This feature will be about something that has happened at least once to every guy whether they want to admit it or not.
Ladies, hopefully this has never happened to you, because I can only imagine what would happen to those funbags if it did. One day I was on a mission to sculpt my pecs. Like most guys, I was warming up with a pair of 45’s on each side of the barbell. On this day for whatever reason, I was feeling the flow. By that I mean I wanted to lift heavier than my present state of fitness, but I didn’t give a shit (I must have just watched 300 for the first time). Even though I was at the age where testosterone levels begin to decline, I was going to bench my usual 225 – even with my balky shoulder. After a warm up set or two, I was ready to go. Spotter? Who the fuck needs that? It’s not like I was benching the world. Besides, I’ve done 225 many times for reps before so why ask someone to spot me? I forgot the common practices of heavy breathing or bouncing around on the bench before starting my set. I just lay down and start lifting, because that’s how I roll. Unfortunately there was no Metallica blaring in the background. In fact, I think it may have been a catchy beat by, none other than, the Backstreet Boys playing during my set. To this day I will blame those fuckers for the following embarrassing event that followed. After the seventh rep of my intended eight, something happened. At the 2 second pause at the top I felt a slight twinge in my shoulder, but decided to brave on like the fearless Leonidas did in the face of the Persian army. As soon as I started my descent, I knew I wasn’t going to be able to get the bar back up. There I was, alone in the gym in the middle of the day, nothing but 225 pounds on my chest with “Backstreets back, Alright!” blaring overhead. I then began the weightlifters equivolent of the walk of shame. With all that weight compressing my chest, I began the slow painful process of rolling the bar down my chest. Anyone who’s been there knows how much this sucks. When the weight gets down to the midsection, men get to feel like a pregnant woman just for a split second. With more than a couple hundred pounds, you feel like your internal organs are going to shoot right out your back side. Then, the moment of truth: the bar steamrolls your hangdown. I try to make this happen as quick as possible but before i know it the damage is done. My package is pancaked, and I’m left with 225 teetering on the bench. It’s a sad day, but a rite of passage for any guy who works out.
Next time, use a spotter.