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At the age of fifteen I was bitten by the iron bug.
Within a few months of touching a barbell I knew my life would totally center on bodybuilding. My enthusiasm was overwhelming and my energies were totally directed towards my daily workout.
I would quit playing football and hockey, sports which I excelled in, just to lift weights. It seemed absurd to my high school football coach who could not understand why I would trade the glory associated with high school athletics for a dingy and dirty YMCA weight room.
Nonetheless, my mind was set and I was determined that I would transform my scrawny 140-pound body into a physique that would make even the biggest and strongest football player stop in awe and take notice.
My appetite for bodybuilding (subliminal book ad promo here, no longer sublime, oops) became even greater when I began buying bodybuilding magazines. The pictures of he champs were very inspirational. I took every bit of advice each champ had to offer in the hope that I too would follow in their footsteps. With no coaching other than the magazines I formulated my own training routines.
Within six months of having touched a barbell I was per training 2.5 hours per day, six days per week, doing as many as 25 sets per bodypart. I figured that if the champs in the mags grew training in this fashion I would too.
I remember the great enthusiasm with which I approached my new training program. I would perform as many as 125 to 150 sets or 6-10 reps of various exercises for several bodyparts on a daily basis. During the last few workouts of the week I was unable to finish my whole routine as I was overtired. I recall many times after a workout being unable to do my homework because my hands would tremble uncontrollably.
After six months of enduring this training regimen I began asking myself if it was worth it. I had little to show in the way of gains for my excruciating efforts. I began having doubts about my bodybuilding potential and considered quitting. Being in a state of confusion and desperation, I began searching for some new magical information to help me overcome my dilemma.
It was at this time that I happened to find out about a private gym located in my town. I visited the gym and met the owner immediately, a man in his 70s.
The equipment in the gym appeared to be at least as old as the owner was.
I explained my training history to the gentleman.
And received a rude awakening.
I felt he would have some compassion for me, and lead me towards the right direction. Instead, he accused me of being a typical case in that I'd been brainwashed by all the hogwash that was written in the magazines. He further added that training all those hours was a waste of time and I was a fool.
"My gym is only open three days a week -- Monday, Wednesday and Friday and the 20 fellows that come here only do one set of 10 exercises listed on that wall."
He further added that if I wanted to train there I had to train his way only.
At first I thought this man to be somewhat ludicrous.
I wondered how anyone could develop a good physique training only three times a week and only doing 10 sets per workout. Having nothing to lose, I decided to allow him to put me through a workout. I was bound and determined to show him that I was by far more advanced than any of his trainees and could go through his workout without even a sweat!
Was I ever in for a surprise.
The workout started with full squats. He believed in the old method of breathing squats, at least 20 reps with as much weight as possible.
He suggested I use only 75% of my normal squatting weight, which at the time was 195 pounds, 50 pounds more than my bodyweight.
With each deep breath I would complete one repetition. Before this set I had never gone beyond 10 reps on squats. As I approached the 12th repetition I could feel my lungs and rib cage starting to hurt from the heavy breathing. By the 15th I started getting lightheaded and my thighs began to ache from the lactic acid buildup. I was ready to quit.
"FIVE MORE!" the old-timer shouted.
Gasping for an extra breath, I reluctantly proceeded to complete another agonizing rep . . .
Barely completing the 17th rep, I conceded to the excruciating pain.
Note: I still vividly remember the first time I did 20-rep breathing squats.
I too was surprised. But in one helluva good way!
I too was surprised. But in one helluva good way!
Barely capable of returning the bar to the squat racks I was quickly hurried over to a bench to perform breathing pullovers for ribcage expansion. Lying across the bench and holding a 25-pound barbell at arms' length, I was instructed to perform 20 pullovers, i-n-h-a-l-i-n-g as deeply as possible on each repetition. I could feel an incredible expansion in my chest cavity as my gorged lungs stretched my ribcage to its capacity.
The ordeal left me breathing like a race horse. With little rest I found myself lying on a flat bench doing shoulder-width bench presses. Again, the heavy breathing and the weight coming down on my ailing chest was enough to make me reassess my desire to be a bodybuilder.
After barely completing the set of bench presses I began to feel nauseous and lightheaded. My heartbeat became so rapid that the gym owner suggested I rest a while before continuing.
As I laid down on a bench all manner of negative thoughts entered my mind. If I had to train this hard, I thought, it would just not be worth it. The magazines I read never said train to failure. As long as I followed the routines that champions used I too would like them. In the midst of these scattered thoughts I decided that I had had enough and quickly snuck out the door before the owner had a chance to see me.
On my way home I began to feel disheartened by my workout performance. Maybe I did not have the potential to become a bodybuilder. But the more I thought about the whole episode, the more I began to realize that maybe that workout was my first REAL workout and possibly I had stumbled on something that would greatly help me in my quest to become a bodybuilder.
Two days later I revisited the gym and joined.
I was so eager to learn as much as possible that the gym owner nicknamed me
and I listened to his every word of wisdom . . .
He taught me the importance of sticking to basics and training to failure.
After sticking with the basics, such as squats, pullovers, bench presses, deadlifts, dips, chins, curls, rows and shrugs, I have been able to make incredible progress.
My weight over six years went from 145 to 242 pounds at 5'9". My bodyfat at 228 registered for a time at just over 3%.
Note: This was to be the first in a serios that dealt with the basics. These articles stressing basic training may seem to be repetitive, even redundant past a certain point. If I browse around on Youtube or at a few current bodybuilding sites . . . they regain their importance quite quickly.
Enjoy Your Lifting!
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