As I approach the platform, my mind falls silent. Chalked hands and focus is all I need. The roughness of my hands matches that of the barbells. I grip the bar, hook as tight as ever. A few small tugs as I adjust my hand and foot placement. Deep breath in, eyes forward…slow from the floor, then acceleration as the bar reaches that sweet spot at the hip. Chest up, full extension, and then under the bar in one beautiful motion. A small hesitation at the bottom as the weight settles on top of my outstretched arms. The best part of it is standing up, letting that held breath out the entire way up, and then dropping that weight to the floor. The thunder of the weight crashing is music to my ears. Adrenaline surges through my body as I walk away; another small battle won.

I’m not talking about this to sound tough or brag about the amount of weight I can lift. I’m not getting into a pissing contest comparing other sports to Olympic weightlifting. I am talking about what it means to me to look at the platform and dusty bumper plates piled in the corner; how it is much more than just a physical endeavor. For me, those bumper plates signify every obstacle I’ve ever had in my life, and the barbell is that cruel piece of steel that ties those painful memories together. The heavier the plate, the more deeply rooted the issue.

I am relatively new to Olympic weightlifting, but it is something I quickly became passionate about. The mere technique of the lifts is awe-inspiring, yet frustrating and difficult to master. But it’s not just about the lifts, though, it’s about the experience. Learning something new is always challenging, but if you love it enough you will invest every ounce of yourself into it…physically, mentally, and emotionally. And that’s just what I did.

The barbell and bumpers are just fitness equipment in passing for most people, but they stand for fears that need to be eliminated from my life. Like I said, it’s a challenge. I could easily quit and walk away. It’s just a bar, right? I’ll take up something else. Possibly something with less fortitude. Maybe I’ll just be a spectator; watch professional sports. I can criticize true athletes from a distance as lay their hearts on the line for their passion. Say I made that choice, but every time I see that heartless, steel bar, I will hear it laughing at me; laughing because I let it win. And now it can be added to that mound of fears I’ve been collecting.

Perseverance is all it takes. Perseverance through the tough shit. Yeah, there’s times where I want to quit…but I won’t. That isn’t part of me. Every time I train is a battle. And in some cases the weights win for that day. Technical errors. Negative thoughts. The fact that everyone in the gym looks at me when I miss a lift. Physical pain. It all gets to you. The trick to it all? Don’t stop! So what you missed a lift! Your hands hurt because they’re ripped to shreds. Who cares? Life isn’t perfect; ripped hands, scraped shins, and muscle strains are a small price to pay for something that I love so much. On those days, my insides scream… “No excuses. Get back up on that platform and lift.”

There is no sing-song balance. Every time I slide a plate onto the bar it is just another suppressed emotion that I need to deal with. My mother’s death. Abandonment. My low self-esteem. My broken family. Being told I’m a failure. Physical and mental abuse. Anger. The list is endless. All of those wounds are stacked neatly against a wall every day waiting for me to face them. And you know what? I cram a few on at a time and I attack them. I fail sometimes, but I won’t stop trying. I’m human; I don’t have perfect training sessions every time, but I can take away a glimmer of light from each of them. When that bar is over my head something changes within me. It’s a surreal feeling…knowing that you used every fiber of your being to lift something that has plagued you your entire life and make a mockery of it. In one all-out fluid motion you move the seemingly impossible. A daunting task in the beginning. So what do you do with your newly crushed enemy? You let it fall; and make your presence known, the sound of your domination reverberating through the gym. Satisfaction is an understatement.

As you grow stronger, the weights increase. More insecurities and flaws are stacked on top of your old ones. But now the weights you started with are a thing of the past, used for warm up or complex set purposes only.  They no longer keep you up at night. They are forever silenced as you move on to bigger and better things. Bigger and better weights, I should say. You know what the best part of facing my fears is? I get to do it all again tomorrow…

The steel is not just my sanctuary. It’s not merely an escape for two hours a day. Instead, it is my lifestyle. My new home is under the bar: I am strong and in control. My love is under the bar. The steel bends around me, yet I do not break. There is a sliver of light amongst my darkness, and that light shines off of a shiny steel bar. I Live Under the Bar.