If you've never read "The Iron" by Henry Rollins, do yourself a favor and read it. http://www.oldtimestrongman.com/henryrollins_iron.html It is by far, one of my favorite pieces of inspirational literature out there. I can connect with it almost 100%. Well, not 100%, but very close. Yea, I'm a 300lb behemoth of awesomeness now, but I wasn't always like this. Growing up, I was fat and out of shape... I wasn't good at sports, or at least I never cared to be, I was lazy, I hated gym class and my favorite activity was Super Nintendo. It wasn't good. Luckily, I never really got picked on. I had a lot of older people looking out for me because of my brother. I was lucky to have such a protective brother, but I was even luckier because his friends looked at me like their little brother, too, and for that, I'm more thankful than any of them probably even know. Sure, they fucked with me a lot, but it was an equal trade off. My nickname since I was in like, 5th grade? Pudge. Yup, I still get it from a select few, and I don't mind it. It reminds me of everything I never want to be again, so I look at it as a reminder of why I do what I do.
Ok, so now you now I was a loser like Chester, from Airheads, as a kid... lets move on. I'm writing this blog about the inner drive it takes to accomplish things. The reasons why people do things. The reason why I do the things that I do. Everyone has an inner drive in them, but very few people learn how to harness it to accomplish things in life. They always look toward comfort instead of stepping outside of themselves and what they know to grow and learn. Now, before I can explain why I push myself to the limits that my grandmother would call "horrid", I feel like I must explain my failures. So lets go back to loser Zach and his entrance into high school. Despite my aptitude to be bad a sports and what not, I made a lot of friends in middle school. Probably because where I grew up, among kids, more emphasis was put on where to score the best weed instead of who was the best football player. Yea, my home town is like 80 something square miles of wood
s, so we drank, smoked pot and partied in the woods. Weekend bonfires and camping was the norm... since I was in 8th grade. The first time I smoked pot was in 7th grade, and it was also the first time I got drunk. This made it really easy for people to get along, haha. Anyway, as I entered high school, and was basically a burn out with shitty grades, I began to try to get my own identity. Smoking pot didn't really interest me anymore. Drinking was cool, and I was pretty good at it, so that never really left my side, but we'll get into that later. In my school, there weren't really any cliques either, so everyone basically got along, but I always felt like I needed to be and do something bigger than just party every weekend and just fit in. My junior year, I took up wrestling. My grades never let me wrestle in any actual matches, but I still went to practice every day and the team took me in. The coaches at my high school were awesome. Our wrestling coach, Mr. Blakely, was always checking up on me and my grades and bothering me to do better. Back then, I always thought to myself "why the hell is he bothering me, I can't even wrestle in matches, shouldn't he bothering the other wrestlers?", but now I look back on it, and I realize that he actually gave a shit. That's a hard thing to come by as a kid nowadays it seems, people who actually give a shit. Anyway, I finished out the season with an all time record of 0-0. Awesome. Now, up until this point, I had always fucked around in the gym and I was pretty strong, well, high school strong, but it wasn't really until the spring of my junior year that things changed for me. I decided to join the football team as my junior year was coming to an end. First day of spring weightlifting, me and some friends were fucking around outside the high school. There was this wall, probably about 10-15ft high. My one friend got onto it and was thinking whether or not he could jump off it and land without getting hurt. He decided against it. I, for some reason, had eaten my invincible flakes that morning and said "ehh, fuck it" and I jumped. Mid air, my half retarded friend, decided to grab my leg. I hit the ground and felt my leg snap. Sweet. There goes football, but I decided though to keep going to the weightlifting practices. It was the only thing I could do. It became an obsession. I'll never forget though, the one day where I knew I would be addicted to the weights for life. I was bench