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This
is a story about a workout that I witnessed somebody
perform about 10 years ago in a university gym
in Canada. It's a true story (just ask the ambulance
driver!).
Now,
if you've spent any time in a gym, you've probably
seen people using exercise form that is less than
perfect. What I was about watch, however, was
the most atrocious exercise technique I've ever
seen in all my years of training.
Let's
begin...
It
was about 1 in the afternoon and I was just starting
into my workout when I noticed "Dave"
(not his real name) lay down on the bench adjacent
to the one I was on. Like me, he was doing flat
barbell bench press that day.
He
was fairly short, medium build, wearing a tank
top to show off what he plainly thought was a
magnificent physique. It wasn't, let me tell you
that right now.
"Dave"
proceeded, without an ounce of warm-up, to load
225 pounds on the bar. He convinced some poor
sap to spot for him then took the weight off the
rack. It dropped straight down onto his chest
like a stone. His spotter freaked out and pulled
desperately to get the bar off his chest while
"Dave" struggled and kicked to get the
weight up. It was a titanic struggle. He looked
like a fish out of water with a tomato stuck on
his head. That's how red in the face he was.
Finally,
they got the weight up and his spotter attempted
to put the bar back on the rack.
"Dave"
said "What are you doing? I've got 5 more
reps!"
I almost
choked. This was going to be an interesting workout...
"Dave"
finished off by struggling out 2 more reps, then
did 2 more sets just like that (with a new spotter
each time, of course - nobody in their right mind
would go through that twice!). "Dave"
must have learned his lesson though, because instead
of letting the bar drop and stop like on his first
set, this time he actually bounced the thing off
his rib cage like a trampoline, arching his back
like he was being electrocuted.
It
was time for squats. Now, I wasn't supposed to
do legs that day but I just had to see this spectacle
so I did legs anyway, just to be in the area.
"Dave"
put 315 pounds on the bar right away. I watched
him wrap his knees and cinch his lifting belt
so tight he looked like a toothpaste tube that
had been squeezed in the middle.
He
recruited another sucker... I mean spotter, for
his first set. He stepped under the bar, unracked
it, stepped back and started to lower it.
It
was like putting a bowling ball on a celery stick.
His legs were shaking like Elvis on 10 cups of
coffee. His back was so rounded over, you could
have set a dinner plate between his shoulder plates
without dropping a potato. He lowered the bar
exactly three inches then held his breath and
began to try and come back up. No luck. His spotter
stepped in, helped him back up and tried to guide
him to the racks. No dice. He immediately dropped
back down again. Two inches this time. I swear
his knees didn't shake this time simply because
they bowed in so much, they were braced up against
each other!
He
made his spotter do one more rep after that one,
dropping only an inch on the last rep. Two more
sets just like that followed.
By
this time I had pretty much scrapped my workout
for the day, completely out of morbid curiosity.
I told the weight room attendant to dial "9"
and "1" and keep their finger on the
"1." His workout wasn't over yet!
"Dave"
unloaded the bar then set up in the same rack
for barbell curls. He put a pair of 35's on the
bar, which he had no business even doing for the
"squats" he had just finished with,
much less for barbell curls.
Luckily,
he hadn't yet uncinched his lifting belt from
the previous exercise, thereby saving precious
seconds of time and, also, evidently cutting off
the flow of blood to his brain.
He
stepped up to the bar, took as wide a grip as
I've ever seen anyone take on a bar, then lifted
it to the start position. He took a deep breath
and held it. Then, with totally straight and locked
legs, he thrust his rear end backwards then forcefully
thrust his hips forward, catapulting the bar up
and off his thighs. He looked like he was trying
to ring a doorbell with his hip bone.
The
bar made it about halfway up before he locked
his elbows and leaned back about 45 degrees to
keep it moving.
Finally,
the weight made it to the top. He held it there
for a microsecond then dropped it heavily to his
thighs.
Then
he did it again. And again. And again.
The
only good thing I can say about it is at least
he had the decency not to subject a spotter to
it this time.
I sat
there wondering what he could possibly come up
with for a finale and I was not disappointed.
He
walked, or rather, strutted over to the pec deck
and set the pin to the bottom of the weight stack.
I motioned
at a few nearby people to watch this as I felt
something special was coming.
He
sat on the machine, arms covered in sweat. He
wrestled one arm pad up to the center position.
Impressive. He turned and, with Herculanean effort,
wrestled the other one to the center position.
Veins starting popping out and his face was beet
red.
I had
a feeling this was it.
I was
right.
With
the loudest bang I've ever heard, both his arms
slipped off the pads, the weight came crashing
down, and "Dave" was shot 6 feet straight
out of the machine across the floor, skidding
on his face right at somebody's feet.
Now,
as an adult, I have never wet my pants, but I
have to tell you, that moment was the closest
I've ever come. That's how hard I was laughing.
I didn't
see "Dave" back in that gym ever again.
The
moral of the story? Big weights only look cool
if you can lift them without getting shot 6 feet
across the floor on your face.
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