Tonight I completed my second-to-last (heavy) squat session before my powerlifting meet October 22nd.
The target: 585x2x2 (raw w/ just a 10-year-old loose single-ply poly with the straps down)
There's this black middle-aged twink in the rack beside me doing some shitty lunges. When I had five plates (495) on the bar and was just about to do my last warm-up, he says, "I get nervous seeing that! I
used to do that stuff. Squatted seven plates back in the day. Then one day I woke up and the top three discs in my back were crushed."
Oh, brother.
Skip ahead ...
I have completed my first of two with 585 and the iron warrior to my right won't stop telling me about his days as a beast. "Why aren't you wearing knee wraps? I always wore knee wraps. I didnt go as low as you."
"How low did you go?" I ask.
"Oh, maybe to here ... " (Squats down so his knees have just "broke" from lockout.)
Me: "So your Herculean 700-pound squats, in other words, were
total and
complete horseshit, and at your best, I'd guess you could have buried
maybe 300."
Him: "Well ... "
"Just can it, dink. I have man's work to do. Go back to your lunges and never speak to me again."
It was a total getbig moment.
