One big disadvantage of having my younger brother here in New York is that we often work out together. Which, in some ways, is an advantage – working out with someone else always being more fun than working out alone. The problems set in when we start competing with each other. Because, after twenty-some years of practice, the two of us have honed to an art the act of pushing far more than we sanely should, just to edge the other out.

This was made particularly clear yesterday, when the CrossFit Workout of the Day called for maximum weight deadlift attempts. [A deadlift, for those not familiar, essentially involves picking a weighted barbell up off the ground, then putting it back down again. Cf.]

So, we started with the bar and a 45 pound plate on either side, and proceeded to pile on additional weight after each attempt. There’s a point somewhere after adding two such forty-five pound plates on each side that, as you stand up, the metal barbell visibly bends. And, it was about at that point that other people nearby began to stop their own workouts, gathering to watch us go back and forth, back and forth, each time adding more and more weight to the bar.

In the end, as he does about half the time these days, my brother edged me out, though not before we had well crossed the 300 pound mark. But, today, we’re both the losers. I, for example, am typing this standing, because my legs are far too sore for me to lower myself into the chair.

They say love hurts; apparently, that’s doubly true for the brotherly sort.