Post by cuts280 on Dec 20, 2006 3:48:38 GMT -5
Shawn Ray
My introduction to bodybuilding came from training with John Brown. I was 5’6, maybe a buck sixty dripping wet, preparing for my last contest; he was about 6’1, 250 getting ready for a run at the third Mr. Universe contest. We did two-a-days; chest, shoulders and arms on Monday; back and legs on Tuesday. We’d repeat that for the next four days before taking Sunday off. I didn’t know any better. I thought everybody trained that way.
Every time John pulled up to the gym in his Mercedes, it was a reminder that his hard work paid off. This guy comes back from guest posing in Europe with a fistful of dollars, gets his pictures in the mags, eats at nice restaurants, wears superbly clothes, trains when he wants – all without having a job. “Man, he’s got it made,” I thought. “How can I get some of that?”
I didn’t know it at the time, but he was showing me how. Most of it occurred in the gym in the form of beatings, but he used other more subtle methods as well. One morning he took me down to World Gym in Venice. I’d never seen a big-time bodybuilder other than John and as we walked in I saw Rachel Mclish descending the stairs. Bertil Fox was doing drop sets on the bench press with what looked like million pounds. Arnold was talking to Tom Platz. Samir Bannout was being photographed by Artie Zeller. Bob Paris, Mike Christan, Rich Gaspari – the gym that day was a who’s who of bodybuilding.
By the time we got to the Needham’s gym for our workout later that afternoon, I’m psyched out of my mind. It’s legs day and we begin with squats. As usual John doesn’t warm up; he just slides three plates of 45 on each side of the bar and hammers out reps, 25 in all. I’m small and weak by comparison, but today I’m feelin’ my oats because I’ve seen all these professionals. I slide under the bar with a 45 and a quarter on each side and start repping ………Seven!Eight!Nine!............”
John is a firm believer in counting his partner’s reps out loud, and vice versa. It leaves no room for distractions, he’d say. If someone approaches, keep right on counting until they go way. He was real particular too. ‘cause he knew that at any time I might try to sneak by with say, 22 instead of 25.
“….23!24!25!
As I rack the bar, John heads toward the leg-press machine. We do 25 reps apiece and run back to the squat rack.. I start my set with two plates on a side. He just did 25 so no matter what, I have to do 25. Normally if I got only 10 he’ll take off a pair of plates and tell me to keep going. I am not going to do drop sets today though because he’s not. I get five reps with 225 and have to rack the bar.
“ Hurry up, man,” he yells, “I’ve gotta train”.
I get back under and eventually reach 25. Boom- over to the leg press machine, then back on the third set of squats this time 315.
“…….Three!Four!...”
I rack the bar. Reps come grudgingly, two or three at a time, for about five minutes. At 15 my knees are shaking, and John leans into my face and screams, “Quitters never win and winners never quit”
That superset ends with a final set of leg presses. I reach ten rack the sled and sprint to the bathroom. I flush the toilet so that no one hears my pre workout Big Mac and fries coming back up. Part of me wants to quit but another part wants to be Tom Platz. Gotta do whatever it takes to get there. I walk back to the leg press machine, sit down and slowly lift my legs onto the foot board. I figure he’ll take a few plates off and let me ease back into the workout.
“ We ain’t got room for crybabies here! 11!12!13!.....
Next we superset leg extensions and lying leg curls. Instead of doing our normal 25 reps per set, John does 50. I know never to question his authority. If I ask, “How many reps?” he’ll automatically add five or ten extra. If I ask “what’ next??” he’ll throw in another exercise. So after his set I silently maneuver my body onto the seat. He always works the pin behind me like a maniac. As he’s counting, so I’m never sure where I’m even starting. 1 push; the foot pads barely move. Three faint reps and then click! The pin moves. Three more. It moves again. The pin is probably at the top of the stack as I try to rep out, but I can hardly move my legs. It feels liquid fire from my hips to my knee caps.
I lurch off the machine and roll off on the floor. Cant stand up. Can’t walk, can’t even stretch. I look up as John steps over me, and I can read his mind “get the hell outta my way rookie. I am gonna step over you if you don’t move.”
To then do the lying leg curls has to be the worst pain a bodybuilder can endure, but that’s exactly what we do. ( to this day I separate my quad/hamstrings workouts and that might have something to do with it). After the fourth set of leg extension/leg curl we do another six or seven straight sets of leg curls. Fifty reps all the way through.
At the end my thighs feel like water balloons about to pop; the blood has nowhere to go. I lie there for a good while and slowly let it dissipate.
