The blood of your fathers has turned to water in your veins. Not your lot is it to be strong as they were. Having tasted neither life's sorrows nor its joy, like a stickling you look at life through a glass. Your skin will shrivel, your muscles grow weak, tedium will devour your flesh destroying desire. Thought will congeal in your skull and horror will stare at you from the mirror.
Overcome yourself, overcome yourself.
I tremble, I seethe, I clench,
I seize the haul.
- Yuri Vlasov
Yuri Vlasov documentary, "A 20,000 Ton Barbell"
with English subtitles.
Short version of a Yuri Vlasov interview from 1986
translated by Arthur Chidlovski:
Vlasov in Action, London (1961)
Bronze statue of Vlasov by Matvej Manizer
One year subscription to both mags for seven bucks, but
this was back when the average income was a ha'penny a day
earned by honest labor and self-flagellation
of the self-righteous variety.
Mike MacDonald
John Kuc
Bob Hoffman, center
Walt Milner, Vancouver, on the waterfront.
And on the rocks
Western Sports Gym, where
Bjarnason, Milner, and Doug Hepburn trained for a time.
Could that be Doug's car/boat combo out front ?
Click to ENLARGE
Article begins here . . .
Instead of the inside information on how the champs are training to lift heavier and heavier weights that is usually a part of this monthly feature, I have something to say and figure that this is just as good a place to say it as any.
Recently I paid a visit to the home of one of the York Barbell Club's lifters with the idea of spending a few pleasurable hours talking about nothing.
I knocked on the door and a voice inside ordered me in.
"I am not lifting any more."
My reply probably sounded more like a string of available excuses than questions.
"Do you have an injury? You mean you can't train regularly while you're in the service? You're going to take a short layoff?"
But the answer came back . . . "I just quit altogether."
"Why? You did good lifting at the Seniors and you're now one of the most promising lifters in America."
"Lifting is a waste of time. It will never get me anywhere. You can't make any money lifting weights."
The subject quickly closed and the next half hour was spent watching some miserable 1940 movie on TV . . .
1940, 88 painful minutes.
A country boy joins a circus in the 1840s and falls in love with Albany, the star equestrian rider. Later, he falls in love with Caroline, another runaway who becomes the circus' new bareback rider.
Ouch.
Our man-who-lifts named Tommy might fare better in these modern times, what with the availability and ease of access of films we can enjoy for now.
Come to think of it, cinema's one fuck of an interesting pastime and, I kid you not, the more you connect the written word on and relating to film with the moving and out there for your viewing, well, there's no circumference to the enjoyment. I've been into these two somewhat connected texts lately . . .
Translated from the original French, titled "Anthology of Black Humor"
by Andre Breton. First published in 1940 and immediately banned by the Vichy government . . . and translated into English (1997) . . .
And this one, just getting started with it; not to be confused with that book on Dorian Yates' influence in bodybuilding . . .
Published in 2000.
Oh, none of this is connected to lifting in any way, really.
Latest issue:
A book by Rene Dauval I am re-reading that's once again fun and me smiling and laughing with morning coffee this week. Pataphysics: the science of imaginary solutions, of laws governing exceptions and of the laws describing the universe supplementary to this one . . .
The Head Inside Out
Once their faces were turned
outward, men became
unable to see themselves,
and that is our great weakness.
No longer able to see ourselves,
we imagine ourselves.
Yes! This feller devoted himself to a lifelong endeavor . . . to think through death by means of the absurd. Now this is a view on longevity I can stomach.
Article attempts to continue here . . .
That night I had a little trouble falling asleep and blame a recurring fantasy of Hank Fonda, Dotty Lamour and Linda Darnell in a very torrid, on horseback ménage-a-trois managed with the greatest of ease. Much like sleep-dreams, the world of fantasy has no limits other than what you place on yourself. However, once the five-legged great dane showed up happy to see these three, well, that's where I draw the line.
When I left, the visiting lifter was still watching TV and seemingly enjoying every minute of it. That night I had a little trouble falling asleep and couldn't help but think about what had been said, and not in the movie . . .
"Lifting is a waste of time. It won't get me anywhere
You can't make any money lifting weights."
I just couldn't help but think that these couldn't be the real reasons why this young lifter stopped training. And, too, why does a person do competitive lifting anyway?
I kept remembering an interview with Vlasov by Rene Dauval (not the actual interviewer, but come to think of it, you can set up your own comedic variations on that scenario). Yuri Vlasov, once the strongest man in the world, is facing an identity crisis at the age of 32. His writing, he says, has lost its "vividness," and the "white moments" of sport have turned gray.
Yuri Vlasov on writing:
"At the peak of tremendous and victorious effort," he said, "while the blood is pounding in your head, all suddenly becomes quiet within you. Everything seems clearer and whiter than ever before, as if great spotlights had been turned on.
"At that moment, you have the conviction that you contain all the power in the world, that you are capable of everything, that you have wings.
"There is no more precious moment in life than this, and you will work very hard for years just to taste it again."
But in the years after his Olympic triumph, the white moments became fewer and dimmer. He said that winning had become too easy and that there had been no real competition to extend him.
He began to look for something else.
Within a few years, Vlasov published more than 50 stories, nearly all about sportsmen. Although none had been translated, some were collected in "To Surpass Himself," a book that he said had earned 9,000 rubles . . . over $10,000 U.S. dollars or a 14,000 year subscription to S&H and MD.
Overcome Yourself (1964) - short story collection.
White Moment (1972) - short story collection.
