Post by 1705total on Mar 12, 2006 9:13:00 GMT -5
I thought I would write a true story about my early years in this sport. I hope you and enjoy. Please provide feedback.
STORIES FROM THE WEIGHT ROOM
In or around the year 1987, found me training at a local church. Yes the pastor of this church had realized a long time ago, that the way to keep youth off the streets and out of trouble was to build a weight room. The weight room was in the boiler room of the church, and it could not have been placed in a better location. We had a concrete floor and walls, and it was warm in the winter and somewhat cool in the summer.
On this day I was training legs. Legs had become a passion of mine, since they were the first muscle to show promise. I was 17 years old, and had been lifting for 7 years; and today I was ready to tear up the gym. I had my own key to the boiler room, so when the priest wasn’t home, I just walked over to the church and let myself in. I had to descend the stairs to the boiler room. Once I entered I turned on the lights and closed the door. We had a nice set up down there. Cable cross overs, which allowed us to do every imaginable cable exercise. A hack squat machine, which we also converted into a leg press. A very sturdy power rack. As well as a heavy duty incline and flat bench.
I always started out my leg workout with squats, but I had recently read an article about Sergio Oliva training legs under the tutelage of Arthur Jones. So I decided to give the routine a try. It consisted of Leg Press, supersetted with hack squats, followed by regular squats. All performed in non stop action. However I through in a twist. I would perform my first set of leg presses to complete failure, stretch my quads, and then jump onto the hacks. After a brutal set of hacks, I would jump over to the bar and perform regular squats and try and get 100 reps before failing.
I started out leg pressing about 560 lbs. I was never a strong leg presser, because it always hurt my lower back. In any event, I performed my warm up and proceeded onto my working set. As I started my pressing, beads of sweat began to form on my forehead. 7, reps, 8 reps, 9 reps, soon my shirt was drenched, 10 reps, 11 reps, 12 reps, my breathing was almost uncontrollable, 13 reps, 14 reps, 15 reps, the sound of the leg press machine was something like “swoosh, swish” as it went up and down, the sound of my breathing, was like “hufffff, pufffff.” Anyone walking by may have mistaken my workout for a rail yard with a great big steam engine preparing to pull away. After 20 reps I could press no more. I locked out the sled and jumped up to stretch my now engorged thighs.
Hurdler stretches. I almost screamed as my quads were being stretched to make more room for blood. The lactic acid could be felt as it filled my thighs up with liquid pain. Onto hacks. The weight would not change, but the time it took to complete the set did. Again 8 reps, 9 reps, 10 reps, huffff, pufffffff, swoosh, and swish, when would it stop??? It felt like 10 minutes had past before 20 reps were completed. I thought to myself, “what in God’s name am I doing?” God’s name was right, but under the church I felt as if I was sent to hell to beg for his forgiveness!
Now squats, I only used a 1/3 of the weight I was cable of and loaded the rusty plates onto the bar. Thankfully it was only one 50 lbs plate per side; the combined weight being 120 lbs. I got under the bar and cranked out the first 10 reps. Now all you heard was “huffff, pufffff”, and the occasional “piftsss.” This sound would come sometimes in a deliberate cadence, and sometimes in rapid fire succession. 20 reps had come and gone, as did 30. When I got to 50, I had to stop. 10 merciful seconds, as the bar never left my shoulders, then back to work. 60 reps, 70 reps, stop breath, breath damn it! 80 reps, head begins to spin. Come on I thought only 20 reps to go. Stomach turning 90 reps. 95 reps, finally the blessed 100 reps!!!!!
I racked the weight, dipped under the bar and out of the confines of the power rack. Took a step backwards, and my left knee buckled. It became somewhat dream like as my entire body began to fall backwards. I looked up at the ceiling and caught a glimpse of that one and only light bulb. Then no more light.
I awoke several hours later to the sounds of “blessed are we.” Was church starting? I asked myself? How could that be, Saturday evening services didn’t start until 6:00 pm. I got here at 1:00 pm. Surely my workout had not taken that long?? I stumbled up with my legs cramped and in knots. I looked up the 12 or so stairs in which I had to climb. There at the top in shock was the pastor dressed in his robes for Mass. “Have you been down there this entire time?” he asked. I smiled a crooked smile and said, “I guess so, I really do not remember.” The mass was over and Father promised to take me home.
I’ll never forget that day. Or that place, or Father. Some people had Venice, Some had Gold’s, some people had trained under guru’s. But I had a small place of heaven in that boiler room, that could have easily been hell, but for the exception that I loved it!
