עצימות או שיגעון ? סיפורי מכון מאת ג'ון דפנדיס

[arbel2]

Part-5

It's 1997. Bill Clintons getting blown in the Oval Office while I'm busting my balls finishing up a wicked set of Bent over Rows. We all have our priorities! On this particular day my priority is annihilating my Back. I'm about 260, hard and serious. As I grind out my last rep and head over to the Seated Cable Row machine for more torture, I hear a loud co*ky voice yell out, "Hey you, don't touch that! We're not finished!"

I turn around and see two guys wearing doo-rags on their heads, walking around with their lats flexed, acting like Peaco*ks. The bigger and more bloated guy who can't weigh more than a buck ninety, is wearing a shirt that says, "The bigger I get...The smaller you look". With a smug grin on his face, he looks right at me and says, "Yeah, old man, we're supersetting. Don't touch that." Old man? This wanna be punk just called me an old man? Okay, I would love to take the time to give him an ass whipping but priorities are priorities and right now finishing my back routine is first in order.

As I finish a set of machine rows, I look over and see these two morons doing one arm cable concentration curls on the seated cable row machine. The same machine where I wanted to do my cable rows. Besides the fact that they were clueless regarding exercise form, they were also using a weight 5 times heavier than they could handle and they were cheating so bad that it looked like one arm rows instead of one-arm curls. It pissed me off because they could have wasted their time on one of the other 30 cable machines in the gym instead of detouring me from doing my scheduled workout.

Anyway, after I finished my workout and was getting ready to leave I ran into the dynamic duo again. Without hesitating I told them that if they wanted to grow and get great results that they should stick to the basic exercises use proper form, and train hard. Mr. I'm not bloaty enough responded with, "Hey, you may know what works for you, but I know what works for me." On that note, I decided that I was talking to two boneheads that knew it all, so I left. The next morning I came in to do shoulders. As I was getting ready to start I noticed Batman and Robin again. This time to my surprise and delight I noticed that they were getting ready to do shoulders also. I said, Hey guys, want to do a little shoulders with me today?

The little guy responded with, "No, we have our own routine and it would be too much rest for three people." But before I turned away I noticed the great bloaty one kick the little guy and smirk. He then said, "Yeah, we don't mind beating up on a has been, lets do it!" At this point, I couldn't help but remember the scene from the movie "Carrie" when they play a joke on her at the prom and she ends up killing everybody. I felt that same anger come over me that had fueled so many of my previous workouts.

I was going to kill these misguided bast*rds! I started the workout very slow and light. The idea was to give these two idiots the confidence to think that they really had a chance to do this. I picked up a pair of 20-pound dumbells and performed 20 side lateral raises. Then I turned to Bluto and said you go...20 reps. He responded with, "That's kind of light, isn't it?" I told him just to do it and be patient. He completed his set and as the little guy picked up the 20 pounders, I grabbed the 25's, so that there would only be a one-person rest. I completed 25 reps, put them back on the rack and told Mr. Big to grab them. Lets go, 25 reps! I was like a vulture just waiting for these two wise asses to bite the dust. I continued the fiasco. 30 pounders for 30 reps, 35 pounders for 35 reps, 40 pounders for 40 reps! On the set of 30, the little guy looked like he was doing shrugs. I lost Bluto on the 35's. He only got out 14 reps before he crashed to the floor.


"It wasn't too long after that when I noticed the two slip away and head towards the bathroom. Immediately I went to the front desk, grabbed the microphone and made an announcement over the PA system. Attention: Mutt and Jeff! Please come out of the bathroom now! We are not quite finished doing shoulders!"
At that point I told him that we would slow the pace up a little and start to go heavy. I grabbed the 50's, 60's and 70's and slightly cheated 12 reps with each. The two nimrods were back at the 25's and 30's looking dumbfounded. After we finished the dumbbell laterals I set up a tri-set of more dumbbell laterals, cable laterals, and machine laterals. I started doing 12 reps on each and before too long I had circled back around and I was waiting for the "boys" to finish so I could get in my set. It wasn't too long after that when I noticed the two slip away and head towards the bathroom. How cute I thought...these two are going to hold hands and throw up together.

