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.

Gratitude and Grace

This post takes a break from poop-related content to talk about gratitude. It is Thanksgiving after all, and my favorite holiday (after the 4^th of July, of course. ‘Merica).

I really have just a few close friends. One of them is my former roommate at West Point. We somehow survived three years together in the same room, as well as in the same Philosophy program. However, during our senior year, a woman swooped in and spoiled the fun. If she wasn’t such an awesome person, I would be very salty about the whole thing.

I had the privilege of attending their wedding last May. Getting to know the other groomsmen was an incredible experience. One of them is the best fisherman I have ever met. During the bachelor party, he hooked this bad boy and let me reel it in. For a guy used to catching pan fish, it was a tough fight. The groom is to my left, the tall, handsome bastard:

The wedding weekend proved to be the most spectacular experience I’ve had in a few years. One of the highlights was getting to listen to the groom’s father. The guy is from rural Wyoming, and he used to ride professional-level bulls in college. For those who’ve never seen a rodeo, you do not understand how crazy and cool a bullrider truly is (being a North Korean journalist is safer). This man built an incredible career in the oil business, raised an incredible posse of kids (with the help of an incredible wife), built an incredible ranch, and is one of the most generous people I have ever met.

What stuck out from all the jokes and wisdom this guy told, is the tidbit I am about to share with you. He was sipping Crown Royal the morning of the wedding (along with the rest of the Catholic groomsmen), and I was sitting on a porch, looking out over a man-made lake on their ranch. He swaggered up to my side and joined in admiring the scenery, like a creator looking over his masterpiece. God couldn’t have looked prouder on the seventh day. He asked a question…

“Sam, what in life do you actually, truly deserve?”

“Honestly,” I replied after a moment of thought, “not much, if anything.”

He smiled, gesturing grandly with his hands about the beauty around us. He shared with me the following:

“When you realize that life ultimately owes you nothing, everything in your life becomes a gift.”

I am rarely floored by words that I hear. I’ve heard former Presidents and Vice Presidents speak in the flesh. I’ve heard former Secretaries of State speak in the flesh. There are also Nobel Prize winning authors, Olympic gold medalists, business leaders, and even humanitarian Elie Wiesel in that list. In fact, Mr. Wiesel’s story is the only one that I consider as moving as the previous statement.

We proceeded to talk about gratitude. I believe he mentioned hearing this tidbit from the wedding’s officiating priest, but my memory isn’t sure. After a few minutes, he went back inside to top-off his drink, and started messing-around with the other groomsmen.

I sat there on the porch, thinking of the gifts in my life. When things aren’t going the way you’ve planned, it is easy to develop a negative outlook. At the time, I was only a few months away from an unwelcome medical retirement. The medications I was on had prevented me from drinking the whole weekend (as well as the past seven months). At the time, work was rather stressful. Apart from being an XO, I had just finished leading the Army Emergency Relief (AER) Campaign for Fort Huachuca. I was the lucky bastard given a massive, post-wide job as a cherry lieutenant while simultaneously doing my original job. Such is the Army, and such is life.

But hey, that’s to be expected! Live isn’t supposed to be easy, and I had a lot to be thankful for. While working those two jobs, my parent organization backed me up every way they could, and took quite a lot off my plate. The Department of the Army civilian they tasked to advise me in the campaign was an incredibly experienced campaigner and former master-sergeant. Together we got a lot done. And even though I was soon leaving the career I’d spent so long working towards, I had a lot going for me. I have received top notch educations in college, high school, and from other areas in life. I was also lucky to have been diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder while young. Some folks go for years undiagnosed, and this can be disastrous to one’s life, often leading to its end. Even if my life went completely downhill, I still had family and friends that refuse to let me fail. Hearing this man’s wisdom confirmed something I’d told another groomsman that weekend:  I consider myself one of the luckiest men in the world.

Some of us walk harder roads than others. My father and mother walked harder roads than my brother and I will walk, and I am grateful for that. Hell, my dad used to get beat-up multiple times a week for being born of an interracial marriage. Others walk even more difficult roads, harder lives than we can imagine. Elie Wiesel’s story comes to mind. Realizing that life owes us nothing comes from the fact that millions are handed nothing good in life. It is a lesson Epictetus graciously shared (if you haven’t read Epictetus, or stoic Philosopher Marcus Aurelius, stop reading the Poop Scoop until you have).

However, true gratitude doesn’t come from the fact that others have it worse. It comes from the important gifts that life graces you with. For example, I won the lottery with my parents; my older brother kicks ass (and my sister-in-law is just as great!); I have a few good friends (I never use “friend” lightly); and some incredible people have chosen to share their wisdom with me. So many have graciously shared so much with me, it is hard not to be thankful. Hopefully I will never forget such grace.

Happy Thanksgiving. Now get off the toilet.

