I thought of myself as a runner for years. I ran track in high school, ran around campus in college, ran after college… because in my mind, that’s what athletic people did.
But when a knee injury put an end to that — and, by extension, my self-definition as an athlete — I was forced to confront a few hard truths that I’d been ignoring, more or less, the whole time. For instance: I’m not naturally good at running.
As it happens, though, I’m fairly good at a decidedly different athletic endeavor. And as I started to find a new home for these eager hamstrings, also started to understand something far more important about who I am and what I aspire to do.
That’s what this essay is about.
PS – Some director’s cut background here: This essay took months of drafting and rewriting, which is to say a lot of brow-furrowing conversations with friends and family. My thanks goes to them, to Sean of the Beard, and to my newfound community at MoC Barbell Club in Brooklyn.
PPS – I finally did it: I made an Instagram to keep track of my powerlifting progress.