Growing up I was always the last one picked for teams.  I never played sports because of the potential embarrassment I would suffer being relatively slow, weak and uncoordinated.  As time went on, I figured out ways to avoid PE classes.  I was never overweight, but I was the furthest thing from an athlete.

After the accident and the physical therapy that followed I started doing something I’d never done before – strength training.  I had never lifted weights, but a weakish and painful wrist gave me a reason to consider it.  I was so intimidated by the weight room at first.  Hesitantly, I began as a “medical referral” and worked with a trainer.

To my surprise, I felt a passion for lifting almost immediately.  I loved the feeling of moving iron, and even better than that, I loved moving more iron the next week.  I became addicted to seeing strength gains.  I craved lifting a heavy barbell off the ground and pushing a heavy weight overhead. Whatever I had written off in the past as something I could never do — became my goal.  Whatever label (“last picked”) or limitation that had been put on me as a result of my injury became fuel to the fire I now felt for building strength.   I was becoming something I never dreamed I could be – an athlete.