My introduction to bodybuilding came from training with John Brown. I was 5’6, maybe a buck sixty dripping wet, preparing for my last contest; he was about 6’1, 250 getting ready for a run at the third Mr. Universe contest. We did two-a-days; chest, shoulders and arms on Monday; back and legs on Tuesday. We’d repeat that for the next four days before taking Sunday off. I didn’t know any better. I thought everybody trained that way.
Every time John pulled up to the gym in his Mercedes, it was a reminder that his hard work paid off. This guy comes back from guest posing in Europe with a fistful of dollars, gets his pictures in the mags, eats at nice restaurants, wears superbly clothes, trains when he wants – all without having a job. “Man, he’s got it made,” I thought. “How can I get some of that?”
I didn’t know it at the time, but he was showing me how. Most of it occurred in the gym in the form of beatings, but he used other more subtle methods as well. One morning he took me down to World Gym in Venice. I’d never seen a big-time bodybuilder other than John and as we walked in I saw Rachel Mclish descending the stairs. Bertil Fox was doing drop sets on the bench press with what looked like million pounds. Arnold was talking to Tom Platz. Samir Bannout was being photographed by Artie Zeller. Bob Paris, Mike Christan, Rich Gaspari – the gym that day was a who’s who of bodybuilding.
By the time we got to the Needham’s gym for our workout later that afternoon, I’m psyched out of my mind. It’s legs day and we begin with squats. As usual John doesn’t warm up; he just slides three plates of 45 on each side of the bar and hammers out reps, 25 in all. I’m small and weak by comparison, but today I’m feelin’ my oats because I’ve seen all these professionals. I slide under the bar with a 45 and a quarter on each side and start repping ………Seven!Eight!Nine!............”
John is a firm believer in counting his partner’s reps out loud, and vice versa. It leaves no room for distractions, he’d say. If someone approaches, keep right on counting until they go way. He was real particular too. ‘cause he knew that at any time I might try to sneak by with say, 22 instead of 25.
“….23!24!25!
As I rack the bar, John heads toward the leg-press machine. We do 25 reps apiece and run back to the squat rack.. I start my set with two plates on a side. He just did 25 so no matter what, I have to do 25. Normally if I got only 10 he’ll take off a pair of plates and tell me to keep going. I am not going to do drop sets today though because he’s not. I get five reps with 225 and have to rack the bar.
“ Hurry up, man,” he yells, “I’ve gotta train”.
I get back under and eventually reach 25. Boom- over to the leg press machine, then back on the third set of squats this time 315.
“…….Three!Four!...”
I rack the bar. Reps come grudgingly, two or three at a time, for about five minutes. At 15 my knees are shaking, and John leans into my face and screams, “Quitters never win and winners never quit”
That superset ends with a final set of leg presses. I reach ten rack the sled and sprint to the bathroom. I flush the toilet so that no one hears my pre workout Big Mac and fries coming back up. Part of me wants to quit but another part wants to be Tom Platz. Gotta do whatever it takes to get there. I walk back to the leg press machine, sit down and slowly lift my legs onto the foot board. I figure he’ll take a few plates off and let me ease back into the workout.
“ We ain’t got room for crybabies here! 11!12!13!.....
Next we superset leg extensions and lying leg curls. Instead of doing our normal 25 reps per set, John does 50. I know never to question his authority. If I ask, “How many reps?” he’ll automatically add five or ten extra. If I ask “what’ next??” he’ll throw in another exercise. So after his set I silently maneuver my body onto the seat. He always works the pin behind me like a maniac. As he’s counting, so I’m never sure where I’m even starting. 1 push; the foot pads barely move. Three faint reps and then click! The pin moves. Three more. It moves again. The pin is probably at the top of the stack as I try to rep out, but I can hardly move my legs. It feels liquid fire from my hips to my knee caps.
I lurch off the machine and roll off on the floor. Cant stand up. Can’t walk, can’t even stretch. I look up as John steps over me, and I can read his mind “get the hell outta my way rookie. I am gonna step over you if you don’t move.”
To then do the lying leg curls has to be the worst pain a bodybuilder can endure, but that’s exactly what we do. ( to this day I separate my quad/hamstrings workouts and that might have something to do with it). After the fourth set of leg extension/leg curl we do another six or seven straight sets of leg curls. Fifty reps all the way through.
At the end my thighs feel like water balloons about to pop; the blood has nowhere to go. I lie there for a good while and slowly let it dissipate.
