it’s true or false. I’m supposed to tell myself that it doesn’t matter, right? What matters is the iron on the bar, not what people think of me, right?

Or, to come full circle, all that matters is what I think of myself. I think I wish I looked less weaklingish.