It hurt like hell

“It hurt like hell.”
I had my weights all stacked up three days in advance, knowing as soon as the ball dropped here on the West Coast, I'd be downstairs, bench pressing some tonnage. I was finally gonna hit 405. That's eight plates total, four on each side, plus the bar: 360 plus 45. So, I watched the tv, had the big countdown, and while everybody else was toasting champagne, I went down into the basement and laid on the bench. I lifted the bar off the holding rack and knew it was going to be serious, but I was fired up. I brought the weight down, all the way to the chest, and then started to push, push, push. It went up a few inches, and then I stalled. I'd been training for this for months, but I hit my sticking point. My arms started to shake and the weights slowly came down on me. And we're talking serious weight, 405! It slowly bottomed out on my torso and rested on my chest. I thought I was having a heart attack; it was like King Kong Bundy came and sat on me. So, fearing death, I slowly started to roll the bar off, but the only way that was working was to have it go down my body, down my chest, my abs, to my waist. At one point I was able to sit up and roll it down my legs and past my knees, but it hurt like hell, absolute hell. I composed myself and finally got out from under. It took about two hours, and it hurt—every inch of the way, it hurt. And that ain't no joke!

–Dirk Damon