Most of you are familiar with the average contingent of gym-goers. You have undoubtedly heard or seen, at least once, that individual who is always 'sharing' how intense his last workout was, or what he will do to the barbells if it had not been for this or that injury. Hell, on several occasions I have been that same guy, pumped up and psyched about results, which at that point I considered worth bragging about. We all have our moments.
Nevertheless, you might have also encountered a second, more rare, and in my personal observations, nearly extinct breed of enthusiast - the quiet one. These are the people who come in, greet you with a smile, grab a key and head for the locker room to begin their workout, without any excess fuss. They keep to themselves, doing their thing, blending with the equipment to such a degree, that sometimes it's like they are not in the gym at all. Until one day you spot the person in question Military pressing his bodyweight for reps, or doing one-arm pull-ups with a 20 kg plate hanging from a chain, wrapped around his waist, all with strict from! They never told you, or anyone else for that matter, that they were planning to get in there and humiliate the weights. You probably don't even remember seeing them training for that particular exercise. They drive the point home without uttering a sound, better than I ever could, even with a hundred words.
So far, I might have created the impression that this is a blog solely dedicated to my personal achievements. Although the majority of posts may be focused directly on me, that does not exclude the option of giving credit to other protagonists, every now and then, when credit is due. If you, dear reader, are looking forward to another self-centered article about me and my diaper shorts, then I suggest you close the tab right now, for there will be nothing up ahead for you. We'll be looking in to an average evening at the gym, which in the course of just a few hours, was transformed into one of the most memorable events I have had the honour to observe in person.
Like all stories worth telling, this one begins with what is commonly known as 'the catch'. 'The catch' could be anything from an abstract idea, to a physical, living, breathing human being. In our present case it is a combination of the two. Alexander Kolev, a 16 year old weight-lifter, who strolled into the gym, climbed up on to one of the bar stools, released a drawn-out sigh and told me he's about to attempt one thousand barbell squats!
Here is a short background for those of you who are not familiar with Alex. His age aside, the boy is the epitome of an athlete who lifts $hi7 up and puts them back down. He has been moving weights ever since he was fourteen, and I'm not talking about the mundane chest and bis on Mondays! Ass to the grass squats, power cleans, cleans and presses... you name it, he's on it, and with poundage to bend the bar at that. Was he on gear at any given time throughout his career? I will put it this way: He is breathing chalk, day-in and day-out, rather than getting permanently wasted like, sadly, the majority of most other teens . You can get a clear view of his quads even when looking at him from behind, and he basically has more resemblance to a mountain range than a homosapien. He has had several injuries, the most recent of which earned him a trip to the ER, followed by a spinal disc herniation diagnosis. To this day Alex is still training and competing in events throughout the country and abroad. Are there illegal substances involved? Let the more authoritative bodies, and Internet bashers, pass judgement on this one. I am here to salute and honour, both the mental and the physical strength of a bright young talent.
Once all small talk was over, and it became clear that Alex was really going to go through with the 1000 squats, we knew we were going to be the ones closing the gym that night. The first thing that needed to be done was to devise a somewhat precise plan of action. I grabbed a sheet from my (t)rusty journal and we used that to record the repetitions and weights for each set - simple yet effective.
Although one can never be called 'prepared', in the true sense of the word, for a thousand squats in one evening, a good warm-up was a must. After the initial lightweight sets, Alex agreed to do straight 10s' starting off at 160 kg and dropping plates as soon as he failed to maintain good form on those 10 repetitions.
The first 300 went down in a blink. Our boy would go in the cage, get under the bar, tear it off the hooks and squat, without giving it much thought. He ticked off each set on the piece of paper, occasionally sipping some water, or stopping for a breather, whenever he felt like he needed to cool down a bit.
If I had to place some sort of a fictional divide to the challenge, it would definitely go right in the middle, at the 50th set! Alex had finished 490 squats so far, gradually reducing the weight down from the starting 160 kg to 80. The reps were beginning to show on his face, as well as in the form of a small puddle of sweat on the counter he used for resting inbetween sets. Just under three hours into the gig, and with 500 squats left to go, doubt was beginning to creep in on us both. I remember Alex telling me that his quads were starting to feel like liquid jelly, but a quick pep-talk of how this madness was halfway over took care of morale, at least for the time being. I figured he would either continue to drop plates, until there was nothing left but the bar, or he would eventually bail and put an end to the endeavour...
Of course, every good story also needs a 'turn', or a 'twist' - an unexpected change, which leaves the mind open and hungry for the grand finale. I was wrong to think our boy would not make it all the way through, though Alex's own resolve was wavering from set to set . Аnd that is when it happened! At No: 50 Alex just switched off. He stopped reducing the weight, ceased all chit-chat, and went on like some unstoppable force of determination. Looking at him from behind the bar, I had the feeling he could keep at it all night. His pacing was brilliant! He knew exactly when to rush himself, and when to lay back and allow for a few more extra seconds of recovery, in order to get the next set done right. With a couple of hours on the clock before standard closing time, and no new faces coming in, the gym was growing ever quieter.
22:30h - 90 minutes past closing time. Alex was busting out the last remaining sets while I paced around the cage, anticipating every upcoming rep. The closer we got to the endgame, the more we were overcome with a swelling sense of pride.
Set No: 100.
8-9-10 and it was done. Just like that. Alex's ludicrous challenge was over. He didn't cheer, or laugh, or show any outward indication, whatsoever, that he had just completed something most people on the planet would never undertake in their lifetime, let alone finish and come out victorious. He simply slumped down next to the cage with a groan, leaning on it like a fallen tree, hand raised high, and smiled at me from across the gym. I didn't feel like cheering either, lest is spoiled that tranquill moment where sweat, pain, humility and the residue of fading strength co-existed in equilibrium.
Being a part of something as unique as what Alex did that night does indeed tend to stir your sub-conscience. I vowed to him, then and there, that his effort would be remembered and that an article will one day be written and released to solidify his achievement.
Although procrastination has ruled over motivation these past few months, there is one thing I've learned from Alex and his approach: sometimes you have to face life's obstacles head on, and sometimes you just have to take your time and do it right. (mm)
