Man, I nearly died in weightlifting today, or at least nearly got very badly injured. I was doing squats, and my legs just gave out, quite catastrophically. And I thought my spotter would save me, cuz hell, that's what he's there for, right? But nope, I plopped butt first onto the ground. Good thing the rack had those safety bar things like 2 ft. up, otherwise I could have been seriously hurt. I walked away with only a scraped up neck. But yea, man, more than anything else, I guess it kinda just felt like a betrayal on the part of my spotter. I mean, certainly, you don't expect to need his help most of the time, but in that rare instance that you do, they darn well better be there! It's like if you're a trapeze artist, and you're perfectly fine doing your thing, cuz you've got a safety net underneath you, but what if the net doesn't save you when you need it to? Uggghhhh, dang it, I'm just pissed off at my spotter right now. GRAGGHHH...

*(11/06) Dang it, now I'm suffering from confidence problems on the squat. When I start to feel the burn in my legs, I'm reminded of my fall, and something inside starts getting afraid that it'll happen again. And there's nothing quite like fear to completely sap you of your strength. Dang it, this phobia of mine has effectively dropped my squat weight by 30lbs. Blehhhh, I hope this doesn't turn into one of those things I'll have to see a psychiatrist about one day. =/