Relentless Athletics Newsletter
Stay on the cutting edge of strength and fitness. No hype, just Jason Ferruggia's proven hardcore methods that get results- for FREE!
 The Everlasting Bond"The
Iron never lies to you. You can walk outside and listen to all kinds of
talk, get told that you're a god or a total bastard. The Iron will
always kick you in the real deal. The Iron is the great reference
point, the all-knowing perspective giver, always there like a beacon in
the pitch black. I have found the iron to be my greatest friend. It
never freaks out on me, never runs. Friends may come and go. But two
hundred pounds is always two hundred pounds.”
Henry Rollins It had been an excruciatingly long day when our train finally pulled into Madrid. I tried to sleep on the ride, but as luck would have it, my seat assignment put me right next to world-famous opera singer, Luciano Pavarotti, or at least someone who resembled him in both girth and voice. I unfolded myself and tried to put my shoulders back in their normal place before grabbing my bags and exiting the train. I found my brother and our two friends and we headed in the direction of the subway that would take us to our hotel. Since I have spent more than my fair share of time in New York City and the rougher parts of Jersey, I know certain rules to follow in certain situations. For example, if you are wearing a backpack with anything in it that you don't want stolen, you usually spin it around to the side or even the front when in large crowds. I’m always ready for this kind of stuff. When I hopped on the subway wearing my backpack, I backed right up to the door where I could be sure no one could squeeze in behind me. But someone did. She couldn't have been more than five feet tall. She had dark hair, and was probably in her late teens or early twenties. I noticed her but didn't pay her any mind. A second later, I felt the zipper on my backpack. "What the hell are you doing?!” I screamed. She didn't speak English but I continued to yell. I quickly checked for my wallet and found it was gone. Yup, ole Captain Street Smarts had it in his backpack. As I continued to interrogate her I noticed the wallet pass underneath her sweatshirt from one hand to the other. I didn't know what to do, and couldn't hit a girl, but when I saw it peak out from the bottom of her shirt I took a swipe at it and it hit the ground. I picked it up, and while I was bent over, she took off running at the train’s next stop. Whew, thank God I caught that one. "You see those quick hands, kids? I told you I'm lightning fast, right?,” I said to my friends. "You check your wallet?" "OH SHIT!" "Good job, Flash Gordon." I had $500 in there which was now gone. This is another rule of the streets—never keep large amounts of cash on you. Five minutes ago I thought I knew all these rules and thought that if I could survive New York City on a regular basis, Madrid was a joke. In my mind, I had the street smarts of Tupac; turns out I was more like Paris Hilton in a physics class. I was no longer Captain Street Smarts. Instead, I was the douchebag tourist who just got robbed by a 19 year-old, 87-pound, five-feet tall GIRL! This day sucks. We got to our hotel and I decided I had to find a gym to let off some steam and train. *
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I “train”, I don’t “work out”. I have never “worked out” in my entire life. There is a huge difference between the two. I can’t work out. I don’t know how. Even if I did I would never do it. It’s what “they” do, and I will never be one of “them.” I only know one way and that is to go in and train hard. If I can’t do that, I won’t bother going to the gym. Going through the motions to get a “good workout” is not something I have ever been interested in. I train and I constantly strive to make progress. Training is so much more than working out. It helps you get to know yourself better. It teaches you what you are really made of and how hard you are willing to work and persevere to overcome an obstacle. Working out is what the general public does to get in a little better shape. They go to the gym because they have to. They don’t have a passion for it, they don’t love it, and they don’t live for it. These people go to the gym as a way to meet new friends. While there is nothing wrong with that and I believe everyone should lift weights and exercise; there is still a big difference between working out and training. To those of us who feel most at home pushing heavy weight in some hole-in-the-wall hardcore gym, training is our passion. I've gone to battle with the iron and come out on the losing end many times. I've strained, pulled, and torn muscles and ligaments. I've screwed up my back and injured my knees. I've sweat, bled, and puked…all in the same workout. But as Clark Griswold said to his daughter Audrey in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, when her eyes froze while searching for the perfect Christmas tree, "it’s all part of the experience." I do it because I love it. The quest for strength is one of man’s basic instincts. It is something