Arrogance and Humility

I’m going to share an amusing story. The events herein occurred last summer at Barnes Field House on Fort Huachuca. It was a mediocre weight room, but there were some strong dudes who lifted there. Four or five of them were capable of squatting over 500 pounds, one of them could deadlift over 600, and one guy I knew benched 315 pounds for 15 strict reps, no bounce off his chest. There was also a lady who competed in raw powerlifting at the international level, despite the fact that she was going through cancer treatment. I was not yet on these folks’ level, but it was a good environment for getting strong.

Before going further, I need to make a confession:  I am one of the most arrogant people you will ever meet. Some of those knowing me will nod their head judiciously in agreement. Others will be more surprised. The truth is, I am incredibly judgmental of people, but experience taught me early-on to keep my mouth shut. (I can picture a few of my friends thinking:  “Sam? Keep his mouth shut? What a f—ing joke”).

I learned at a young age to keep my mouth shut, but only after being put in my place by people or challenges beyond my ability. Most of us will learn that there is always someone in the world better than you. Even if you are the best out of billions, you will grow old, die, and another will take your place. America taught this lesson to the rest of the world last century, and we still haven’t shut up about it (not that I think we should stop).

Back to the story. It was a Thursday, about 6:30 pm, and I’d just finished a hard set of squats. My training log says it was 405×5. Not exactly an easy day for me. The fun of it was, I still had a heavy set of deadlifts to complete. Such is the road to strength.

Now, being in a weight room that frequently saw people much stronger than me, I knew that my abilities were grossly mediocre. But on this day, a new guy to our gym learned that he wasn’t Samson reincarnate; he was just another gym bro. To that effect, I will derisively refer to him as Broski from here on out (I’m not just arrogant; I’m also an asshole).

As I was warming up my deadlifts, I couldn’t help but watch as Broski started his squat sets (he came to the gym after I’d finished mine). It wasn’t because Broski was particularly good, but because there was a great deal of drama involved. He eventually worked up to a couple of single-rep sets at 335. That makes him stronger than 99.9% of the world population. In here, however, he wasn’t special. Because of his inexperience with our gym, Broski made a huge deal out of his accomplishment. There are gym grunts, and then there is screaming like the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. That was Broski. He also needed a great deal of hype and three spotters to get his work done. Again, not inherently a faux pas, but you don’t need to whip out a NASCAR pit crew to change the tires on your Camry.

(Artist rendering of Broski. Credit:  Dodgeball:  A True Underdog Story. Red Hour Films, 2004.)

After finishing his top set, Broski sauntered over to my deadlift setup. I had finally finished my warm ups, and was about to start my work set. Then Broski pipes up, “your set up is off a bit man.” Dude was loud. Being taller and more muscular than I was (and with better hair, that bastard!), he made quite a presence. Broski went on to critique my deadlift for a good five minutes, even pointing out apparent “defects” in my wonderful custom-made power belt. As he continued on, a few onlookers gathered to “learn,” or something. Trying not to be an asshole, I kept my mouth shut while “listening” to Broski. But then something happened where I could not resist.

Basking in the onlooker attention, Broski finished with “here, let me show you.” That was something I did not expect. Based off his squat, it didn’t look like he could deadlift my work set for one rep, let alone without warming up the movement.

Intrigued, I step back. Broski postures his way on to the deadlift platform. He sets up his body, pulls on the bar, and nothing. He pulls again, and nothing. Broski stands up, confused. He looks at the two plates on each end of the bar, scratches his head, and says sheepishly, “oh…those are hundreds.”

“You didn’t know?” I reply with a shit-eating grin (told you I’m an asshole).

Broski had thought there were 225 pounds on the bar. And thinking that I was a noob, he thought he could show everybody how a real lifter does it. Not the case. He stepped away from the platform with his tail between his legs, watching as I pulled 445 for five reps with little drama. After that set, I put my weights away, chugged a quart of chocolate milk, and went home. Broski couldn’t even look at me after that set.

I trained at Barnes Field House for about another month. Broski never managed to approach me again. I never even learned his name. I guess he was too embarrassed by this little incident, which is sad. I didn’t have anything against the guy, and getting put in your place like that, on your first day in a new gym, can’t be easy. It must have been even more humbling on other days, watching the truly strong guys squat 550 without a spotter or a grunt.

At some point, we all learn that someone is better than us. Usually, we learn that there are many, many people better than us. This is a good thing. It keeps arrogant guys like me and Broski from being bigger assholes than we otherwise would be. Hopefully I never forget this lesson.

Thanks for reading. Now get off the toilet.

What Are You Gonna Do, PL?

“What are you gonna do PL?”

This common phrase should be familiar to all my military friends. It is a favorite of lane walkers (think angry/sadistic teacher/coach) trying to elicit a fear-response from small-unit leaders during field training. I’ve been on the receiving end a few times myself, although far fewer times than my friends who joined the Infantry (hopefully they don’t shame me for cultural appropriation). Hearing this phrase generally accompanies a lack of sleep, poor weather, hunger, and seeming futility. The song below is an exceptional portfolio on the use of this phrase:

It has been awhile since being on the receiving end of this phrase, and it has been a couple months since I left a short-lived career in Military Intelligence. What leads me to write about this, you ask? Well, I learned a lot on the receiving end of these words, and it helped me get focused following a major upset in my life.

