Back pain and shame

I stayed in a Days Inn last night.  Apparently, Days Inn is Sanskrit for “Huge narrow pillows and hard lumpy beds.”  I woke up with a baseball just above my beltline.  I, like millions of Americans, have a HORRIBLE lower back.  How you say?  Working in the coal mines?  A childhood of picking crops?  No, a powerlifting injury so severe, my manhood was eternally damaged.

I started powerlifting for football in HS in 1995.  I went from 145 lbs. of pencil necked nothingness to the stacked inhuman factory of mass you see today in just 18 months.  There was a little blip though.  My sophomore year I entered the Philo HS regional meet at 165 lbs.  I benched, I deadlifted, I conquered.  I was in third place, then the squat came up.  I have massive Mildred Coen legs, which is gross for my grandpa, but awesome for me.  I could squat 455 lbs. back then…but as I was warming up, I thrust my hips forward too far and blew out my lower back.  My spotters were trading a fresh can of snuff, so at least my sacrifice was not in vain (sarcasm).

Long story short, I dropped to knees and could not stand up straight.  Even though I finished my “warmup”, they wouldn’t count it.  Fine.  Instead of fourth, I don’t win.  Then they gave out the awards.  It turns out b/c I didn’t finish the last lift “officially”, I got last.  Ninth place by five pounds was a fat chick named Heather (or Jenny, I kind of blacked out at that point).   Her three lifts beat my two due a dumb technicality that I didn’t say “This is my lift.”  I had to walk in front of 300 people and get my “This guy is weaker than a fat chick” award.

I was so angry I ate the ribbon.  Literally.  I ate it.  Then I punched walls until my hands were swollen.  The next year I put up 1175 lbs. and finished 7th in the state of Ohio at 185 lbs.  Yet the stain of finishing below a woman, even on a technicality, haunts me to this day.  That’s why, when a drunken woman says “I can take you!”, I am uncomfortabally aggressive.  TAKE THAT HEATHER!  (Elbows and throat punches).  “My name is Ellen!”  We’ll see who’s better!  I should be in physical and mental therapy…