A Friend in the Iron

“The Iron never lies to you. You can walk outside and listen to all kinds of talk, get told that you’re a god or a total bastard. The Iron will always kick you the real deal. The Iron is the great reference point, the all-knowing perspective giver. Always there like a beacon in the pitch black. I have found the Iron to be my greatest friend. It never freaks out on me, never runs. Friends may come and go, but two hundred pounds is always two hundred pounds.” – Henry Rollins

If only I had learned such truths in Philosophy class. Instead, these words lurked deep within the textbook for a Strength Training course at West Point. It is the only time I’ve felt thankful to their Department of Physical Education.

I didn’t’ fully appreciate this quote when I first read it. You have to lift heavy weights consistently for a few years to grasp the depth in Rollins’ prose. For those who haven’t spent much time lifting weights, I’m going to share a story that demonstrates the pervading truths in Rollins’ writing, and what the Iron comes to mean in a lifter’s life.

In the fall of 2016, I spent 10 days in a hospital’s psychiatric ward. I admitted myself because of recurring suicidal tendencies that became more than I could bear alone. In the nights leading up to the hospitalization, I would dream that I was carrying out my suicide plan. During the day, I would perform at a high level at work, joke around with my friends, and make plans for the weekend. There were few, if any, outward signs that I was inches from taking my own life.

My time in the hospital was rough. It wasn’t a bad facility, but I had never felt so alone. The one hour of visitation at night was the only intelligent conversation I got all day. There was also a patient with gang tattoos who kept threatening to kick my ass (although part of me wished the motherfucker would try), and another who, during my first three days there, kept attempting to grab my junk when no one else was looking. My nightmares switched from suicide attempts, to this deeply insane patient having her way with me. It was a weird time.

On my first day out of the hospital, things didn’t get much better. I was taken right to the behavioral health doctors on Fort Huachuca. There, they informed me I would face a Medical Evaluation Board. My orders to Fort Drum and the 10^th Mountain Division were rescinded, and I lost the assignment I had been so excited for.

But that wasn’t all. A Medical Board is serious business, and my entire Army career was in jeopardy. I asked what my chances were of being retained by the service. The doctors were hesitant to answer, so I took a direct approach.

“How many times have you seen a soldier with Bipolar disorder be retained after a Medboard?”

Their answer:  never, after more than 20 years in military medicine. It looked like I would be kissing my dream job goodbye.

After that appointment was over, I checked in with my supervisor. He told me to report to work the next day, and that left me with the rest of the afternoon to process everything:  the mental trauma of a rough hospital stay, which included repeated threats of violence and attempts of sexual battery, that I would be stuck in Arizona until the Medical Board was over, and the beginning of the end to my Army career.

It’s a lot to deal with all at once. How does a young man begin to process all this? There were few options.

First, I could have talked it all over with family and friends, especially because I had seen so little of them in the hospital. Even then, the visitations were hardly private, considering the woman who kept trying to grab my junk at dinner was sitting 10 feet away.

Food was another option. The hospital nutrition was atrocious, and I hadn’t had a good meal in 10 days. Although we were 12 miles north of the US-Mexico border, the town had a Culvers, and I would have strangled a kitten for a triple-bacon-cheddar ButterBurger.

And although it was ill-advised, alcohol was a third option. I could have sat down and thought everything over with a whisky or two (or ten). Some say it’s the best medicine on earth.

I chose none of the above. I went straight to the gym, put a bar on my back, and squatted my ass off. When that was done, I took some weight off the bar and pressed it overhead for some heavy sets of five. Then I put the bar on the floor, loaded it up, and deadlifted to the point that I nearly collapsed. I usually record my weights from the day into a meticulous training log, but at the time, I just didn’t give a shit. The only thing in my mind was the Iron.