pressing, like a good high schooler should, you know, so I could have teh sweet pecs. One of the town police officers came in and was lifting with us. I had 225 on the bar and I pressed it out for 10 reps. He looked at me and said "you wanna go up to 285?" I though this guy was crazy. He looked at me and said "you want to fuck around and get strong, you gotta fuck around with big weights" So we went up to 285 and wouldn't you know it, I pressed it for an easy 5 reps. For a 16 year old that never really tried to press that weight, that's like pulling a 900lb deadlift. From that day on, I never let a set do anything less than kick the shit out of me. I lifted as heavy as possible for as long as they would keep the weight room open. I got huge (comparatively). I got people asking me if I was juicing, I heard rumors... it was awesome. (btw, I had not been juicing.. I have never touched steroids and don't plan on doing so any time soon.... I understand if you don't believe me, no one does, but I could really give a shit less. I know I don't, and that's all that matters... I don't have anything against them though, but that'll be saved for another rant)Ok, so I lifted all summer, I made gains, I was losing some weight, I loved it. I was still on track to start practicing for football, despite my injury. Then, the last day of summer came. We had a huge party back in the woods. It got busted, everyone ran, except I couldn't... I still had an air-cast on my leg. My brother and a few other people stayed. Unfortunately, the cops had a bug up their ass that night and brought us all in. The next day, I got kicked off the football team, but it was also the same day as the football team's weightlifting competition. All that hard work was finally going to come to some sort of tangible accomplishment. I could only bench, but shit, I kicked every one's ass. I hit 350 no problem (Hey, that was a lot for me back then). I think the only kid to come close to me was about 330. When it came time to give out the awards, there was no mention of my name, despite the entire team questioning why I didn't win... oh well, shit happens. I handed in my gear and that was that. Mr. Blakely didn't care though, he knew I was going to still wrestle. From that point on, I made it a point to workout every time the football team was in the weight room. I was the strongest kid in the weight room, and I made it known to our football coach.. fuck him. Anyway, the rest of the year, I focused on wrestling. I did alright, I wasn't the worst, but I sure as shit wasn't the best. It was during one match that I realized something about myself. I had to wrestle the first match as a JV 215 pounder and the last match as a heavyweight for varsity. The first match, I lost, I can't remember why, but I lost.. I think it was points. It got me angry... shit, my anger enveloped me. Great, right? I mean, I could use that for my next match and go in and kick some ass. Well, this is when I learned a very valuable lesson about myself, a lesson that I think a lot of people need to learn about themselves. Anger can be a double edged sword. I went into my varsity match seeing red. I couldn't think, I didn't try to. I lost. I lost because of disqualification points. I head butted this kid so many fucking times, they had to stop the match so he could fix his head gear. My coaches yelled at me. I didn't give a fuck, I was so pissed of, I would lock up with him and after giving him a nice head butt, I would dig my head into his temple as hard as I could, with every ounce of strength. It didn't end with a victory, it ended with a defeat and I had no one to blame but myself.
That day, I learned that I don't do well when I'm angry. I'm not an angry person by nature. I prefer to be happy and make people happy. Why did I think that the trying to accept the opposite would work?
Ok, so two more failures and then we'll get onto what the fuck I'm talking about. Now, its the end of my senior year. I was probably like 328 out of 336 in class ranking. I cared more about partying than grades. Anyway, we were at graduation practice and then all of the sudden I got a notice to report to the guidance counselor's office. I had to go to summer school! Are you fucking kidding me? I had all this shit planned out with the army to leave in June and now, because I was an asshole, I had to spend another two months doing algebra. I sat there and watched my entire class walk for graduation and celebrate. It was miserable. Anyway, I did eventually get my diploma and I made it off to the army.
