“‘I Can Only Do One Rep…’ — Alabama’s 6’7″, 360-Pound Kadyn Proctor Stuns Reporters with Humble Fall Camp Confession, Then Shatters Limits with Unbelievable Weight Room Feat”

In the brutal heat of Alabama’s August fall camp, amid the sound of clanging metal and shouted cadence, one comment pierced the atmosphere and instantly spread like wildfire. Kadyn Proctor, the 6-foot-7, 360-pound offensive tackle built more like a superhero than a teenager, calmly told reporters, “I can only do one rep…” A surprising and vulnerable admission, it instantly raised eyebrows. For a program synonymous with dominance and physicality, such a statement coming from one of its most physically imposing players had reporters scrambling for context. But just as quickly as the questions arose, Proctor delivered the kind of answer that silenced every doubt and left jaws planted firmly on the weight room floor. Because that one rep? It was for over 700 pounds. And suddenly, the entire narrative flipped.

Proctor’s journey to this moment is as remarkable as his physical gifts. Coming out of Des Moines, Iowa, as one of the most highly touted offensive line prospects in the nation, he shocked the college football world when he initially committed to Iowa before flipping to Alabama on National Signing Day. The decision immediately paid dividends for the Crimson Tide, who recognized that Proctor wasn’t just another big body to groom over time. He was a freakishly athletic specimen who could anchor the line against SEC edge rushers from the jump. But what’s stunned people even more than his recruitment or raw size is his humility, work ethic, and self-awareness — traits not often associated with players whose mere presence alters game plans and attracts viral attention.

That “one rep” comment wasn’t a punchline or a boast. It was an honest response to a question about Proctor’s weight room progress. Reporters expected to hear about reps of 225 or 315 pounds — impressive, sure, but standard for college linemen. Instead, Proctor shrugged as if he was describing a mild inconvenience and casually mentioned that while he could only hit a single rep, it was because the weight was so insane it bordered on inhuman. One Alabama staffer revealed the number was above 700 pounds — a squat that would make elite powerlifters do a double-take. For context, the average squat for an NFL lineman at the combine is around 500 pounds. Proctor has blown past that before his sophomore season.

What separates Proctor isn’t just power. It’s explosion, agility, and technical growth that’s rocketing him up NFL draft boards before he’s even eligible. During practices, defensive ends who once salivated at facing a young lineman now dread lining up against the mountain-sized wall in cleats. Teammates speak in awed tones, not just about his brute force but the way he moves — how he gets into position faster than guys 60 pounds lighter. One player noted, “It’s like trying to run through a building that also knows your every move.”

And it’s not just teammates he’s impressing. Alabama’s offensive line coach Joe Pendry, a longtime veteran of the sport, reportedly told staff that Proctor “might be the most naturally gifted lineman I’ve ever seen.” That’s not light praise in a program that’s churned out NFL Pro Bowlers and All-Americans like clockwork. But perhaps what’s even more impressive is how Proctor has responded to the spotlight. He’s turned down interviews, deflected praise, and constantly credits his teammates and coaches for his development. His favorite phrase? “I still got a lot to prove.” It’s that humility — the same quality evident in his “one rep” comment — that’s making fans, coaches, and scouts believe he could be something more than great. He could be legendary.

Strength and size often get headlines, but football is played in the details. And Proctor has attacked those details with an intensity that’s transformed his game from promising to dominant. This fall, early scrimmages have seen him bury defenders into the turf with pancake blocks so violent they drew reactions from players on both sidelines. Coaches have had to slow down full-contact drills not to protect Proctor, but to protect the defenders tasked with trying to go through him. One assistant reportedly said, “We need to save bodies for Saturdays.”

In film study, Proctor is already emerging as a student of the game, analyzing blitz schemes and protection calls with the kind of cerebral precision normally reserved for upperclassmen. He’s taken on a quiet leadership role, helping new freshmen acclimate, often staying after practice to work with younger players. It’s not unusual to see him helping a third-string tackle with footwork drills long after most of the team has headed to recovery tubs. That’s part of what makes Proctor so rare — the combination of God-given gifts and a servant’s heart, molded by a program that expects nothing short of championships.

The 2025 season will be a defining chapter for Alabama, a team in transition but far from fading. With a new-look offense and a young but explosive defense, the Crimson Tide are betting heavily on trench dominance to reestablish themselves at the top of the SEC. Proctor isn’t just expected to hold his own — he’s expected to lead. At left tackle, he’ll be protecting a quarterback still carving his identity, anchoring an offensive line that will set the tone for Alabama’s title hopes. And every time he lines up, opposing defensive coordinators will have to ask themselves one question: how do you go through a wall?

Analysts have begun floating Proctor’s name in early 2026 NFL Draft chatter. Though he’s not eligible this season, some scouts have already written him in ink as a first-rounder when the time comes. They cite the size, sure, but they also cite the rare agility, the consistent leverage, and — perhaps most importantly — the mindset. “There are five-star guys with big egos who flame out fast,” said one NFL evaluator. “Kadyn Proctor is the opposite. He’s grounded, he’s coachable, and he’s just getting started.”

For Alabama fans, Proctor represents both the future and the foundation. He’s the kind of player that championship teams are built around — unmovable in the trenches, tireless in the film room, and unshakable in big moments. He’s not chasing NIL headlines or individual glory. He’s chasing greatness the old-fashioned way: one brutal practice at a time, one film session at a time, and yes — even one rep at a time.

So when Kadyn Proctor said, “I can only do one rep,” he wasn’t underselling himself. He was letting the work speak. And the work is louder than ever. Because when that one rep moves a bar stacked with more weight than most humans will ever dream of touching, it’s not weakness — it’s warning. A warning to the SEC. A warning to the nation. And a warning to anyone standing across from No. 74 this fall.

Kadyn Proctor isn’t here for flash. He’s here to flatten, to dominate, to protect, and to elevate. He’s already the stuff of weight room legend, and the season hasn’t even begun. But come kickoff, those one-rep feats will translate into 60-minute statements — the kind that define legacies and deliver trophies. One rep? Sure. But that one rep, and everything behind it, is rewriting what’s humanly possible in college football’s trenches.