I didn’t use my kettlebells today. Instead I went to the gym and did a really cool barbell complex workout. Several of my friends from twitter are doing the same workout over the next few days and we’ll be commiserating.  It was cool, and I’m going to be talking more about it soon.  But this makes two days in a row of no kettlebell practice for me.   A nice break?  NO! I miss the stinking cannonballs!  Even though I should probably take tomorrow off since I blasted my body pretty hard with that workout this morning, NO WAY I’m skipping tomorrow.  Pathetic?  Maybe.  Addicted?  Definitely.

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.