When done, I drove to a gas station, bought a quart of whole milk, and chugged it in the parking lot. I sat for a moment in my car and took a deep breath. I felt good for the first time in weeks, at peace, like nothing mattered in those seconds. I drove back to my place, cleaned up, and got food with my family

I had a friend in the iron long before these events transpired. I had a friend in the iron in the months following, and I have a friend in the iron today. It is ever-present in a lifter’s life. Whether I was working 12 to 14 hours a day as a soldier, or in my far less-stressful job at the gym, the iron was there. Whether my friends and family were in town, or across the country, the iron was there. Whether I felt on top of the world, or that life had shattered to pieces, the iron was there.

I’m sharing this to demonstrate what the Iron comes to mean in life. Rollins describes it as “the great reference point, the all-knowing perspective giver.” His words are beyond accurate. The Iron is forever there for you, patiently waiting like an old friend, constant, unchanging, one. For this, and this alone, I will always have a friend in the iron.

Thanks for reading. Now get off the toilet.

 

Featured image from mantrailuminacao.com.br.

Going Beyond the “Brain in a Jar”

 

The holidays are here. Next week, many of you will be stressing-out about all the weight you gained. If I was your basic white girl from Instagram, I’d write a post that sympathizes with you, encouraging you to stay positive, eat healthy, and go for a jog.

Unfortunately, I am a “big-hairy-American-winning-machine” who wants you to gain weight. You probably aren’t eating enough food, or at least enough of the right foods. What does this have to do with a brain in a jar? I’ll get there in a minute.

Prior to writing this, I ate dinner. Mozart’s Marriage of Figaro played in the background while I proceeded to piss-off all the vegans in a 10 mile radius. On the menu was a 17 ounce steak, whole milk, oatmeal, and one big-ass bowl (a highly scientific measurement) of ice cream. This is not some one-off holiday binge. Dinner looks like this every night, with breakfast and lunch looking pretty similar (minus the ice cream). Most Americans are worrying about eating too many calories this week, yet my primary concern is that I’m not eating enough. What gives?

(A photo of my weekly beef-purchase from Walmart. Those tubes are five pounds each. There’s a reason vegans hate me.)

 I’ve been eating like this for over a year, and the results are unimpressive. I’m still more than 30 pounds underweight, tipping the scales at a measly 228 pounds, at a height of 5’ 9″. With all this food I’m eating, I am merely maintaining my bodyweight. It’s going to be a hard year of eating for me to get up to 260.

My thoughts on ideal bodyweight do not conform to conventional wisdom. The poster-child of a “fit” and “healthy” male my age is a lean 155-165 pounds (a good 100 pounds lighter than my goal). This person does moderate-intensity exercise four or five days a week, including some “strength” training. His diet is based on whole grains, low-fat dairy, some fruits and vegetables, and a minimal amount of meat.

What a load of crap. This diet and exercise plan (recommended by the American Heart Association, the American Council on Exercise, and other authorities) merely enables a “brain in a jar” existence. People following this plan are doing just-enough exercise to not die of a heart attack, and eating just enough food to fuel their largely-sedentary job (and largely-sedentary hobbies). They are, for all intents and purposes, living life as a brain in a jar.

(Brain in a jar. Sketch by Jennifer Mathis)

Last I checked, the ideal human existence did not consist of living as a “brain in a jar.” I don’t train because I’m scared of a heart attack. I train because I want to be a savage. I am quite attached to many intellectual and artistic pursuits, but we live in a physical world. As such, our physical existence is far more crucial than merely preventing a cardiac event. If you truly want to “get after it” in life, you will need to transform your physical existence beyond this brain in a jar.

When our physical condition languishes, our intellectual existence (and, if you’re into that sort of thing, our spiritual existence) will suffer. If this idea is offensive to you, feel free to crawl back to your “brain jar” and drift through life as you always have. If you have an open mind, please continue reading.

