It’s his third set on our first day back from Christmas break. My son’s at four reps toward target of ten, and he holds the bar above him, pausing and speaking, “I don’t think I can get it.”
The weight is still raised. He still holds it static, nothing but thoughts and words.
“Don’t think, just lift,” I tell him, perturbed not that he is struggling but that he stopped.
He still holds the weight, static, and burning energy and doing nothing with it.
“Go!” I say with stronger emphasis.
He does. He gives two more full reps before the true struggle pressing for his seventh. I put my hands beneath the bar, spotting, giving next to no aid in lift, just letting him know I’m there if he really needs it.
He keeps pushing and finishes his last four reps.
We have two more lifts and a core circuit to finish out our morning.
Completed, I reinforce and build—a purpose within lifting. Building up is more than strength, more than muscle memory. It’s confidence, affirmation of effort and sign of tangible results for the efforts we put in. It’s learning to keep composed, apparent comfort with discomfort—a mien that translates and serves through many of life’s less than desirable teachings (at the time) that build to wisdoms and greater after-strength.
“That was a great job on your last set!” I tell him. “I didn’t do anything but touch the bar. It was all you!”
We take the lesson further.
“Now what were you doing when you were holding the bar and saying you couldn’t do it?”
“Nothing,” he answers.
“Nothing…and the whole time, on top of that, you were burning yourself out just holding it and not doing something with it. If you think you can’t and never try, you’re right and never will.
This is a chance to try and push yourself, not to say what you can’t do. We’re here to get stronger and learn what we can do, keep learning, and keep getting stronger.
That’s what a spotter’s for. We’re here when you need help, to keep you from harm, but also to push you so you go past what you would do alone with no one there to help you when you need it.
Spotters help you see you can; and when you know, you won’t need them for the lighter weight any more, but you will still need them as you push and keep going up.”
My middle-age and no longer strength-focused mind interjects. “And that’s something for life too. We need spotters, others to help us as we learn and grow and work at something to be stronger, or better—whatever the end goal is. To take risks and push past our comfort, it helps to know someone is there, to help us if we struggle pushing for our full potential.”
I’m thirty-nine. I still need spotters. As with the ones I lifted with back then, they are my friends.
My son is one.
“I’m proud of you,” I tell him.
We high-five and get ready for the day.
I am grateful and enjoy our new-making morning routine. It’s a chance for time shared one-on-one that with age, activities, and changing interests—natural to all maturing—that make such time harder to find. Short on time in days, we make it in our mornings.
He likes to talk, talk, and talk some more.
I like to think, think, and think some more.
Weights are a good lesson-medium for each of us that sometimes, to get anything done and grow, there comes a point when we just need to move the weight.
Don’t talk. Don’t think. Just lift.
Do the work. Move the weight.
It is a discipline, a habit of conditioning, built by repetitions and effort that engrain and empowers beyond the muscle-memory.
I didn’t know any of this, back in his age, when I was just beginning. Now, as father and teacher, I hold value for the greater lesson I never knew, then, that I was learning.
Spotting one another, we gain together.