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Or were those tears? Growing more fearful, I tried again, and yet again.

I took a deep breath and gathered my courage.

The room grew dead silent.

Then again, if I didn't try, I'd get laughed at.

What I saw has been forever seared into my mind: 45 much bigger, much stronger guys, guys who could all beat me into next week if they wanted, watching waiting.

I felt exhausted, both physically and mentally.....

My arms trembled, the veins in my neck felt like they were going to pop as I gave it one last Herculean try.

Oh, and the rat-a-tat-tat of my heart pounding in my chest.

Shaking like a piece of overcooked spaghetti, I let my arms drop, fingers grazing the ground as the muscles in my arms twitched with protest.

It was no use.

A quick glance told me it was only 100 pounds balancing on both ends of that bar.

I just didn't know how many would laugh, or how obvious they would be when they did it.

I knew, then and there, that nothing I did during the next few moments would make a difference.

Sweat dripped into my eyes, clouding my vision.

Here goes.

Either way, I would be laughed at.

I couldn't do it.

If I tried to lift the bar, I'd fail and get laughed at.

I was already doomed.

Maybe I could do this.

And nothing happened.

Nevertheless, my fear mounted.

Here's my own true story that I'll never forget It all started 13 years ago when I was in my last year of high school.

Dozens of thoughts flooded my brain and the only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock on the wall.

I lifted with all I had.

Waiting for me to fail.

If I couldn't lift this, it was over for me, and my life as a weakling would be permanently cemented in every jock's brain in the room, and then the story would spread through the entire school like wildfire.

Tentatively, I stepped forward, cautiously eased down onto the weight bench and looked around.

The gym teacher looked expectantly at me, waiting for me to start.

When my gym teacher asked me to do a bench press.