If our existence is a physical one, we must examine the nature of the physical interactions we have with our environment. Upon doing so, one finds that every physical effort you engage in, whether it is updating your Instagram or carrying an injured friend to safety, is a function of force production. Accordingly, your ability to exert force against resistance (aka strength) is the foundation of your physical existence. If you think I’m wrong, take a listen to Mark Rippetoe (FYI, he is much stronger than the guy in the thumbnail):

If our existence is undeniably physical, and strength is the foundation of our physical existence, we should obviously train our minds and bodies for strength. This beautiful piece of logic is, unfortunately, lost on many people, including most of the fitness community. But, if you are smarter than the fitness community, (trust me, you are), please note the following truth:  you cannot get strong with pushups, lunges, a small bodyweight, and skim (or, God forbid, soy) milk.

You need to lift big, and you need to eat big. This means a steady diet of beef, chicken, whole milk, and whole grains (fish is also acceptable, if you enjoy what Ron Swanson calls the “vegetables of meat”). You must also engage in a disciplined program of  heavy squats, presses, and pulls. This will make a man from any boy, and a woman from any girl. After a few months, when you’re deadlifting double your bodyweight for reps, you will no-longer be a brain in a jar, but a beast. A strong, articulate, intelligent beast.

If you are worried about the weight you gained over the holidays, take a moment to examine your physical existence. Are you living life as a brain in a jar? Are you a fat brain in a jar? That’s ok. It’s pretty common for most Americans. But if you want to take your existence beyond the “brain in a jar,” you need to get bigger and stronger. Quit stressing about the cookies, and start stressing about your squat and deadlift. I promise you’ll love the result.

 

 

Thanks for reading. Now get off the toilet.

Side-Effects of Discipline, Intensity, and Going for Broke

In this week’s Poop Scoop, we actually discuss poop. Go figure.

If you train with heavy weights long enough, you will eventually crap your pants. In fact, it will probably happen every two or three years. All the gym bros who have never experienced this aren’t actually training heavy. If this bothers you, bite me. If you think this can’t be true, just bear with me for a few paragraphs.

Last winter, two of my NCOs brought me into a conversation about lifting. Both were big guys, and were strong compared to most soldiers (the Army really caters to runners). One of them had lifted with me a few days back, and he was impressed with how much I could squat (which in reality isn’t that much).

The two regaled me with stories of the gyms and food available on Air Force bases during deployment (perks of being intel soldiers). The training facilities were well-designed for their environment, not wasting money or floor space on idiotic machines. There was nothing but black iron, and a lot of it. At the GAINZ FACTORY dining facility, you could have steak, relatively fresh seafood, and bottomless omelets (I promise I’m not a Chair Force recruiter). They worked 85 hours per week, but this was in 12-hour shifts spread over 7 days, giving plenty of time to eat, sleep, and train. All in all, it was a good recipe for getting strong.

As we continued talking, one of the NCOs (we’ll call him Sergeant X) asked me about my workout the night before. Unfortunately for him, I can be painfully honest…

Incidentally, my lunch hadn’t agreed with me the previous day. This caused four or five bouts of diarrhea between sets, but I still set a PR.. I told Sergeant X about this, and I expressed how thankful I was that I hadn’t crapped myself. After all, it had been almost a year since sharting my PT shorts in the bottom of a heavy squat at West Point’s Arvin Gym. As any sane man would do, I did my best to keep that from happening again. Sergeant X, however, was quite taken aback by this comment. He pressed me on it:

“Wait a minute sir…you’ve shit your pants in the gym before?”

“It’s happened once or twice. Has it never happened to you?”

“No! Absolutely not sir! Never! Shitting myself in the gym is a possibility that NEVER even crossed my mind!”

“That is why no one will remember your name,” I joked.

I’m telling this rather embarrassing story to share a disgusting truth about hard, disciplined training. This applies not just to barbell training, but running, hockey, football, cycling, ballet, or any other physical endeavor that is truly hard.

If you are a committed competitor, at some point, you will go so hard that you soil yourself. It will happen despite your best efforts to use the toilet, both before working out and between sets. Training and competing at or near limit exertion for multiple sets, multiple times a week, for multiple years, well…shit happens. For a disciplined competitor, an upset stomach takes a back seat to the day’s tasks, dignity be damned. Hell, if you ask any female powerlifting champion (discreetly and nicely), they WILL share at least one story of urine incontinence during a squat or deadlift in the past year. Don’t believe me? Look it up.

