"I believe that the definition of definition is reinvention. To
not be like you parents. To not be like your friends. To be
yourself. Completely. When I was young I had no sense of
myself. All I was, was a product of all the fear and
humiliation I suffered. Fear of my parents. The humiliation
of teachers calling me "garbage can" and telling me I'd be
mowing lawns for a living. And the very real terror of my
fellow students. I was threatened and beaten up for the
color of my skin and my size. I was skinny and clumsy, and
when others would tease me I didn't run home crying,
wondering why. I knew all too well. I was there to be
antagonized. In sports I was laughed at. A spaz. I was
pretty good at boxing but only because the rage that filled
my every waking moment made me wild and
unpredictable. I fought with some strange fury. The other
boys thought I was crazy. I hated myself all the time. As
stupid at it seems now, I wanted to talk like them, dress
like them, carry myself with the ease of knowing that I
wasn't going to get pounded in the hallway between
classes. Years passed and I learned to keep it all inside. I
only talked to a few boys in my grade. Other losers. Some
of them are to this day the greatest people I have ever
known. Hang out with a guy who has had his head flushed
down a toilet a few times, treat him with respect, and you'll
find a faithful friend forever. But even with friends, school
sucked. Teachers gave me hard time. I didn't think much of
themeither. Then came Mr. Pepperman, my adviser. He
was a powerfully built Vietnam veteran, and he was scary.
No one ever talked out of turn in his class. Once one kid
did and Mr. P. lifted him off the ground and pinned him to
the blackboard. Mr. P. could see that I was in bad shape,
and one Friday in October he asked me if I had ever
worked out with weights. I told him no. He told me that I
was going to take some of the money that I had saved and
buy a hundred-pound set of weights at Sears. As I left his
office, I started to think of things I would say to him on
Monday when he asked about the weights that I was not
going to buy. Still, it made me feel special. My father never
really got that close to caring. On Saturday I bought the
weights, but I couldn't even drag them to my mom's car. An
attendant laughed at me as he put them on a dolly.
Monday came and I was called into Mr. P.'s office after
school. He said that he was going to show me how to work
out. He was going to put me on a program and start hitting
me in the solar plexus in the hallway when I wasn't looking.
When I could take the punch we would know that we were
getting somewhere. At no time was I to look at myself in
the mirror or tell anyone at school what I was doing. In the
gym he showed me ten basic exercises. I paid more
attention than I ever did in any of my classes. I didn't want
to blow it. I went home that night and started right in.
Weeks passed, and every once in a while Mr. P. would
give me a shot and drop me in the hallway, sending my
books flying. The other students didn't know what to think.

More weeks passed, and I was steadily adding new
weights to the bar. I could sense the power inside my body
growing. I could feel it.

Right before Christmas break I was walking to class, and
from out of nowhere Mr. Pepperman appeared and gave
me a shot in the chest. I laughed and kept going. He said I
could look at myself now.

I got home and ran to the bathroom and pulled off my shirt. I
saw a body, not just the shell that housed my stomach and
my heart. My biceps bulged. My chest had definition. I felt
strong. It was the first time I can remember having a sense
of myself. I had done something and no one could ever
take it away. You couldn't say shit to me.

It took me years to fully appreciate the value of the lessons
I have learned from the Iron. I used to think that it was my
adversary, that I was trying to lift that which does not want
to be lifted. I was wrong.

When the Iron doesn't want to come off the mat, it's the
kindest thing it can do for you. If it flew up and went through
the ceiling, it wouldn't teach you anything. That's the way
the Iron talks to you. It tells you that the material you work
with is that which you will come to resemble. That which
you work against will always work against you.

It wasn't until my late twenties that I learned that by working
out I had given myself a great gift. I learned that nothing
good comes without work and a ceratin amount of pain.
When I finish a set that leaves me shaking, I know more
about myself. When something gets bad, I know it can't be
as bad as that workout.

I used to fight the pain, but recently this became clear to
me: pain is not my enemy; it is my call to greatness. But
when dealing with the Iron, one must be careful to interpret
the pain correctly.

Most injuries involving the Iron come from ego. I once spent
a few weeks lifting weight that my body wasn't ready for
and spent a few months not picking up anything heavier
than a fork. Try to lift what you're not prepared to and the
Iron will teach you a little lesson in restraint and self-control.

I have never met a truly strong person who didn't have
self-respect. I think a lot of inwardly and outwardly directed
contempt passes itself off as self-respect: the idea of
raising yourself by stepping on someone's shoulders
instead of doing it yourself.

When I see guys working out for cosmetic reasons, I see
vanity exposing them in the worst way, as cartoon
characters, billboards for imbalance and insecurity.
Strength reveals itself through character. It is the difference
between bouncers who get off strong-arming people and
Mr.Pepperman.

Muscle mass does not always equal strength. Strength is
kindness and sensitivity. Strength is understanding that
your power is both physical and emotional. That it comes
from the body and the mind. And the heart.

Yukio Mishima said that he could not entertain the idea of
romance if he was not strong. Romance is such a strong
and overwhelming passion, a weakened body cannot
sustain it for long.

I have some of my most romantic thoughts when I am with
the Iron. Once I was in love with a woman. I thought about
her the most when the pain from a workout was racing
through my body. Everything in me wanted her. So much
so that sex was only a fraction of my total desire. It was the
single most intense love I have ever felt, but she lived far
away and I didn't see her very often. Working out was a
healthy way of dealing with the loneliness. To this day,
when I work out I usually listen to ballads.

I prefer to work out alone. It enables me to concentrate on
the lessons that the Iron has for me. Learning about what
you're made of is always time well spent, and I have found
no better teacher. The Iron had taught me how to live. Life
is capable of driving you out of your mind. The way it all
comes down these days, it's some kind of miracle if you're
not insane. People have become separated from their
bodies. They are no longer whole. I see them move from
their offices to their cars and on to their suburban homes.
They stress out constantly, they lose sleep, they eat badly.
And they behave badly. Their egos run wild; they become
motivated by that which will eventually give them a massive
stroke. They need theIron mind.

Through the years, I have combined meditation, action,
and the Iron into a single strength. I believe that when the
body is strong, the mind thinks strong thoughts. Time spent
away from the Iron makes my mind degenerate. I wallow in
a thick depression. My body shuts down my mind. The Iron
is the best antidepressant I have ever found. There is no
better way to fight weakness than with strength. Once the
mind and body have been awakened to their true potential,
it's impossible to turnback.

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 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

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Jeff