Ten years ago, I never could have imagined in my wildest dreams that I would be where I am today. I’m a 28-year-old flooring contractor in the beautiful, backward state of Kentucky. I have a gorgeous wife, and in six weeks, I will be a new father. My wife and I have a medium-sized home in a lower, middle class neighborhood and two mid-2000 vehicles that are paid for! I’m blessed to have the privilege to train several times a week at a gym that allows chalk, deadlifting, screaming, fanny packs, and even the occasional banana hammock guy in the mirror room. Overall, life is fantastic.
So why might I have shared all this seemingly irrelevant personal information? Am I trying to brag about my middle of the road, suburban life? No, not at all. I’m no doctor. I doubt I’ll ever clear six-figures a year or own a new vehicle. I share my current state of affairs because it is my current PR in the game of life. You see, life hasn’t always been like this for me. At this time ten years ago, training was the last thing on my mind. The only things that mattered to me were partying (if that’s what you want to call it), finding some shelter from nature where I could rest my head, and trying to forget that I was in a heap of legal trouble…of my own making. I spent the better part of my teenage years skipping school, feeling sorry for myself, and struggling with obesity. At age fourteen, I weighed 315 pounds with several budding addictions. By eighteen, I was a full blown addict. My love of training had yet to fully take bloom, as it was overshadowed by my love affair with mind-altering chemicals.
Fast forward several years, and I’m clean. I had a personal revelation during a furlough to rehab and was allowed into a diversionary boot camp program for two years. I completed it, which also helped fully transition me from a man-baby to a man. During my later phases of this program, I was at a facility that had a rudimentary weight room. One of my friends in there expressed some interest in “working out” together, and we both started. We went through the usual early phases—we benched with horrendous form three times a week (followed by curls, of course, with matching form), we didn't have any formal programming or plan, and we ate garbage. I had managed to get my weight down in the 220–230 range at this point, thanks mainly to finally paying all my own bills and food, not making much money, and working like an absolute animal laying carpet for the handful of peanuts I made a week. This is where my journey really began.
I had full personal freedom soon. I was new to the concept of “responsibility,” “accountability,” and, most of all, “self-sufficiency.” As I got my first one-bedroom apartment as a real adult and paid for all the bare necessities, I quickly realized that my $12.00/hour job didn’t go far. In fact, it was just enough to pay everything. This led me to depression. Rather than succumb to the self-pity, I distracted myself by going to the gym, a real gym, not a bench in a garage at a halfway house. It was a smelly dungeon in the basement of a “mall.” Most of the guys training in there were really weird. None were very strong. It felt like the land of the misfit toys.
I was very self-conscious working out with the general public. I wasn't strong at all. At around a body weight of 220 pounds, my best bench had been a 275-pound single that I had yet to recapture. I hadn’t trained legs at all the first year that I was active, nor back and very little shoulders. I started reading bodybuilding magazines and had yet to admit to myself that I didn’t know a thing about what I was doing.
This is where I began making progress. After beating my head against a wall for weeks on end and never making progress, a familiar quote came to mind: “The definition of insanity is to repeat the same thing over and over and expect different results.” This was quoted frequently in other “programs” that I was involved with as a recovering addict. So why couldn’t I apply these same principles to my quest for swoleitude? The first thing I had to do was admit to myself that I had a problem. The next thing I had to do was find a solution and then trust it and have full faith in it. Next, I just had to do the footwork.
I had several “phases” early on, as most of us do. As a somewhat immature and insecure 22-year-old at the time, I wanted to be the biggest and strongest guy in the gym. And I wanted it yesterday. At some points, I was what could be described as a “hater.” I assumed that all the guys who were stronger than me were somehow cheating or were blessed with superior genetics and that none of them could possibly have the work ethic or knowledge I did. Mind you, I had been “working out” for 18 months. I didn’t even know what training was yet. I started working extra so that I could buy supplements, thinking those would help me. A certain creatine blend that has been the butt of many a joke just made me even fatter thanks to the 4000 grams of sugar in each dose.