Now, the last failure I'm going to talk about is pretty recent, but you know what? My life has done a total 180 since it has happened. Since my time in the Army and my time here at OSU, I've had a lot of good times, don't get me wrong. I found the sport of strongman and I'm very happy for that. I've grown so much because of it and I've learned so much about myself and how far I'm willing to push myself, but about 6 months ago, I woke up one day and my back was killing me. I don't know why or how it happened, but it was bad. It didn't help that I was so out of shape that I could barely tie my shoes without seeing spots and taking a breather halfway in between each foot. Basically, I told myself I will just take a break and let my back heal. I fell into a thick depression. I couldn't sleep, I didn't go to class (I actually dropped all my classes) and I felt sorry for myself. I became everything I hated about week people. I ate like shit, because, I was a strongman, so it was cool right? I decided I needed to get myself out of this rut. I told myself I was going to break the amateur record for overhead press on an axle. It is currently (as far as I know) 365. I've hit 370 in practice before... "no problem" I told myself. It would be a nice booster for me and my ego. Anyway, I started to train again, and wouldn't you know it, my back pain started to deteriorate. So one morning in May, me and two of my buddies drove to Pittsburgh where my only goal was to break this record. A good placing would have been nice, too. So the contest started and the first event was a 40000lb fire truck pull... I probably pulled it 30 feet? It was pathetic, but max axle press was coming up and I was ready.. or so I thought. My first attempt was 300lbs.. easy. Second attempt, 330lbs for the win. Third attempt? fuck it, 375, lets do work son. Now, this axle was a tough one. thicker than 2" and fixed wheels. The difference between fixed wheels and free rotating plates is like night and day. Anyway, I gave it a good effort. I got psyched! Someone even smacked me on the back to get me fired up. I was ready.... fail! I didn't get it up. What the fuck? I should have hit that easy... oh wait, I hadn't been pressing and training like I should have for the past few months. Wonder why I didn't hit it. Anyway, it wasn't a total loss, I got second place and took home 150 bucks. Also, I had my motivation back, somewhat. Great... I started to train again, things were going good, but I was still drinking my ass off and eating like shit. Now, when I say I was drinking my ass off, I don't think a lot of people understand what "drinking your ass off" means to me. I'm talking about finishing a 750ml bottle of vodka before we even went out to the bar, on the regular. I mean, I could easily throw back 15 beers and be normal. Yea, I'm 300lbs, but come the fuck on. Anyway, I was getting sick of it, absolutely sick of it. In June, I went home for two weeks. My mom told me to see a doctor. I went in and she immediately diagnosed me with ADHD and depression. She prescribed me some pills and I haven't looked back. So, my last night home, I went to a friends party and we were drinking all day. It wasn't until the next week, when I saw the picture below, that I knew things had to change
Now, if that doesn't say "get your life together" than I don't know what does. I was an out of shape, 315lb fat ass, eating a steak with a bib, drinking a beer and smoking a cigarette.. I don't even smoke. I made the decision right there and then to quit drinking. Sure, its basically made me a social leper around campus, but whatever. I needed the change, I'm fucking 27 years old and still in college. Can I really afford to be partying every weekend? Fuck no. I have goals and aspirations and that shit isn't a part of it. I've "lived my life to the fullest" enough times for a dozen people. Anyway, fast forward 2 months later:
I haven't had a drop of booze since the weekend before 4th of July, I've lost at least 20lbs of fat and probably have gained some muscle, my strength has skyrocketed and I can finally think clearly now. I don't miss waking up feeling like shit and I've realized that if I plan on achieving anything, a plan must be made and action must be taken. You need to make the decision, not just want to make a decision. Either you do something or you don't. So, if you're still with me, lets get into what I've been leading up to. Inner Drive. I think I've always had a lot of it, but it isn't until these past two months that I've really tested it and have seen the results. Lets move on.
