Attempt two was at 365 and it stood no chance. I chalked my hands, got into a zone, and pulled it no problem. I'm not sure, but I think Chris ended with 225 as well.ĭeadlifting is where boys become men. I don't think 230 ever made it more than a few inches off my chest. My second attempt was at 225 and it also went up, although it was ugly.
I started with 215 and it went up without issue. I had nagging neck and shoulder pain as a result. I didn't understand leg drive, and I even struggled with hand placement on the bar. I got 215 in the gym about a month prior, but this was my worst lift. Chris seemed to lose his balance with 365, a weight I know he was strong enough to lift, so he lost it. "COME ON! LET'S GO! YOU GOT THIS!!! AHHHHH!" Hitting that gave me confidence for my other lifts. The lift was a little slow, but it was smooth and I could hear my guys behind me screaming. My final lift was at 365, a 30 pound PR that would be incredible progress after squatting for just three months. I could feel my stretch reflex at the bottom of my squats and I was bouncing out of the hole with no problem. All lifts were recorded to be analyzed later, but my depth was good. We both were still on the 5x5 program and we were at the same weight for pretty much all the lifts. Chris also opened with 315 and he nailed it. A few weeks back, I had hit 335 in the gym, albeit with questionable depth, so I was confident in 315. When it was my turn up, I opened with 315. I was encouraged because as I squatted, I heard, "wow, damn, perfect form man" and "I'm jealous of your form." I assumed they were just being nice. We all took turns with five reps of the bar, five with 95 lbs, 5 with 135, and so on. I stepped up and starting warming up to squat. We were all there for the fun of it, and we all screamed and cheered to help a guy get out of the hole at the bottom of his squat. I weighed in at 194, the heaviest I had ever been. My "competitors" ranged in size from 5'5" 150lbs to a bodybuilder who was probably 6'1" 225. After the competition, Jeff and his wife had prepared a small feast for us to devour while we watched the NFL playoffs. The plan for the day was to squat, bench, and deadlift until about 1PM. I'm sure his neighbors were very intrigued by the group that was stretching while ACDC blared. It was Saturday morning in a very nice part of town near wine country in California. We arrived to find about twelve lifters of varying experience warming up in the lone squat rack in Jeff's garage. I grabbed a cup of coffee, and we set out, unsure of what to expect. The previous night, I had driven five hours to his house for a powerlifting competition hosted nearby by another "Inner Circle" member. I woke up to hearing my name: "John! Hey man, it's 6:30, almost time to go." It was Chris Hartle, a guy I hadn't known just three months earlier, but was now my go-to for lifting motivation and advice.
0 kommentar(er)