After several years of trial and error, attempts, and failures, I was finally beginning to learn. I figured out which supplements were snake oil and which actually worked. I figured out that explosive, compound movements were the most economical and effective way to add strength and size. After years of going up and down with my body weight, I was holding steady at ten to twelve percent body fat at 210 pounds. I had taken an interest in the 'Big 3' and had began pursuing bigger numbers. Unfortunately, I mostly used workouts that I read in magazines and online forums. Through sheer force of will and repetition, I took my three-lift total from around 500 pounds (seriously) to around 1200 pounds. I had yet to experience an injury or a setback. They came eventually though.
In the meantime, I had a new toy! I was big (kinda)! I could put on a backward hat, shave a chinstrap on to my face, stuff my pecs into a bedazzled shirt that says “RECKONING” or something similar, and drunk chicks loved me! The totally new guys at the gym asked me for advice and watched me while I lifted. I had it made. Then I started watching videos of elite powerlifters and my total didn’t seem like much. I hate to say it, but this phase lasted several years. I guess you can call it what it was—I was a douche bag. I had all the symptoms—three months of Krav Maga classes and I told anybody who would listen that “I’m probably going to get in the cage soon.” I bounced at a nightclub on weekends, and I went and got certified as a personal trainer at a box gym. I mean, why wouldn't I? I knew everything. I deserved to be paid to regurgitate magazine workouts.
Thankfully, none of this lasted. I hit the dreaded “dead zone,” which has lasted several years. From 2009 to this day of April 15, 2013, I haven't added a pound to my squat. I’ve added around a hundred pounds to my deadlift and about 60 pounds to my bench. I have yet to crack 500 on the squat or deadlift or 400 on the bench. My gym PRs total in the mid 1300s. In this time, I have watched guys younger than me start training and surpass me. My ego never would have been able to handle this years ago. I haven’t gained any significant muscle mass either. It has been easy for me to blame these on the intensity of the labor that I do daily, life stressors, or hitting a natural peak, but the beautiful thing about it is that it doesn't matter.
About three years ago, something clicked. I had another personal revelation, much like I did years ago when I changed my life for the better. I realized that whether you’re training for bodybuilding, powerlifting, or strongman, the joy is in the journey, not the destination. I don’t have any plans to compete soon. I may eventually, but until recently, I had never seriously considered it. So I had to ask myself, "David, why do you do this? Why do you weigh your food, pack your lunch every night, and make your legs miserably sore when you have to kick carpet the rest of the week?" The only answer I had for myself is because I love it.
I have accepted that I will never be an elite athlete. I may never bench 500 raw or achieve the 1600 raw total that I crave. I will never stop trying though. The greatest lesson I have learned as a firmly intermediate gym rat is that as my humility grows, so does my knowledge. I finally began to understand that if you know everything, there isn't any room to learn. I also began to develop discernment and critical thinking in regards to a lot of the well intended advice I’ve heard over the years from unqualified individuals. This is why when I’m asked for advice from a friend who’s just starting out, I refuse. I will help them in any way that I can, but I will not give direct advice. I’m not qualified. However, I will share my experience with them and what worked for me.
I can’t teach anybody how to squat in gear or deadlift over 500 pounds. My best pull was 495 and I have no idea how I managed it to be totally honest. My back probably looked like a question mark while I did it. I’m not a talented deadlifter. What I can do though is share the little knowledge I do know to be fact with those who need it. I know how I took myself from a 170-pound bench to a 385-pound bench. It took seven years of trial-and-error and several avoidable injuries. Every time I describe working through a torn rotator cuff and severely strained hip flexor, I say a little prayer that the person I care about whom I’m sharing it with will learn from my mistakes.
In conclusion, training has become my master. It has taught me discipline where I had none. It has not only made me physically strong(er), but it has also given me immeasurable mental strength that I never knew I could have. The power of visualization that I have learned from programming and training gave me the confidence to start my own small business, which has been successful. It has taught me the discipline as a compulsive eater to keep a healthy body composition. It has taught me to fight through fear and uncertainty when I have experienced injuries that have almost ended my training and occupational career. Slowly gaining a greater mastery over both mind and body has been a spiritual experience in and of itself. I may be the turtle in this race, but the only thing that matters is that I’m in it.
