Maxing on bench press. Hadn’t done that for a long time. I warmed up, but not very well. I went a little heavier, then quite heavy. With a lot of struggle, I got the bar down, and back up and racked it. I thought I'd go for broke. 275. I hadn't tried anything like that in years. I brought the bar down to my chest and felt tightness as the weight reached me. As I pushed up, I felt something in the left side of my chest come apart. If felt like tearing an old pancake. “Take it! Take it!” I yelled.
My spotter helped me put the bar up, but I still had to push. The part of the muscle still attached to my chest recoiled toward my sternum. The other half ended up in my shoulder somewhere.
Grabbing my chest, I jumped up and went into the locker room. I had heard the horror stories. My pectoral muscle probably tore apart. I began to panic before I even reached the locker room.
I have no job to pay for medical bills. I have no insurance. Can it be fixed? Am I going to be disabled for the rest of my life? What the fuck am I gonna do!
I couldn't move my left arm so I got help removing my shirt. Looking in the mirror, I could already see the deformity. Blood was filling my chest and shoulder.
60 seconds in, the physical pain hit the second phase. Standing in the locker room, I broke into a cold sweat. I got sick to my stomach, became weak, and began to black out. I went down to my knees to stop from falling. I know what shock feels like, but it never happened this quickly.
In my deconstruction I had been preparing for moments like this. With my head between my knees I knelt alone on the floor of the damp, musty locker room. I had the presence of mind to ask a question.
What is making this experience so painful? Is it the injury or the fear?
Although the injury was definitely painful, it was the fear that tormented me. In that moment I knew I had one real decision to make.
