Lifting Should Be a Healthy Thing, but the Gym Can Be a Dangerous Place...
There are two trains of thought concerning close calls and lifting mishaps: The first states that lifting weights, or those who lift them, could do you serious harm every time you hit the gym. Eventually the odds will catch up with you. A distracted training partner, a dropped plate, a loose pin all sound innocent enough, but in the wrong place or at the wrong time, any of them could land you in the ER, or worse. The second train of thought insists the greater your level of experience, the sooner you'll recognize potential trouble and nip it in the bud. The unsettling part is that neither is absolutely true or false.
Everyone knows people get hurt in the gym all the time. You can never really be certain of your fate until each training session is behind you and you're sucking down a protein shake, all safe and sound. Luck is always a factor, but so, too, is awareness, fatigue, attitude and- as several of the following illustrate- fluke. But arguably, the most important thing to understand is that a lifter's fate rests largely in his own hands. Even the most seasoned bodybuilders occasionally make fundamental errors in judgement and technique. And even the most mundane of mishaps- slip-ups that make us cringe momentarily, but are soon forgotten- could just as easily have ended up causing a serious pull or tear.
The stories that follow are all true, if somewhat embellished. They are reminders of what can go wrong at the gym; nothing drives the point home better than anecdotes about real-life bodybuilders thrashing their way through a workout. Wherever possible (some blunders are legendary), the names have been changed to protect dignity. Ultimately, the majority of close calls involve luck: A lifter made an avoidable error and walked away unscathed. Well, some are decidedly more scathed than others. However, in almost every case, things could have been worse. My purpose is to raise your understanding to the point where knowledge, not luck, will save your ass.
Pocket Hercules Dumps a Big One for the Camera
At five-foot-one, a buck ninety, Dirk was a legendary squatter- mostly legendary in his own mind. However, he was indeed capable of getting under some serious weight. Even if his height, or rather lack of it, meant the weight didn't travel all that far in either direction, eight plates on either side of an Olympic bar still weighs 765, and is truly a respectable squat even for someone two or three times the size.
News of his exploits soon reached the muscle world and a photographer was dispatched to record such an event for the pages of a well- known bodybuilding publication. Dirk, who normally trained in flat-soled Converse All Stars, decided that on photo day he would appear in a more noteworthy getup that included shiny red spandex pants and shin-high army boots.
It's common practice, especially when squatting heavy, to do your squatting inside a squat rack, facing the mirror. However, the photographer's assignment mandated that he shoot it from above and straight on, not from the perspective of the mirror's reflection. This would require Dirk to squat this immense weight outside the rack with his back to the mirror- something he'd never done with 135 pounds, let alone six times that.
As the photographer set up equipment and checked the lighting with a few test shots, Dirk warmed up with increasingly heavier weight in his familiar locale inside the rack facing the mirror. When both were ready, the hooks were unbolted and turned around, fastened to the outside of the rack, and eight plates were piled on each side of the bar- eight real 45-pound plates. The spun aluminum fakes widely used as props today had not yet been invented.
The photographer got into position and Dirk addressed the load. Any time big weight is to be lifted, a crowd usually gathers- especially if camera equipment is present- and this was no exception. Spectators were piled in like cordwood all straining their necks for a better view. Dirk rubbed his hands together fast enough to start a fire, then wrapped them around the bar, staring it down like he was going to fight with it, not lift it. Finally, he lunged under the bar, and with a shriek that could have frozen brandy, unracked the weight and stepped away from the rack, strobe lights going off as the photographer clicked away. So far, so good.
Unfortunately, the momentum of the weight was still carrying forward when Dirk planted his second foot. He wasn't looking into the mirror like he usually did, so he had no point of reference, and the shin-high army boots were a new item with an inch-and-a-half heel that shifted the weight forward of where he was accustomed. This all combined caused Dirk and the weight to shift too far forward. He was falling forward with over a third of a ton heading straight for the photographer, who was perched up on an aluminum step ladder not three paces away. The imminent deadly collision was avoided at the last second when Dirk flicked the weight off his shoulders letting it crash to the rubber coated concrete. The sound of it hitting the deck still echoes through Mecca as loudly as the story itself, having been witnessed by so many. Dirk never lived it down, but he did live, and so, miraculously, did the photographer.
COMMENTARY: A circus clown couldn't have engineered a more ludicrous scenario. It was only because Dirk had the presence of mind to dump the load when he did that he was able to save not only his lifting career, but also the photographer's life as well as several thousand dollars worth of photographic equipment. If he had decided to hang on, he would have crashed right into the ladder. You don't need too much imagination to believe that a paint scraper and mop would have been required to clean up the mess.
