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Henry Rollins on lifting weights


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i found this on the internet. let me know what you think.

 

Originally Posted by Henry Rollins

 

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 them

either.

 

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 the

Iron 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 turn

back.

 

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.

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Is there a link to that post?

 

As I was reading it I was thinking to myself, WOW! That post was deep, philosophical, and introspective. I'm going to print it out, read it when I'm feeling down and post it up in my wall. It really struck a cord with me.

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