Despite the shit I talk about being in the Army, I actually really enjoyed it. Well, I enjoyed the training. I was actually a little disappointed at how easy I thought it was, but it taught me a lot about myself. I remember leaving my medic AIT (thats where you learn your skill set) on my way to airborne school and my drill sergeant came up to the group of 10 of us that were leaving and said "you know, only about 3 of you are going to make it through airborne school, its one of the hardest schools out there"... thanks dick, way to make me feel good about it. Anyway, I went through airborne school and laughed the whole way through. Honestly, if you've gone through basic training and AIT and can't pass airborne school, you should probably rethink life. After airborne school, I went to do Ranger Indoctrination. Basically, its a 3 week qualification course to get into Ranger battalion. I though I wanted to do it, but I didn't. Anyway, there is a part of it in the first week where you go out to the woods to bivouac (a fancy word for being out in the field). Well, for three days, you get maybe an hour of sleep if you're lucky, and you become very close friends with a piece of earth called "The Circle of Woah". Basically, after you spend 7 hours of doing land navigation, you come back around 2 in the morning and line up and get in formation in the circle of woah and the Ranger Instructors find any reason they can to make your life hell. Its just a way for them to weed people out. So when you finally set up a parimeter after being smoked for 3 hours, you might get an hour of shuteye, if you're lucky. Second day, you "wake up" and go for a nice 5 mile run in boots and then you come back and do some sand bag and log PT. Then, you do some classes and then its back to 7 more hours of land navigation. This second night is which really stands out in my mind. Its probably 3 am and we're all tired and delerious. The RI's pull us out one by one from formation to recite the Ranger creed. Of course we're all fucking up. Everytime we do though, we get the honor of doing a fun thing called "hit the woodline". Behind us, is a a field, probably a little longer than a football field, full of hay, sharp grass, pebbles, etc. When you hit the woodline, it means you all filter out of the "circle of whoa" through one small opening and run to the wood line, touch it, and run back. Every time you come back, the RI's have you bow your head and say "who wants to quit? raise your hand and it'll all be over... shit, you'll be back in a warm bed by morning" People start to drop out like flies. Now, they don't only take these people out of formation, but they bring them up to a small fire (its cold as fuck out at this time of night in Georgia) and give them cookies and smores and act all buddy buddy with them. Now, I'm telling you this story because these three days taught me two very important lessons. After about 3 hours of hitting the wood line and watching people who quit eat cookies and go back to bed, I had it. I whispered to my buddy next to me "dude, you just want to say fuck it?" I'll never forget what he said to me, "Why man? We have a weekend coming up in a day. It'll all be over soon" Sure, it isn't anything fancy or anything, but he was right. Despite all the bullshit we went through, we had weekends off. So I decided to stick with it. The next lesson came the next day. After we got some "sleep" for about 45 minutes, we got up and started an 8 mile road march with 80lbs on our back. We did it in about an hour and a half (i think, i can't remember). When we got back, the RI's gave us some time to change into fresh uniforms. So as we all were in the circle of whoa, getting down to our skivvies, changing into fresh uniforms, they felt we weren't utilizing our time properly because we were talking to each other, so, we hit the wood line... half way through changing.... shit, I only barely had my pants on.. just pants. Some people were naked, some just had boots on. We hit the woodline, feet blistered and tired after an 8 mile road march. We got back, they gave us some time to get on our uniforms again. Then we hit the wood line. Then we hit the woodline. Then we hit the woodline. Then we hit the woodline. Then one of the RI's said, "Why the fuck do you think you keep hitting the woodline? Don't Rangers work as a team? Why are there people coming in ahead of other people and why are there people coming in behind other peolpe?" It took us a few more tries, but we realized that we need to run down there as a team, in one line and come back the same way. It taught us about team work, how we're only as strong as our weakest link. Those three days taught me a lot about myself and how people around us can influence us, influence the week, and how a team can come together to accomplish things. It was 3 days of shit, but I'm glad I did it. It showed me I had inner drive, that nothing horrible can last forever, unless we let it. (Me in the Army, a high point in my life, haha)
Now, back to what I was talking about earlier with anger. I'm not an angry person, despite how much my social commentary might make me seem. I actually love being happy and making people feel good. I like to help people, I truly do. I'm also a very emotional person and I like to express myself, obviously. I think every person needs to learn what type of person they are. If you're truly angry, get some fuckin help dude. Life is too short to be an angry, miserable piece of shit. But if you're not, what drives you? Our emotions are the number one thing we can use to drive us, to push past pain barriers, to motivate ourselves. Now, I don't want to sound like a Mary, but I think the idea of love and the fear of failure are the two biggest factors that push me and give me the mental capacity to do the things I do.