that has been pursued fervently since the beginning of time, because, as the old cliché goes, only the strong survive. Lifting weights can have an endless array of health benefits, but let’s be honest—that's not why we do it. The people at the local fitness center do it for those reasons, but not us. We do it for that feeling of going to battle, the rush of hitting a new max, and to meet the challenge of pain and suffering that come along with it. We do it because we love to set goals and bust our asses in pursuit of them. We do it because it allows us to release all our pent-up anger and aggression. We do it because we know most others don't have the balls to train like we do. We do it for that feeling of camaraderie and competition amongst training partners. We do it for the feeling that you can only get when you have a mind-numbingly heavy weight in your hands, straining for all that you're worth, while your training partners are screaming in your ear, Slayer is blasting on the radio, and you’re slowly grinding toward that goal you've been chasing. That is why we do what we do. *
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Much to my surprise and excitement that day in Madrid, the gym that the hotel concierge directed us to was actually a real, hardcore gym. Who’d have guessed? Everything looked like it was from the 70's. The weights were rusty and the place was dank and had a bit of a moldy smell to it. There was nary a machine in sight and no one was doing any pussy isolation movements such as flyes or leg extensions or using cardio machines. This was my kind of place. There were some jacked dudes in there lifting some heavy weights and Pearl Jam was even playing on the "stereo." I couldn't have been happier. We started to train and my mood only improved by the minute. A guy came over and said something in Spanish. Since I failed Spanish 1 several times, mainly because I got kicked out of class for antics such as hitting a Superfly Snuka splash off the teachers desk and onto my friend Phil, I had no clue what he said. From what I could gather, he wanted to work in on hang cleans with us. Great. No problem. He was a fairly jacked dude and I appreciated his eagerness to learn. When he began his set, I tried to help him. "Don't let your knees go so far forward,” I said. “You want to break at the hips more. Stick your ass out and keep your back arched." He looked at me like I was speaking English. I decided to let my brother jump in for a set while I pointed out what to do. Soon, our new friend caught on and was actually doing them pretty damn well. He said several things to me over the course of the 30–45 minutes that we trained together, but only a tiny portion of it got through to my even tinier brain. It didn't matter though; we all had a love for training that was able to break down any and all language barriers. Wow, I can't believe I just wrote that... Anyway, it was a great training session and suddenly the stress of getting my money stolen a few hours earlier was starting to dissipate. The sole reason for that was that I was able to find a good hardcore gym and train my ass off with others who shared that same kind of passion. That is one of the most important benefits of training that many people often overlook; the mental aspect. Training is a release. It's a time to leave all the problems of the world behind for an hour a few days a week and go to battle with the iron and with yourself. It teaches you a lot about yourself and what you are capable of. The iron can be your best friend and your worst enemy all at once. But it will always be there for you when you need it. When you establish this kind of relationship with the iron you will have something so much more meaningful than those who simply go to the gym to get a pump, pick up girls, and socialize. If you don't have this kind of relationship with the iron, then you are truly missing out on the real reason for even going to the gym in the first place. It doesn’t matter what your goals are and what you are training for. Ultimately, it doesn’t even matter if you make mistakes in your training. My greatest hope is that you realize what a gift it is to be able to go into the gym and experience that kind of release and establish that kind of bond with the iron and your brothers that go to battle with you. After an hour of cleans, squats, and bench presses, and in the process making a new friend, we decided it was time to head back to the hotel and then go out for some sightseeing. I stopped at an ATM and took out some cash for the day ahead. Suddenly a mysterious figure with a hood covering most of his or her head and face crept up a little too close to me while I was still waiting for my money. This time I was ready. I flared my lats and did a quick 180 to protect my cash. "Dude, back up!" I barked as I got into a fight-ready stance. She looked up and revealed her face. She couldn't have been more than eleven or twelve. She was terrified and ran crying for her mommy. "Good one, tough guy," my brother said. “Yeah but I thought…I…she…” “You’re such a douchebag.” |
