I posted this a few years ago it's a description of what a guy sees watchin Dorian Yates lift. Kinda motivates me when I read it.
Even after the warm-up, his face glistens with sweat and his gray
top is partly discolored, soaked with his bodies perspiration. The
aura and body language is warning enough to dissuade even the most
foolhardy from invading his space.
With both hands, he grabs the bar of a nearby lat machine, with arms
straight, and begins to stretch his upper torso from side to side.
Methodically affixing his lifting belt, he rolls his neck around and
around, his eyes never leaving the bar - which has now been loaded
to 440 pounds - he will use for rows.
Stooping over the bar, he meticuolously attaches the lifting straps
around the iron. Satisfied that all is well, he lashes the slack
around each wrist.
Gripping the bar, he arches the small of his back as his upper body
assumes an angle of 70 degrees. With his arms almost straight, he
thrusts his head forward and slightly upward, causing the vains in
his neck to stand out like steel cables. The blood-filled serpents
merge with his traps to form an expansive, nearly inhuman mass.
His stance resembles that of a bull gorilla readying itself to
defend its territory. Taking three mighty breaths, he duck his head
down, then up. With a rasping gutteral exhalation, he thrusts his
elbows backward like pistons and lifts the 440 pounds off the gym
floor. Within a count of two, the nearly unbelievable weight is
touching his lifting belt. Then, as gently as a father handling a
newborn, he amazingly eases the weight back to the floor.
Four times he repeats the movement - each repitition slower than
the last, his gargoyle-like contortions bearing testimony to his
efforts. Sweat runs from his brow and along his nose before
cascading onto the lifting mat. The fourth rep is completed; surely
the task is done and all forces spent. But no he ducks his head
again, raises it and, with a bloodcurdling shriek that fills the
gym, pulls the mother****er of a load to his midriff once more.
For mere mortals, the end is nigh. But this is no mere mortal, and
summoning up the power of his ambitions and the unique inner drive
that has dogged him since his youth, he emits a spine-tingling roar
a hybrid between a primevil scream and a spiritual call to arms. In
what appears to be a crazy imitation of a NASA slow-motion launch,
the bar climbs inexorably from its resting place to make contact with
his belt a sixth and fiber-splitting seventh time.
The job is done! | 