Chasing hard goals is rarely pretty or glamorous. Sharing this truth won’t win you many followers on Instagram. That’s why we have the Poop Scoop. Pissing or shitting yourself is an experience every serious trainee will go through, but the determined ultimately don’t care. You just clean up your mess, and get back to work.

Thanks for reading. Now get off the toilet.

A Universal Truth

In tune with The Poop Scoop’s toilet theme, I am going to share a little story. Earlier this summer, my Dad couldn’t get off the toilet without hoisting his body using both arms. Today, he no longer has that problem. More on that in a minute…

One learns a lot “under the bar.” Dave Tate even wrote a book with that title, discussing wisdom developed from powerlifting at the elite level. Strong Enough, by Mark Rippetoe (aka Rip), is a personal favorite of mine; it discusses his thoughts on over 30 years training and coaching the barbell lifts. I’ve only been under the bar a few years, but those years taught me a hell of a lot more about life than my Philosophy degree. Putting hundreds of pounds on your back, squatting so low that your hips are below your knees, and then standing back up, teaches you a lot in one rep. Doing multiple reps, for multiple sets, multiple times per week, for multiple years…it has its way of putting things in perspective, even when it seems like the world is on fire.

So why am I writing this? Most people consider barbell training to be a young man’s game, good for hormonal 18-24 year old men in the prime of life. It is distasteful for the rest of the civilized world, especially when the stereotype is a giant, hairy powerlifter with the grunt of a rhinoceros and complete disregard for personal safety. The legendary Doug Young, who won a “record-breakers” meet with three broken ribs, comes to mind:

(Image from bodybuilding.com)

Barbell training is fantastic for a wild young man. HOWEVER, the idea that hard barbell training is not suited for others is a downright dangerous misconception. Barring a severe muscle-wasting disease (i.e. ALS), every single human being is capable of getting stronger, and barbells are the best way to do it. They are safe, scalable, and more effective than damned near everything else for getting strong, steroids included.

Then why aren’t more people under the bar? Do stereotypes and misconceptions regarding barbell training keep the general population at bay? I actually don’t think so. I think it’s the fact that barbell training is so brutally hard, people pull excuses out of their asses to avoid it. The most ridiculous excuse I’ve heard is “not wanting to get big.” Well, girls can’t grow obnoxiously large muscles without dangerous levels of steroids, and men who don’t want big, strong muscles are either wimps or lying to themselves. You don’t have to weigh 250 pounds, but not being able to deadlift your bodyweight for five reps is no way to go through life. Everyone is capable of getting stronger, and being healthier, sexier, and happier for it.

I personally think that decades of compounding laziness have conditioned us to expect less physical work from ourselves, and by extension, everyone around us. As ol’ Rip says in Strong Enough, “when we stop expecting things from ourselves, our expectations of other people go down as well” (198). After all, it’s hard to badger someone about their poor physical existence when you yourself are a fat slob. Trust me, I’ve been there.

In fact, before setting more things on fire, I need to take a step back. I have repeatedly used many of the excuses I am calling out here. It took years of my own stupidity, and a little trip into Army-land, to realize how weak I truly was. Conducting react-to-contact drills in hot, humid conditions, on little food or sleep, and wearing all sorts of gear, is pretty damn hard for a man who can’t deadlift his own bodyweight for a few reps. It didn’t matter that I could run a 6:30 mile (I used to be sort-of fast), and GOD FORBID if I had to do a casualty carry up a hill. That s*** sucks whether or not you squat 450 (although it’s much easier if you do).

The fact of the matter is that your life will improve dramatically if you choose to get strong. And unless you have a terminal muscle-wasting disease, you are capable of getting stronger. It is as universal a truth as the Laws of Thermodynamics. If you think that this truth, for some reason, does not apply to you, you are wrong. Sorry to burst your bubble.