PREVENTION: The prospect of having your picture in a magazine does not mean you throw logic to the wind. NEVER squat outside the protection of a rack when you are squatting close to your maximum. Also, while squatting in heeled boots, powerlifting shoes, or with a piece of wood under your heels (the preferred set-up for many a squatter), remember that doing so does shift the center of gravity forward of where it would be if you squatted in flat sport shoes. Decide which way it's going to be and stick with it. When you're lifting heavy, go with what you know.
Cutting Your Teeth on an Olympic Bar
Ray, Ricky and Ron were fast friends and even faster talkers. In fact, each set of any particular exercise was always followed by three sets of talking- loud, fist-smacking jive, followed by knee-slapping group hysterics. You could be training anywhere in the gym and always know where the trio was. Still, however loud and obnoxious they were, at least they were having a good time.
Unfortunately, all good times eventually come to an end, as it did for this crew one summer afternoon. Ray, Ricky and Ron were fitting incline bench presses between their usual raucous outbursts. The gym had tons of equipment that was constantly being rearranged, renewed, repaired, replaced, whatever- so, nothing stayed in the same spot very long. During this particular era, the location our three bros occupied contained bench press, incline press and shoulder press stations packed together as densely as the sprinkles on a cupcake. All these stations had Olympic bars racked on them at varying heights and loaded with various plates. (It was considered poor form to put your weights away in those days). Ron was seated on the incline "pausing" between sets while Ricky was telling of some exploit involving two girls from a Hip-Hop video while Ray stood by. Ricky got to the funny part and Ron and Ray cracked up precisely on cue. Lucky for Ron, he was seated. Poor old Ray was laughing so hard he backed away, slapped both knees and spun around only to meet up with the end of a bar that was racked on the adjacent shoulder press at exactly mouth level. The next sound heard was that of six teeth raining down on the deck. The laughter abruptly ceased, followed by OH F#%@! and a gusher of the red stuff.
COMMENTARY: As much as loud obnoxious people bother me, no one deserves to lose six teeth at the expense of a funny story. The close proximity of the shoulder press to the incline was indeed the fault of management, and Ron paid a pretty stiff price for getting them to realize the latest repositioning of the equipment was seriously flawed. Although Ray should have been paying attention to his surroundings, and gym members should put their weights away, management should also have been on the ass of the kid they pay to clean up after the members. Any rack not in use holding a bar up at face level, particularly in a densely packed area, should be broken down and stowed on the floor or a storage rack out of harm's way.
PREVENTION: In a perfect world, Ray wouldn't have needed so much dental work. However, it would be foolish to assume that even the most well laid out, well-managed facility could police its members so thoroughly, especially during peak hours, as to make sure no bar is lined up with your bean. Be aware of your surroundings. In big cities, the vast square footage a gym requires doesn't come cheap and gym owners want to maximize every inch. If you train in such a place you can be sure the equipment is going to be close together. The shoulder press and certain high pulleys are notorious for placing a heavy chunk of cold hard steel right at the level of your kisser, if you're of average height. A blind turn, or not looking where you're going, can result in the end of the bar driving right into your pearly whites. If you are using such a piece of equipment, break it down when you're through and place the bar on the floor behind it, or on the storage rack if there is one. The teeth you save may be your own.
Homophobes Shouldn't Spot
Chad's training partner called him on his cell phone on the way to the gym to tell him he was sick and couldn't make it that day- leg day. Many a training partner has done this, but Chad was assured this was a legitimate illness and let his partner off. It didn't change the fact that this was to be a heavy leg day with squats as the star of the show. Chad was of this mind-set when he got up. He had already swallowed a boat load of stimulants with two double espressos and was blasting AC/DC on the stereo when the phone rang. He was far too jacked up and psyched out to call it off; he'd pick up a spotter in the gym and have at his personal record anyway. Or, so he thought.
Once in the gym, Chad secured his favorite squat rack, plunked down his gear and began the requisite warm up sets required for climbing up into the unknown. Eventually, after he'd brushed off ten reps with 315, he went about the gym to find a spotter. However, owing to his cranky, demanding nature, spotters were hard to find. Most of the guys who knew him around the gym figured Chad was either completely mad, gay, or both. Anyone he recruited to spot him lasted just one set- usually, almost ending in a fistfight- before bowing out. Finally, Chad drafted Mac, a convicted felon fresh out of San Quentin, who presently resembled someone who could definitely handle the task by virtue of the rigorous weight training program he'd picked up in the big house. Mac had also picked up a serious case of homophobia, as yet unbeknown to Chad.
