“You just get stronger”: How Powerlifting Saved My Life -The Toast

The free weights were in back of the gym, which meant I had to walk a gauntlet of giant, muscular men all grunting and yelling and slamming weights to reach the empty squat racks. Thankfully they were all empty or I might’ve walked out, unwilling to wait, unwilling to loiter near the intimidating men. I struggled to move the 45-pound bar to a height that could work for me, panicking momentarily when it felt so heavy being hefted by my scrawny noodle arms, but after stepping into the rack you can’t leave without squatting; that would be ridiculous. I stepped under the bar, and the moment my hands gripped the knurling, the knurling gripped my traps — there was nothing but me and the iron. I took a deep breath and I squatted. I stood back up without falling over and I grinned. I started lifting in May of 2013. I was 23, just starting a pre-med post-bac program that was going to lead to medical school. I had quit my job as a preschool teacher, where I’d spent the past seven months overeati

saved by

• Grace Zhang