My Mom decided to get stronger earlier this year. She was just about 60 years old, suffered from decades of back pain (which at times required a metal brace), degenerative spinal kyphosis, Fibromyalgia, Crohn’s disease, car accidents, two ungrateful sons, and a 40-year marriage to my father. Oh, there was a mini-stroke in there too (almost forgot about that one).

These hurdles didn’t matter to her, and if you have the guts, they won’t matter to you. We found a weight with which Mom could start. It was small and easily managed, but she progressed. In a couple months, she was repping out her bodyweight in the deadlift, and is still progressing. How many healthy, 20 year-old women can claim that? (On a side note, my Mom hasn’t magically grown Arnold Schwarzenegger muscles through this process, but her back pain is drastically reduced. The pain in her ass caused by my father is unfortunately still there).

My Dad is another great example. After seeing how much my Mother’s life was changing, he decided to get with the program. He was 65, had spent decades on multiple high-blood pressure meds, and had a body that was falling apart. To keep the list short, he was dealing with diabetes, two full knee-replacements that were over a decade old, a torn rotator cuff, and couldn’t lift his left arm over his head. His lower body was so weak that getting off the toilet required use of both arms. Most of society would consider it perfectly acceptable if my father confined himself to a Hoverround and hired an in-home nurse to fetch his Cheetos. As some of you know, however, my Dad is insane…

After deciding he wasn’t different from the rest of humanity, Dad went with me to the weight room. He could barely walk after his first squat session, which was in fact very light (at the time, my Mom was squatting far more than he could). Dad didn’t even have the energy left to deadlift that first session. In fact, getting back to the car was tough. No matter. Four weeks later he squatted three sets of five reps with 135 pounds on his back, hips below his prosthetic knees at the bottom. By that time, we were able to get him overhead pressing and benching successfully. He could also deadlift his bodyweight for reps, showing no signs of slowing down. His quality of life has changed dramatically, a change that many in his previous state would pay millions for. Oh, and Dad accomplished this by lifting twice a week, with sessions taking just over an hour, with the same program my Mom used. In fact, they now train together. Coaching them is the highlight of my week.

Now, before some internet genius calls me out with bogus exceptions to this truth, I will include two more examples. The first is John Wilson. John is in 50s, and has suffered from a myriad of neck, back, and knee surgeries (including fused vertebra and two knee replacements). However, these are small potatoes to his other health issues. John has stage four kidney cancer. He has been getting surgeries and chemo to treat it for the past two years. This is after being given three months to live at the initial diagnosis. He has lasted eight times longer than expected, gained muscular bodyweight during aggressive chemotherapy treatments, squatted in the 300s, and deadlifted 500 pounds for three reps. These feats of strength were between chemo doses. Until the cancer reaches his brain, John is going to keep on trucking. You can listen to his story here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=39Ee-BGLxKg

I think the only thing precluding someone from a robust barbell program would be a trainee with complete paralysis. THIS DOES NOT MEAN, however, that those living with paralysis can’t gain strength. Take a look at Michael McClellan. Despite paralysis, he uses electronic muscle stimulation to tell his legs to pedal a bike. While inefficient at building strength, this process does build his ability to exert force against external resistance. The man actually competes in this for crying out loud.

(Image credit:  https://nihrecord.nih.gov/newsletters/2016/09_23_2016/story2.htm)

The road is harder for guys like Mike and John, and I can make no normative judgements for men and women who do not take that road (my hypocrisy goes only so far). The universal truth, however, remains through such scrutiny. It is perhaps the greatest lesson I have ever learned. If you have the mental fortitude to get yourself under the bar and stay there, I promise that you will enjoy the rewards. If you want to set world records, you’ll have to train longer than my Mom and Dad. But for the old and broken-down, you can earn life-changing strength with just 70 minutes, twice-a-week.

You have what it takes. Now get off the toilet.