The Special Region of China (1973) - based on his father's diaries.
Salty Joys (1976).
The Formula for Courage (1987).
The Justice of Strength (1989) - memoirs/autobiographical collection.
Yenan Connection (1989).
Confluence of Difficult Circumstances (1990).
Flaming Cross (1991-1993) - trilogy about the 1917 Russian Revolution.
The Geometry of Feelings (1991).
Russia Without a Chieftain (1995).
We Are and Will Be (1996).
Timeservers (1999).
Year of the Great Defeat (2006).
The Great Repartition, two volumes (2011).
"I found in sports a very rich field for writing," he said,
his eyes steady and almost challenging behind their thick glasses.
"There is tragedy, joy and fulfillment in sports, (yes, tragedy and hope), the realization that man is master of his destiny no matter the obstacles, and there is intense emotion after labor and sweat, the salty pleasure of the white moment."
"Maybe I'll quit for good after the Spartakiad (state-sponsored multi-sport and gymnastics events during 1956-1991)," said Vlasov, a huge man in a small room.
"I can't keep postponing my novel, my new stories forever. Sport drains my energy and leaves nothing for writing."
Later, Vlasov suffered a nervous collapse due to pushing his energies intensely into writing, not that uncommon an occurrence among those who choose to cross the line between standard, tiresome yet popular spew and a somewhat more involving creation with words. You might be surprised to learn just how far some will go in order to do this. Interested people tend to "desire" the ability to transcend time via intense creative input, most seem to believe they can drag their physical body and brain with them and maintain pristine "health" throughout the battle in its never-ending entirety.
Anyhow . . .
The great shoulders squared, and he seemed to fill the room.
"I could beat Zhabotinsky," he said. "I could win the 1968 Olympics, but it is not worth the work.
"I have a decision soon," he said. "I must get back to my writing. And yet, if I thought those white moments could ever return . . . At, but I am afraid that the pleasure is gone forever and only the salt remains."
So what does the above have to do with our point? (Oh spare me please, no point needed).
Vlasov summed up why a person lifts weights when he spoke of the salty pleasures of the white moments and the tragedy, joy, and fulfillment in sports (and all life). And though Vlasov's description of why a person enters competition is more than adequate, it won't hurt to elaborate on what competitive lifting can mean to a person. Competitive weightlifting gives you that wonderful feeling of being in shape, an outlet for your competitive drive, and the mental satisfaction that you are doing something creative in this day and time of non-creativity.
You can't help but feel a little proud when the kid next door asks his father, who is sitting in a lawn chair with a soft drink in his hand and a 40-pound too heavy waist sticking out why the father doesn't have a build like you. (Apple pie cooling on a windowsill while a white picket fence pleads in the night to be dismantled and burned alive out of sheer boredom. Insistent, again the sun arises, an enormous black/red ant battle ensues as a loud FLUSH can be heard from said father's humble home).
Or when a friend at the office complains that it's impossible to be creative these days (call that a friend? No, please), and you know that you can be just as creative as you want as nothing is more creative than improving your proficiency in a sport.
Or when an old school pal stops you on the street and talks about how dull life is as there is nothing to look forward to and you can't wait to lift in your next contest.
Then there is the enjoyment of training and the combination tired, refreshed, and satisfied feeling you get after a good workout.
The pride of knowing that you have reached a level of accomplishment higher than what the average man dreams.
The lifelong friendships that develop between fellow competitors and training partners.
And what a pleasure it is to enter competition, see old friends, and have the quiet satisfaction of knowing that you have enough of what it takes to be a competitor instead of a spectator.
Then there is the nervous anticipation before the contest, the pressure and thrill of the actual competition and, finally, the satisfaction and reflectiveness after the contest.
And while the fellows at work make fun of your wasting time lifting weights, you are absorbing the pleasures that come with being an athlete that you will cherish for the rest of your life while they spend one dull day after another complaining about life (such a cynic!).
The fact is that there are plenty of reasons why a person trains for competitive lifting. But the truth of the mother, er, matter is that you don't need to justify lifting in terms of "getting you anywhere" or "not making any money from lifting" any more than you need to justify the pleasure you derive from reading a classic or listening to good music (Justify? I can't even remember what that childish word means. Note how he chooses reading a "classic" and listening to "good" music. Hell, you don't have to justify anything, so feel free to read absolute garbage if you like and listen to dog slop diarrhea with lyrics like these . . .
I just want to cut my grass, feed my dogs, wear my boots, not turn the TV on, sit and watch the evening news (note the wit here), make people puke in their mouths and call it dinner, shill what little talent I have and shimmer like a star, buy new cars and tip the pool boy with a tenner . . . here the audience transitions into a bic-encore that's actually an attempt at mass self-immolation in order to escape the sonic pain.
Justify? Why? To who, or what?
Soooooooooooooooo, if competitive lifting is so great then what about the fact that Vlasov is retiring? The important thing is that he enjoyed competition for as long as he could before he retired. But Vlasov's interests have changed. This is a fairly natural thing and all the more reason to enjoy competition while the drive is there. But Vlasov is honest; he admits that he has slackened in his training because the fire has gone out and because of interests that are now foremost in claiming his energies . . . NOT because lifting wouldn't get him anywhere as our visitor claimed. For a person to eventually retire from competition is to be expected.
You can't go on forever.
But I do.
When it comes time to retire from competition, don't use the excuse that lifting isn't getting you anywhere, because it is.
Enjoy Your Lifting!
Ain't life just fascinating!
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