That blasted pull-up bar.

Yup, time to cue that fancy flashback music again. This time, we're headed back to third grade gym class, Wesley Elementary School, circa 1992...


"Just one pull-up and you pass the test!" Yelled my gym teacher, as I dangled hopelessly from the horizontal metal bar.


It's pretty cruel that of all the components of the President's Physical Fitness Test, the pull-ups would come last. As a second grader, it had been the mile run that did me in, along with the sit-and-reach test and the blasted pull-ups. Third grade was more of the same.


Fourth grade, however, saw me in the best shape of my 10 year old life. I'd become quite the little basketball player, and was never the last one picked for recess football. Field day was rewarded with a number of ribbons, not just the purple one for participation. And, as much as any kid hopes to do well on an arbitrary test, I was determined that this would be the year that I finally met the president's challenge.


Week one of the test was the easiest part: the sit-ups. No problem. Someone holds your feet, you lean forward 35 times, hope you don't have to hold the feet of the stinky kid, and you move on with your day. Sure enough, I passed this part of the challenge without breaking a sweat. Yeah, the abs were a little sore, but you know what they say about pain.


On comes the next week, and with it, the sit-and-reach. This one could be trouble. I'm not all that flexible, after all. Can I really push that little lever forward 25 inches? Well, not quite, but thankfully my gym teacher had no problem rounding up from 24.5. Close call, but on we go.


Week 3: the mile run. Well, what passed for a mile run, anyway, in a field with no actual track. The challenge: run around the course three times within 10 minutes. I'd never succeeded before, but by this time in my life, I'd acquired a pair of Reebok Pumps. Yup, those wonderful sneakers with the little basketball on the tongue, which could be pumped to achieve maximum foot traction. With those swift sneakers, I rounded the final turn, took a time to compose myself, than ran like Hades. I sprinted over the line just as the teacher counted off "9:57!" Thank you, Reebok, for your phenomenal Pumps.


But then, week four: the pull-ups. Would this year be different? Would I finally be able to pull myself above the bar, like a power forward showing off after dunking a basketball? It was all that stood between me and my own certificate of fitness was one rep, just one bend of the elbows...

I couldn't do it. Not even a little. Try as I might, there would be no getting my chin above that metal bar. And, as I swung like a doofus, I realized there would be no presidential acknowledgements for me, just the usual jeers from the tormentors of the Wesley playground.


Flash forward 18 years...


I saw the pull-up bar as soon as I walked into that middle school gymnasium. I was there to help Megan with her holiday concert, and yet as the kids performed, I couldn't help but stare at the bar. True, in almost 28 years, I'd never come close to executing a successful pull-up. Then again, I'd never been in shape quite like this before, at least not since my near accomplishment back in fourth grade. Maybe now, with all the exercise I've been doing, all the gym work and weight lifting and fat burning, perhaps I was now at the time in my life when the pull-up would prove possible.


At the end of the concert, as the parents filed their children out of the gym, I went for it. This time, there was no need to jump up to grab the bar. I reached up, grasped the bar firmly in my hands, took a deep breath, and pulled.


Nothing. Just Matt dangling from a bar again. What good was it to lose 40 pounds and still be unable to do a pull-up? Blast!


One last touch of the fast forward button. Now we're at a Manchester gym this past Friday. Cue Matt and the personal trainer...


"Alright, you ever try this machine before?"


I couldn't believe it. The trainer had led me right to the pull up machine. Try this machine? Heck, I've done all I can to avoid it! There's no way, even with the added support the machine provides, that I'm going to do a pull-up that will make you shake your head with approval. I don't care how many push-ups I can do, I'm about to make a fool out of my self on the one piece of equipment I've vowed to avoid like it had scabies.


"Ah, no, I don't think I have."


The girl on the machine (a trainer herself, I might add) made it look so simple. "Watch her form," the trainer said. Chin up, shoulders pinched back, each movement symmetrical. This was no problem for her.


Then it was my turn. My trainer set the support on high, and to my surprise, I could pull myself up a few times. Without the support, however, I once again found myself as a bar dangler. The spirit is willing, but the upper body, it appears, is still too weak.


Frowning, I let myself down from the bar. "Most people are intimidated by the pull-up machine," the trainer says. Yeah, I know how they feel.


I look up, the frown still present on my face. "I've never been able to do a pull-up. I don't think I ever will."


"I think you'll surprise yourself," he smirks. "In fact, I think I'm going to have you try every time you come in."


I looked into his eye, seeking the twinkle of a punchline. He wasn't joking. He actually expected me to repeat this folly in every workout session.


And you know what? I'm game. Perhaps someday, I'll be able to quit dangling and get my chin above that darned bar. Maybe then, my weight loss journey will have officially reached its apex.


For now, though, the pull-up remains ever elusive. And when I do, I'm writing Obama to tell him. I want my certificate, darn it, even if it has to be retroactive to 1992!


And with that, let's pump up some STATS!



Weeks until wedding: 24 (Holy crap, I'm getting married soon!)
Pounds lost in Week 25: 1.2
Total weight lost: 56.8 lbs
Percentage toward 60-pound goal: 94.6666667 Grading on the curve, I'm practically there!
Weight left to lose before hitting (initial) goal: 3.2 lbs.
3.2 is exactly 10 percent of what number? 32.
Certain NBA superstar who wore number 32 for most of his career. The Mailman. Yep, another Karl Malone reference. Deal with it!
Blog followers: 43
Congrats to: Janina and Sam on baby #2! Benjamin is quite cute, but when's he getting a job?