People ask you about physical damage a lot when they find out you’re an Olympic weightlifter. Ever had that happen to you? I bet some of you probably have. There’s almost a standard conversation that pops up when you tell people what kind of lifting you do, especially if they’re regular people who don’t know much about sports:

“Doesn’t that kind of lifting hurt your knees?”
“Have you ever broken your back?”
“That looks like it’s so bad for you!”
 
I suppose we can understand where they’re coming from, right? Seriously, just think about the Olympic lifts and what they look like to the average Joe. Snappy explosive movements, deep knee flexion, a big weight being held overhead. And then when you make the whole thing even more freaky by adding in the knowledge that this is happening sometimes with 300, 400, or 500 pounds, it’s just too much for some people to comprehend. They don’t think the body can survive this kind of action.
 
We have to be honest at this point and acknowledge the fact that the risk of injuries and physical damage are a part of any sport. It doesn’t really matter which discipline you’re talking about. It might be Olympic weightlifting, football, triathlon, wrestling, soccer, gymnastics, or any other physical endeavor where people are pushing the limits of what the body is capable of doing. When you get involved in these sports, you have to have a certain kind of acceptance. I’m talking about accepting the possibility that you might get hurt.
 
Some sports are more dangerous than others, certainly. Olympic weightlifting has been researched and found to have a much lower injury rate than many other sports. I was a high school football coach for ten years and I probably saw more injuries in four seasons than I have in over 25 years of weightlifting. Other sports like soccer and wrestling have a lot of potential for damage as well. However, let’s not get carried away and think I’m saying weightlifters are safe as a baby. They’re not. The main point I’m trying to make is that you can get hurt when you’re an athlete, no matter what sport you go into.
 
What I want to examine in this article is the question of, “Is it worth it?” You probably understand what I mean by that. When you look at the very real chances for physical injury in the sports we dedicate our lives to, I think it’s important for us to mentally settle up with this question. If you know you’re going to be an Olympic weightlifter, and you understand there’s a chance that you might get hurt doing it, what are your thoughts on risk vs. reward? Is an Olympic gold medal worth having bad knees for the rest of your life? Is qualifying for a national championship worth the risk of a rotator cuff tear, with accompanying surgery? You know what I mean? We’re really talking about whether the risks you take in your athletic life are justifiable to you, and if you’re willing to accept them.
 
Different athletes have different perspectives about this. Some of them get lucky, too. There are athletes who go through their whole careers without any significant injury. It does happen. But it’s rare. Most athletes deal with at least minor to moderate injuries (the ones that are pretty bad but don’t require surgery). Then, obviously, there are the ones who have to go under the knife to repair something that can’t be fixed with ice and physical therapy. When these things kick us in the butt, we have to ask…is my commitment to my sport worth the pain?
 
Personal perspective…
 
Obviously, I often like to give my own opinion and outlook on the matter. I’ve been a competitive lifter for almost three decades at this point, so I’ve got a wide range of experience to supplement any subject we get into.
 
When I started competing in weightlifting, I was 15 years old. Because I’ve always been a fanatic about keeping records and statistics, even when I was young, I started a journal where I recorded all my competition results after that first meet in 1988, and I’ve basically just never stopped it. I’m really glad I did this, because now I have a complete chronicle of my entire journey in the sport.
 
At this point, I’m 43 years old and I’ve competed in 113 meets. In case you don’t know much about weightlifting, that’s a lot. There probably aren’t many athletes in the sport who have lifted in over 100 competitions. And when I knew I was going to write this article, I decided to go back and count how many times I’ve totaled over 300 kg in competition. I figured that would be a pretty good way to measure the amount of pounding my joints have taken over the years.
 
46. That’s how many times I’ve totaled over 300 kilos in competition throughout my career. Once again, that’s a lot. A 300 kg total is 661 lbs., obviously divided up between two lifts, the snatch and clean and jerk. Many lifters use that 300 kg number as a benchmark for big lifting. I’ve hit it 46 times.
 
That amounts to a lot of impact on my shoulders, knees, back, wrists, and every other damn part of my body. So, the next question is…how much physical damage have I sustained from all those big lifts?
 