Chad described in great detail exactly how he wanted to be spotted for this, his as yet unaccomplished attempt at 500. Chad wanted to be spotted with Mac standing behind him, with Mac's arms up under Chad's with his palms on Chad's pecs. He was to follow him up and down, in essence forcing Mac to stand an inch away from sodomy. This didn't sit well with Mac, but, for whatever reason, he went ahead with it. Chad wrapped his knees, tightened his belt and beckoned Mac to get into position. Chad unracked the weight, centered himself in the rack, unlocked his knees, thus pushing his butt back into Mac's crotch. Mack, upon feeling Chad's butt nestle against his privates, instinctively stepped back, leaving him bent way too far forward and at an angle totally ineffective in spotting even the most meager weight. Chad, in the meantime, was nowhere near ready to handle a 500-pound squat and collapsed like a house of cards. If the safety bars had not been in place to arrest the fall, Chad would have likely torn off both knee caps. However, his ego was still damaged. The melee that ensued culminated with Chad leaving the gym with a failed personal best and his gym membership revoked, as well as a lump the size of a pot roast over his left eye.
COMMENTARY: This wasn't the first time, nor will it be the last, that someone let his ego get in the way of doing what was practical. Not knowing your spotter and vice versa is a recipe for disaster when heavy weights and personal records are involved. Also, anyone tinkering with such poundage is likely to be in need of some form of assistance, which has also been known to elevate one's aggression level. That's what happened in this case, making the inevitable end result of such folly all the more dangerous, especially since Chad read his riot act to an ex-con that outweighed him by 30 pounds.
PREVENTION: Bring your own spotter to the gym, i.e., your training partner. Don't count on finding someone at the gym to assist you in attaining personal records, especially with big lifts, particularly squats. Spotting technique is something that gets built between two people who train together. Some guys like a little help, some guys like a lot. Some guys like to wait till they hit the wall before help steps in, while some guys like to be followed all the way down. Some guys like you to just lift enough to barely keep the weight moving; others like you heave it all the way up quick. Right or wrong, it's all a matter of preference. This gets dicey during big lifts when your ego and your record are at stake. Don't count on a stranger to know you. If your training partner can't make it on the day you plan to attempt a record lift, put it off until he can attend.
Ice Pick in the Shoulder
Billy was a menacing lad- all of 26, yet stoic and dry as Methuselah's bones. He ran six-foot-two, 290, yet seemed taller and thicker for his tortured soul. Whatever was eating Billy, it had a big appetite. He rarely spoke and when he did, it was at you, not to you. Most of us who knew him stayed away from him, and that's the way he liked it. Billy trained like a locomotive climbing a mountain pass- slow, powerful, deliberate, alone. His movements were so calculated you could set a clock by his cadence. You could also set a clock by his dour, grim, sometimes violent moods. That's the way he always was, right up until the spring of ‘02, when his immense strength ran out and he rode his Harley into the next world.
Billy was seated in front of the dumbbell rack in an upright bench doing shoulder presses with a 130-pound dumbbell in each hand, when Ralph, the smarmiest cad ever to cinch a lifting belt, sauntered up to the rack right in front of Billy to retrieve a pair of 20s. Instead of watching where he was going or what he was doing, Ralph was eyeing the hale and toned gluteus of a muscle hottie as she performed stiff-legged dead lifts in sheer spandex off to his left. Ralph's preoccupation negated his senses and he plowed right into Billy's left arm, midway through one of his final reps. The nudge was enough to upset Billy's balance, and the weight shifted aft past the point of no return. Suddenly, a little something went "pop" and for the next three months Bill's shoulder felt like it had an ice pick stuck in it.
Within minutes, Billy could barely move his tongue for the grievous pain, but not before giving Ralph "a talking to"- one I'm sure he still hears when he wakes up in the middle of the night screaming.
COMMENTARY: When a man is determined to be an ass, someone is going to ride him like a donkey and he'll have to like it. Billy's quaking limbs and typhoon breathing made it clear he was working on dwindling steam. All Ralph had to do was hold off for three more seconds and Billy would have been spent and dropped the dumbbells- unharmed.
PREVENTION: Ralph's impetuous behavior cost them both, dearly. Although the gym can sometimes be crowded enough for you to have to occupy a seat in front of the light weights, in doing so, you can't ignore the probability that some dweeb might come up and do something stupid. That said, NEVER approach someone doing an exercise to grab a weight if it means there's even the slightest chance you will interfere with his movement or obstruct his view in the mirror. Wait until he's done! Not pausing to enable someone to complete a set he's already into is not only inconsiderate and horrible diplomacy, it's also kind of stupid, especially if the guy is as big and nasty as he was in this example. You could end up picking shards of that weight out of your noodle. Always, always, always yield to the man on the move.
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