Pushing the Limits by Al Kavadlo
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Pushing the Limits by Al Kavadlo
As a kid, I was a huge pro wrestling fan. There is just something magical
about watching larger-than-life musclemen kick the crap out of each
other (or at least pretend to in a way that’s convincing enough for a
child to accept). As a result, I idolized guys like Hulk Hogan, “Macho
Man” Randy Savage and “Mr. Perfect” Curt Hennig. Even once I figured out that pro
wrestling was staged, I still admired these men for their strength, power and charisma. Of
course I wanted to be just like them!
For me, it was never a question of trying to motivate myself to work out, it was only a
question of trying to convince my mother that I could do so without getting hurt or stunt-
ing my growth — that old wives’ tale is still so pervasive.
When I was around eleven years old, we made a deal that I would be allowed to start
lifting weights when I turned thirteen. In fact, my parents even agreed to buy me a weight
set, a bench and a pull-up bar for my thirteenth birthday. Since I had older brothers, we
already had a rusty old barbell and a couple of dumbbells lying around in the basement
that had been passed down from one of my uncles. I’m don’t remember them really get-
ting much use, though. Besides, I wanted to get my own set of weights! I knew very little
about strength training at the time, and like most people I was convinced that a skinny
kid like me would need to lift weights in order to get big and strong.
Big? Maybe.
Strong? Not so much
As a kid, I was a huge pro wrestling fan. There is just something magical
about watching larger-than-life musclemen kick the crap out of each
other (or at least pretend to in a way that’s convincing enough for a
child to accept). As a result, I idolized guys like Hulk Hogan, “Macho
Man” Randy Savage and “Mr. Perfect” Curt Hennig. Even once I figured out that pro
wrestling was staged, I still admired these men for their strength, power and charisma. Of
course I wanted to be just like them!
For me, it was never a question of trying to motivate myself to work out, it was only a
question of trying to convince my mother that I could do so without getting hurt or stunt-
ing my growth — that old wives’ tale is still so pervasive.
When I was around eleven years old, we made a deal that I would be allowed to start
lifting weights when I turned thirteen. In fact, my parents even agreed to buy me a weight
set, a bench and a pull-up bar for my thirteenth birthday. Since I had older brothers, we
already had a rusty old barbell and a couple of dumbbells lying around in the basement
that had been passed down from one of my uncles. I’m don’t remember them really get-
ting much use, though. Besides, I wanted to get my own set of weights! I knew very little
about strength training at the time, and like most people I was convinced that a skinny
kid like me would need to lift weights in order to get big and strong.
Big? Maybe.
Strong? Not so much