STORIES FROM THE WEIGHT ROOM
In or around the year 1987, found me training at a local church. Yes the pastor of this church had realized a long time ago, that the way to keep youth off the streets and out of trouble was to build a weight room. The weight room was in the boiler room of the church, and it could not have been placed in a better location. We had a concrete floor and walls, and it was warm in the winter and somewhat cool in the summer.
On this day I was training legs. Legs had become a passion of mine, since they were the first muscle to show promise. I was 17 years old, and had been lifting for 7 years; and today I was ready to tear up the gym. I had my own key to the boiler room, so when the priest wasn’t home, I just walked over to the church and let myself in. I had to descend the stairs to the boiler room. Once I entered I turned on the lights and closed the door. We had a nice set up down there. Cable cross overs, which allowed us to do every imaginable cable exercise. A hack squat machine, which we also converted into a leg press. A very sturdy power rack. As well as a heavy duty incline and flat bench.
I always started out my leg workout with squats, but I had recently read an article about Sergio Oliva training legs under the tutelage of Arthur Jones. So I decided to give the routine a try. It consisted of Leg Press, supersetted with hack squats, followed by regular squats. All performed in non stop action. However I through in a twist. I would perform my first set of leg presses to complete failure, stretch my quads, and then jump onto the hacks. After a brutal set of hacks, I would jump over to the bar and perform regular squats and try and get 100 reps before failing.
I started out leg pressing about 560 lbs. I was never a strong leg presser, because it always hurt my lower back. In any event, I performed my warm up and proceeded onto my working set. As I started my pressing, beads of sweat began to form on my forehead. 7, reps, 8 reps, 9 reps, soon my shirt was drenched, 10 reps, 11 reps, 12 reps, my breathing was almost uncontrollable, 13 reps, 14 reps, 15 reps, the sound of the leg press machine was something like “swoosh, swish” as it went up and down, the sound of my breathing, was like “hufffff, pufffff.” Anyone walking by may have mistaken my workout for a rail yard with a great big steam engine preparing to pull away. After 20 reps I could press no more. I locked out the sled and jumped up to stretch my now engorged thighs.
Hurdler stretches. I almost screamed as my quads were being stretched to make more room for blood. The lactic acid could be felt as it filled my thighs up with liquid pain. Onto hacks. The weight would not change, but the time it took to complete the set did. Again 8 reps, 9 reps, 10 reps, huffff, pufffffff, swoosh, and swish, when would it stop??? It felt like 10 minutes had past before 20 reps were completed. I thought to myself, “what in God’s name am I doing?” God’s name was right, but under the church I felt as if I was sent to hell to beg for his forgiveness!
Now squats, I only used a 1/3 of the weight I was cable of and loaded the rusty plates onto the bar. Thankfully it was only one 50 lbs plate per side; the combined weight being 120 lbs. I got under the bar and cranked out the first 10 reps. Now all you heard was “huffff, pufffff”, and the occasional “piftsss.” This sound would come sometimes in a deliberate cadence, and sometimes in rapid fire succession. 20 reps had come and gone, as did 30. When I got to 50, I had to stop. 10 merciful seconds, as the bar never left my shoulders, then back to work. 60 reps, 70 reps, stop breath, breath damn it! 80 reps, head begins to spin. Come on I thought only 20 reps to go. Stomach turning 90 reps. 95 reps, finally the blessed 100 reps!!!!!
I racked the weight, dipped under the bar and out of the confines of the power rack. Took a step backwards, and my left knee buckled. It became somewhat dream like as my entire body began to fall backwards. I looked up at the ceiling and caught a glimpse of that one and only light bulb. Then no more light.
I awoke several hours later to the sounds of “blessed are we.” Was church starting? I asked myself? How could that be, Saturday evening services didn’t start until 6:00 pm. I got here at 1:00 pm. Surely my workout had not taken that long?? I stumbled up with my legs cramped and in knots. I looked up the 12 or so stairs in which I had to climb. There at the top in shock was the pastor dressed in his robes for Mass. “Have you been down there this entire time?” he asked. I smiled a crooked smile and said, “I guess so, I really do not remember.” The mass was over and Father promised to take me home.
I’ll never forget that day. Or that place, or Father. Some people had Venice, Some had Gold’s, some people had trained under guru’s. But I had a small place of heaven in that boiler room, that could have easily been hell, but for the exception that I loved it!
