So there I was, warming up for my shoulder routine on Saturday afternoon. I was using one of the cable stacks and nearing the end of my warm up sets, doing this overhead cross-over flye exercise I’ve been doing that seems to really hit all three heads pretty effectively. And then it happened. “Excuse me sir, would you mind not banging the weights,” said the 105 pound, 2% bf, scrawny-faced in-house fitness trainer. Startled, I turned around and asked her to repeat herself. “I said would you mind not banging the weights? It disturbs the other patrons and the what you?re doing damages the cables and the owners won’t fix them.” “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I retorted “that’s the first time I’ve heard that one.” “You must have bad gym-etiquette,” she replied. I laughed and turned away. I thought to myself “what would Dave Tate say?”
You see, upon releasing the weights at the end of each set, I had to let one side go or risk pulling my shoulders out of joint. One side would come down, but the noise was significantly less than the noise created by the cardio machines, the guys dropping the dumbbells on the other side of the gym, the blond-tipped girlyboy grunting away doing 55 pound curls in the squat rack or even the annoying garbage music blaring out of the sound system. I felt I was being picked on. I’d already been criticized for deadlifting, Oly lifts and just about every other part of my routine. When I asked the manager one time why they didn’t have a cage or even a decent power rack, he asked me why I needed one. “Are you trying to get big?”
So, that was the last straw. No doubt about it anymore. Craig decided right then and there to enter the dark side- Olympic Weightlifting. You see, there is a place that promotes deadlifting, grunting, sweating, weight dropping and even that horrible menace chalk. The promised land. Seven platforms, several cages, power racks, no mirrors, no music and all the coaching you could ever want for way less than the cost of any public gym and it’s all here in Calgary. So, for all of you who can no longer stand the people, the trainers, the music, the atmosphere, the yellow equipment, the fact that there IS equipment when all you really need is some floor space, a rack and a barbell, there is an answer and tonight I will experience it. At the age of 31, I am about to enter a world of mutant teenagers who power snatch 300 pounds. I’ll soon see if an old dog can be taught new tricks. Curling in the squat rack? Curl away, I don’t care anymore.