Immediately I went to the front desk, grabbed the microphone and made an announcement over the PA system. Attention: Mutt and Jeff! Please come out of the bathroom now! We are not quite finished doing shoulders! Actually, we were just getting to the meat of the workout. Finally, not wanting to lose my pump, I went to retrieve my good buddys from the restroom. As I walked in I noticed the smaller guy lying on the floor inside the shower stall, fully clothed, with the water running all over him. I realized he was done. There was not much I could do to bring the little bast*rd back to life.

Just then I heard Bluto dry heaving in one of the stalls. I pushed open the door and told him that I was losing my pump and that I needed him to get his fat ass out in the gym and finish the workout. I quoted the line from the movie Rocky 3..."We got more to do Mick! It ain't over...We got more to do!" Finally, through humiliation I was able to get Bluto to come back out. I told him not to worry because we were done doing lateral raises. When I said this, the stupid assho**e halfway smiled with a drool of puke running down his chin! What a fool, I thought. Doesn't he realize that laterals are actually the easier part of the shoulder workout? I set up a bench to do heavy seated dumbbell presses. As I turned, I saw horror on Bluto's face. He said, "We're not going to do presses are we?" I just smiled and grabbed the 100-pound dumbbells. I slowly pumped out 12 strict reps, struggling on the last few.

When I finished, Mr. Bloat toad looked at me in disbelief, not knowing which dumbbells to grab for himself. He mumbled, "I usually go up to 80's so I think I should use 60 pounders." I smirked. He had no idea what he was talking about. He grabbed the 60's and couldn't even throw them up to his shoulders. I told him that he might want to go lighter. He then grabbed the 50's and hoisted them up but could only get 2 reps before they came crashing in towards his head.

I grabbed them so they wouldn't damage his already brain damaged head. I wanted to make sure that he didn't hurt himself because I wasn't done torturing the fat fu*k. I told him that even though the 40-pound dumbbells were half the weight that "old men" and "has been" used, they were going to be the going weight for his set. He performed a very clumsy and pathetic set of 6 reps but I hadn't expected more from him.


"Two sets later he was back in the bathroom stall revisiting his breakfast."
After all, I had witnessed this same scenario so many times with co*ky guys that had trained with Michalik and I. After he finished, I grabbed the 110 pounders and completed 8 hard intense reps. He then repeated his academy award winning performance of his last set. Two sets later he was back in the bathroom stall revisiting his breakfast. I smiled, finished my workout and went home to eat. Funny thing though...I never saw those two assho**es in my gym again. Did I feel bad? Hell no! Why? Because everyday I see macho guys who haven't learned how to train hard in the gym. These are the guys that wear the doo-rags, are juiced up on all kinds of drugs and walk around like they are Gods. They would rather over abuse drugs then to eat right and train hard. They are the wannabes of the world.

They want all the rewards but do not want to put in the effort. I love these guys. These are the guys that keep me young, strong, and motivated. There is nothing better in the world then giving a co*ky assho**e an ass beating in the gym. These are the guys that make my life worthwhile!

[arbel2]

Part 6

Standing onstage sucks...even when I won the USA. It was never about the contest... It was always about the workout. My battle was with the barbells and the dumbbells and my battlefield was the gym. My victory was beating the weights and machines and surpassing anything that I and anyone else had ever done before. Feeling my hands wrap around the cold bar and thinking about moving a quarter of a ton of steel was a thrill that only few will ever experience.

Everyday I am faced with people who ask me if I will ever compete again. Little do they realize that I compete everyday. Every time that I lift a weight I compete against myself. I strive to lift more in less time with better results. That's right...Its all about the workout! Do people really think that standing onstage at the USA was the thrill of my life?