This time last year, I had just finished 10 days in a psychiatric ward outside of Fort Huachuca, Arizona. I self-admitted there due to intense suicidal ideations and coming close to following-through with a plan. I had no desire to end my life, and things were going well outside of the depression. I was in good company, enjoying work, and making decent money. I was, however, living with undiagnosed Bipolar Disorder, and upon being diagnosed, life would take a dramatic turn.

The largest upset would be leaving the military. I underwent a medical evaluation board that found me unfit for service. Although I did not like their decision (after spending five years preparing for this profession), it was a fair decision. It did mean that I would lose my dream career, however.

Another big change was the treatment for Bipolar Disorder. I take 300mg of Seroquel every day. For those unfamiliar, Seroquel is also used as a prescription sleep-aid at 25mg. This basically means I take a dozen sleeping pills in the evening and somehow function the next day (you figure it out eventually). Apart from the drowsiness, it also kills your satiety mechanism. The best way I can describe it is like having a “drunk stomach” all the time. You can eat forever and not feel full.

This is not an easy combo to deal with. It would be quite easy to turn into a fat, lazy slob (not that different from the original me):

Luckily I had supportive family and friends, as well as an all-star command team during the transition process. Sometimes luck finds you in unlucky situations. I did, however, feel like a doe in the headlights when this process began.

Then one of my best friends went to Ranger School a few months after I got out of the hospital. Writing letters to him, I remembered the times I heard the phrase “WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO PL? WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO?!!!” and wondered how many times he would hear that. Past lane walkers had done their best to get my teammates and myself under a great deal of stress and see how we would respond, and I did not envy my friend one bit.

It made me think of my situation. Life had just thrown a major wrench into everything. Although I was working as a Company Executive Officer, my days left in the Army were numbered. I still didn’t know how things were going to work out once I left the service. “What are you gonna do, PL? What are you gonna do?”

Thinking back to the cold, wet days in the field, I thought of what worked in those scenarios. Sometimes you found success, sometimes you didn’t. But what always worked the best was a positive attitude, a clear head, and making the best with what you have. No matter what, it is always better to just do something than to stand their frozen while everything goes to hell. The solution is not complicated, but it isn’t always easy to implement.

After taking stock of the situation, the first thing I decided was this:  With these meds, I’m going to be eating exorbitant amounts of food, sleeping like a greyhound, and never being able to get drunk again. I have no excuse not to get strong as s*** . This has proved to be a great way to cope with the meds. It also feels good when deadlifting 405 pounds is considered “light.”

More importantly, I had to figure out how to earn a living. I had a degree in Philosophy, and I would be able to use the GI Bill. I bought a Law School Admissions Test prep book and went to work studying. For forty minutes. Then I threw it in the trash. F*** that.

I had used a positive attitude when deciding to focus on strength training, but I had used scare-tactics when deciding how to earn a living. I was worried about job security, income security, social-status, yada yada yada. I had my head up my ass, but luckily the LSAT prep book made me realize I was done with mental gymnastics, the BS involved with higher education, and the desire to do something conventional and “safe.” If there was anything I learned this past year, it is that there is no such thing as security. Things can happen well outside your control despite your best laid plans. Thinking back, this was something I learned after a particular “What are you gonna do, PL?!” moment in 2015. I must have forgotten somewhere along the way.

Luckily, I had the opportunity to start coaching my parents in the gym shortly after ruling out law school. Teaching people to squat, press, and deadlift, even if they are in their 60s and have knee replacements, is quite fun. I also got to coach some soldiers in my off-duty time as well. I had forgotten how much I loved coaching human movement (having coached boxing for six years before the Army), and I relished the opportunity to train myself and others after work.

So that’s what this PL was gonna do. I was going to coach strength training. I reached this decision in April, 2017. I would medically retire in September, 2017. It is currently mid-November, and I am about two weeks away from completing a basic personal trainer certification. When that happens, I won’t have to coach people for free and under the table anymore. By the end of next year, I intend to be a certified coach through the Starting Strength organization, and continue teaching this stuff to people in La Crosse, Wisconsin. It isn’t perfect, but it is doing something, and I love doing it. I puke a little every time I think that I might have been in law school.

So what are you gonna do, PL? What are you gonna do? The lessons learned from these scenarios are great when you remember to use them. Positive attitude. A clear head. making the best of what is in your control. Saying “F*** it” if it’s outside your control. Shutting up and doing something. Hopefully I’ll remember this stuff the next time life throws a wrench, instead of waiting three months to figure it out.

Thanks for reading. Now get off the toilet.