I’ve gotten pretty lucky, but I certainly haven’t walked away with a free pass. I’ve had two ACL reconstructions with meniscus repairs involved (each knee) and I have a shoulder surgery scheduled for this summer to repair a torn rotator cuff. Those are big surgeries, in case you don’t know much about them.
 
Fortunately, surgery has come a long way in the last three decades. When I was a kid, it was a nightmare when you heard about somebody getting ACL surgery. Hell, that meant they were gonna get their entire leg sawed open and then have a ride around in a wheelchair for six months afterwards. Now, however, it’s not like that. Surgery is a lot more efficient and less traumatic than it used to be.
 
None of it is a walk in the park, however. After I get this shoulder surgery this summer, I’ll be walking around in a sling for six weeks, followed by several months of recovery. That ain’t gonna be fun, folks.
 
So…was it worth it? All those competitions and big lifts for so many years, matched up against some very serious surgeries to repair some nasty damage to my body…was it worth it? Was my weightlifting career worth the problems I’ve experienced with my body? Let me get back to that, actually.
 
What do we get out of it?
 
One of the important parts of this question is asking yourself what you’ve received that could possibly justify the pain. It’s a simple concept. Think about your job. You work hard and sacrifice a ton of time and effort for your job, and why? Because you get paid for it. You receive a reward that makes the job worthwhile. Hopefully, you’ve picked a job you love, so you also get the rewards of fun, fulfillment, and spending your days doing something that makes you happy.
 
What kind of rewards do you receive from your career as an athlete that justify the possibility of injury and pain? First of all, we have to acknowledge the rewards vary from sport to sport. If you play football in the NFL, the risk of injury is justified by millions of dollars and fame. You might tear your ACL at some point, but you’ll make enough money during your career to carry you through the rest of your life after you retire at 33.
 
Weightlifting? You know where this is going… People don’t make millions of dollars in weightlifting, no matter how good you are at it. Some of the best lifters in the world make a very comfortable living in Europe and Asia, where there’s some money available for winning a world championship. And there are exceptionally rare situations like Naim Suleymanoglu from Turkey, whose Olympic gold medals made him a national icon and paved the way to wealth. So if you’re a top world-ranked lifter, there’s a chance you can make some good money in this sport. But for the most part, it’s not a rich man’s game.
 
I never made a dime from weightlifting, like most lifters in the world. So I can’t put money on the list of rewards I received. That brings about the question, “Okay, if you didn’t make any money from being a weightlifter, why the hell did you do it? Especially at a level where you got hurt?”
 
That’s where my answer comes in, and it might be a little difficult for some people to understand. First of all, weightlifting was the thing that brought more joy, excitement, and fulfillment to my life than anything else I’ve ever done. I loved it more than I can put into words. Still do, for that matter. Spending all those years working my way up from a no-name kid in a gym to a top national competitor who got to compete in the Olympic Trials…that was the most rewarding journey of my life. I’m not talking about being rewarded by wealth. I’m talking about being rewarded by a change in my life that will last forever.
 
My weightlifting career made me tougher and more determined than most other people. And I’m not just being conceited and talking about myself when I say that. I think weightlifters in general are tougher and more determined than most people. The sport trains them to push through pain and frustration, deal with loss and defeat, sacrifice pieces of themselves for a higher goal, and lots of other intangible qualities that make a person stronger and more capable of dealing with life. I’m a better person because of my weightlifting experience, along with the fact that it was amazingly fun and thrilling.
 
Yes, it was all worth it for me. I’ve paid some pain prices, and I’m getting ready to pay more of them. But I can honestly tell you that there has never been one moment when I’ve stepped back and said, “I never should have been a weightlifter. It wasn’t worth it.” Those thoughts have literally never crossed my mind.
 
It was all worth it. A small handful of surgeries for the best years of my life? Absolutely. It’s not even close. You can make up your own mind if your journey is worth the risks involved, and it’ll be your job to determine what the answer is, just like I have. I don’t know what conclusion you’ll come up with, but I’m pretty sure it’ll sound a lot like mine.