You Haven't Given Your All

I relate a lot in life to my physical training... Whether that's my time spent under a heavy barbell or the time I spend pummeling my heavy bag or sparring partner, it seems that the physical is often an expression of what lies beneath.

Physical training--tough physical training--can teach you many valuable lessons, chief among them the importance of hard work. When you spend time throwing punches until you're breathing like an asthmatic, or pulling deadlifts off the floor until your hamstrings feel like swollen balloons, you soon begin to understand that today's work grants you tomorrow's proficiency.

It's something that's really hard to understand from the outside looking in. It's hard to understand how the simple act of lifting heavy objects builds character, but it does.

The thing I have done in training that builds the most character is called the Widowmaker. Anyone who's tried this knows exactly what I'm talking about. It's a simple concept, but an insane one. You take the weight that you can lift in the squat ten times, and proceed to lift it twenty times.

It sucks.

It's made possible by resting in between reps and taking a bunch of deep breaths: easier said than done when you have 225 pounds sitting on your shoulders.

Yet this is life.

There are times when the going gets tough. I'm not talking about studying hard for a test, or having to go to bed early for school, or getting grounded. I'm talking about the hailing-so-hard-it-knocks-you-out, wid-blowing-from-all-four-corners-of-the-earth, ground-shaking-beneath-your-feet, crap just hit the fan storms of life that only come once every great while.

Somethings hits you in the emotional balls and you go down.

It's times like those I remember the three months I spent doing Widowmakers. When you got to the bottom position of the squat, you had to will your legs to drive the bar back up. You had to grit your teeth and squeeze your stomach so the bar didn't snap you right in half like a toothpick. You felt the metal dig into your shoulders. You saw your own reflection in the pool of sweat on the floor. You heard that little voice tell you just to dump it on the catch bars.

Then you say 'NO'. You kick your hamstrings into it and practically leave the floor on your way up. One more rep out of the way. Time to rest and go again.

This is how life is. It takes you down and tells you to give up, tells you that you've given enough. Well, here I am saying that you haven't.

I don't care if you've cried blood.

You. Haven't. Given. Your. All.

Unless you are reduced to a mumbling pile on the floor that vaguely resembles a human, you have not given your all. Don't you dare say you've given it everything you've got when there are soldiers fighting for freedom in the battlefields of the world; these soldiers have been ripped to shreds by IEDs, mortar fire, 9mm bullets, knives, nerve gas.

You have not given your all.

The soldier in the veteran's home who has lost the ability to walk because he threw himself in front of a bomb to protect a child has given his all. Not you. Not me.

Am I being extreme? Am I being harsh?

No. You're just being a wuss and looking for excuses. And let me tell you. There are none. I'm not speaking from a flawless platform. Sometimes I quit early. I'm human, and humans are wusses by default.

Get up. Get back in the game. Fight.

You always have more to give.