Cybex Meltdown
Tomorrow, I had to workout for the scouts—the reason we were all here. I was ushered into a waiting area outside a small room (all we do is wait around at this thing). Back to the steel chairs that had found their way to a different part of the hotel. Today, I would be testing my lower body strength on a Cybex machine. Great. A Cybex machine is similar to doing leg extensions at your local gym, except that it provides resistance—both up and down—while you do this thing to complete leg failure. Yes, you rep out each of your legs until you can’t do it anymore. You are strapped in, not unlike Ivan Drago in the training scene of “Rocky IV,” except that there is no super hot blonde watching you, nor is there some big Russian guy shooting you up with steroids before and after each rep.
There is no way to avoid this, no secret exit that would lead you back to campus and a pretty girl with a case of Bud Heavies under her arm. I was stuck. Next in line, watching some guy from Tennessee squeeze his cheeks together and come near exhaustion. My number was called, and I sat down as two guys strapped me into the machine. Maybe this is what astronauts feel like before takeoff was all I thought until I heard some man tell me to “start it up.” One rep, two reps, and so on. Both legs drained of every ounce of energy. In less than 20 hours I would be running a 40-yard dash that would determine if I got drafted or not, and here I was dying inside and gasping for air.
And that is what the Combine is all about. They want you to feel tired and they want you to face adversity, because they are curious to see how you respond. Will the guy crack under the pressure or will he deliver under the most dreadful circumstances? That was the question I would have to answer tomorrow, but in the meantime I wanted to find Peter Warrick to see if his watch cost more than my parent’s house.