Let me explain. When I want to pump myself up for a lift or to get motivated to go train when I'm tired, I don't listen to death metal or anything. I don't throw on Rage and go nuts. I'm the exact opposite. I like to throw on songs that evoke emotions,that make me think about my future or that make me thing about my past failures, whether they be personal mistakes or lost chances, whether it be for love or personal advancement. That pushes me much further through a mental barrier than anything else. I'd rather listen to Journey while doing a personal record lift than Slayer. Side note: when I was in Iraq, I worked with civilian explosives guys and I was always in a Tahoe when we drove out of the wire. The only CD we had in his truck was Journey's greatest hits, so basically, to pump myself up for a mission, "Anyway You Want It" was my shit. Why? Because it made me think of making it home, to see my friends again, to find a good girl to be with. It evoked emotions in me that brought me to another level and got me ready to face any situation. I never thought about dying, it just wasn't in my head, even when we got hit by IED's or something. I didn't think about it, because I was on another level, a level where the only thing on my mind was survival.
So now, I prefer those sort of songs in the gym. They make me think of the emotion I'll get from winning a contest, and now, with my eyes on the prize, winning a pro card. Its all I can think about, and these songs, about love and failure, make me want it even more. It makes me think about not walking with my class, or letting my health get out of hand and feeling sorry for myself and it drives me to disgust and pushes me to never be that person again. Go watch my strongman training videos, "Lose yourself" by Eminem or "My Curse" by Killswitch Engage are like, the only two songs I hit PR's to.
We all have that inner drive in us, you need to figure out how to cultivate it. You need to take a step back and evaluate what drives you. One of my good training partners has said that when he goes off into his "other place" he pictures his daughter and the pain subsides. Thats a big thing about strongman as a sport, or any strength athlete for that matter. We do things that should be impossible. People aren't meant to lift the things that we do, but we do, and its not that we're these ridiculously, genetically gifted people.... for a lot of people, its quite the opposite. The difference between us and the lay person is that we have figured out our minds, or a portion at least, and how we can blast through plateaus. Humans are all made up of the same basic tissue, our bodies are all machines, we all have the same basic potential as the next person (barring any medical problems)... its all about the mind and your mastery of it. Finding that inner drive that pushes you to be the best. Its achievable to anyone, you just have to want it. Hey, if a fat, out of shape stoner could do it, why can't you?
So now you need to ask yourself, "what do I want out of life? What do I want to work towards?" When you figure that out, you need to make the decision to do it. Don't say you want to do it, do it. One of the biggest things that I get angry about with society today is that people are always looking for the easy way out and unfortunately, we're raised to do just that. We're taught to go to school, get a degree, get a good paying job, buy a house with a white picket fence and have a family and we'll all live happily ever after. Fuck that. That very notion is making us week mentally as a whole civilization. Where are all the stories of people who dedicated themselves to their dreams, the couples who struggled through rough times, but stayed with each other through thick and thin because they truly loved each other? You never hear that shit anymore. Nobody wants to push themselves to find true happiness. No one has that inner drive anymore because we've been told that this cookie cutter dream is the "right thing" to do. Every story I hear is of people who go to college, get some bullshit job to pay the bills, marry the first person that can somewhat put up with their shit and then 10 years later, they're divorced because they're both miserable. They both passed up on their dreams to follow what they have been told is their dream, because they don't have that drive, because they haven't figured themselves out. Shit, I was doing the same thing. Why do you think I'm in college? I fucking hate college, but I've gone this far, so I might as well finish. (June, keep your fingers crossed!) I have dreams, and I've decided to throw caution to the wind to make those dreams a reality, at any cost. Sure, its a lonely road and I'm struggling, a lot, but their is something inside of me that just says to push on. If I fail, I fail, but at least I can look back in 20 or 30 years and be proud that I dared greatly. I wish more people could say that. Ok, I haven't eaten in like 4 hours and that's too long for me. So I'll leave you with this quote, which is my favorite quote ever and pretty much sums up this last paragraph.
"It is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming, but who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself for a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat." Theodore Roosevelt
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