ChasingKaz - May 8, 2007

With all things in life, there are the unforeseen and hidden costs we must pay to do what we enjoy, and being a strongman is no different. When we start the day, we know we're going to have to pay our gym membership, write a check for a contest entry fee, or buy some supplements. It's the hidden costs that are the true price of admission into the fraternity.

Last night, I was training with WSM competitor, Dave Ostlund, and Atilla, another local amateur competitor. Our mission for the evening was to train one event to total exhaustion and walk (or hobble) away better men for it. The event was a 560 lb anchor chain drag for 30 meters (33 yards or 99 feet) for as many nut-busting runs as we could muster. I arrived at Dave's house shortly after work to find the two already taking turns dragging the lazy hunk of metal up and down the sidewalk. I quickly changed into my shorts and t shirt and walked up to take my first run.

After the first few times through the course, our legs were on fire and our gait was wobbly. Atilla finally mentioned the fire in his quads. "Any more of this and I'm not going to be able to walk out of here." he said. We were all thinking the same thing, but no one really wanted to admit it. Dave suggested that he smash his finger in the chain to take his mind off the pain in his legs. We all got a chuckle and went back to dragging the seven interconnected 80 lb links that once kept a giant ship in place.

At ten minutes to 6:00, we were almost finished. All I had to do was drag the chain 30 meters from the end of the sidewalk to Dave's driveway and we'd be done for the night. I picked up the first few links of the chain and started walking backward toward the admission gate. I had to set it down at the halfway mark to catch my breath and stop my head from spinning. I was starting to get really light-headed, but there was no way I was going to quit. It was my job to get it back to the driveway and by George, I was going to uphold my end of the bargain. I picked it up again and made it within 5 meters of the finish line before I had to take another breather. Finally, I hoisted the first link of the chain up to my waist and leaned back to use my momentum to pull it the last few meters across the spray-painted line at the edge of the driveway.

"Done," yelled Dave, and I dropped the rusty chain where it laid. The only problem was that I wasn't fast enough to get my right hand out of the way before the first two 80 lb links succumbed to gravity and crushed my finger where they met. My first reaction was an F-bomb loud enough to be heard four blocks away and to shake my hand wildly. Once the blood started spraying all over my face, legs, shoes, and the neighbor's house (the massive spike in blood pressure that occurs while lifting heavy contributed to the spray), I reverted back to my first-aid training from middle school and applied direct pressure with my other hand. A minute or two later after my heart had slowed it's pace I wrapped it up with a hunk of gauze and headed off to the ER for some stitchy fun.

Some days you play, and some days you pay. In this case, the price of admission isn't only the cost of the stitches and a tetanus shot. It is the training I will have to miss not being able to grip a bar. It is the scrimmage for my rugby team I'll miss tonight. It's not being able to wipe my ass without changing the big hunk of gauze on my still-bleeding hand after each shit. It's having to type this whole entry with one damn hand. On the bright side, though, Dave was right: Smashing my finger takes the mind completely off the pain in the legs. My legs feel great!

Posted by Ben Hanson at 4:10 PM