I stood up there feeling weak, tired and dehydrated. I stood there waiting for something to happen that would justify the 20 years that I had invested in the sport... The missed weddings and parties, the birthdays and holidays where I ate chicken and rice instead of birthday cake, barely paying the bills and the lost relationships due to my focus on winning a contest.

Then the next day came and it dawned on me... It was all about the workout! The 40 and 50 set routines that left me exhausted but proud.

Proud of the intensity and effort that went into each workout and every set. I would dream of new goals and go after them day after day. I love the feeling of strength and power and the look of a healthy, strong body.

The real thrill of bodybuilding was not in the contest onstage but instead the thrill came from the intense workouts and the achievements that were made in the gym. Squatting 450 for 40 reps to the floor, warming up with 315 on the Incline press for 30 reps, doing 50 sets of barbell curls for biceps and 60 sets of heavy back work! That's what is was all about...the workout.

Standing onstage could not rival the feeling that I got from having fans travel from Belgium and Holland to Florida just to witness one of our Intensity or Insanity leg workouts. That was the pinnacle of greatness! To show the Europeans that we had more balls then anyone they had ever seen! I remember that day like it was yesterday...four of them had borrowed chairs from out of the sales offices and arranged them around the squat rack, leg press and lunge area. They sat there mummified like they were watching something out of Ripley's Believe it or not! How could we let them down? How could we not put 110% into every rep and every set? We moved about like fine tuned machines, ready to take on any challenge.

That's right...It was all about the workout and it was up to me to make sure that nobody did it better! I thrived on my reputation of being one of the hardest training bodybuilders in the country. That meant a lot more to me than standing onstage in little teeny bullsh*t posing trunks in front of a bunch of guys that never trained yet were there to judge me! That's right...what gave Peter Potter the right to judge me? Did he ever lift a damn weight before? It certainly didn't look like it!

To this day I resent the fact that they let someone like that judge my physique! As I sit here and think back I realize that it was always about the hard workouts and the discipline it took to move those weights and finish those sets. Everybody always told me that I was overtraining. They always said that I would burnout and not last. I sit here and laugh when I think about the 34 years that I have been training. I am still training and I feel great. I am 260 and hard at 44 years old.

Still playing with weights that would crush 20 year olds that are juiced up on every drug in the book. Trying my damndest to motivate the younger ones and have them realize that success is derived from hard work and dedication.

What More Could I Ask For?

Happily married, successful in my business and still training like a madman! Most people will read this and think that I am crazy... I am not nuts...just happy to be able to do what I love and do it with passion... TRAIN...TRAIN..TRAIN and motivate others to be the best they can be!


"Mentzers Heavy Duty one set and two set workouts were more the norm because we live in a world full of lazy mother fu*kers."
I always believed in high volume intense workouts. The workouts that were originated by champions like Arnold, Tom Platz and Serge Nubret. Unfortunately the high volume workouts never became real popular. Mentzers Heavy Duty one set and two set workouts were more the norm because we live in a world full of lazy mother fu*kers. Everybody bought into the bullsh*t...half hour workouts so they had more time to be lazy. With all due respect to Mike Mentzer and his accomplishments...why was it that he hadn't trained for the last twenty years and was in the worst shape of his life before his sad and tragic death?

If the Heavy Duty system was developed to prevent burnout, why did he ultimately burnout 20 years ago? Why was it that people still embraced every article that he had written prior to his passing and many of them adopted the Heavy Duty system?

It is a phenomenon that has amazed me to this day. Gone are the days of the hardcore gyms. The gyms that were engulfed in the atmosphere of blood, sweat and guts. Those gyms have been replaced by the Family Fitness Centers, Richard Simmons and electronic vibrating fu*kin abdominal devices. I miss the gladiators and the warriors that once trained behind the walls of Mr. America's gym in New York. I miss the competitions that we had in the gym to see who trained the hardest and who didn't make it to their cars after the workouts.

I miss the gyms that were loaded with barbells and dumbbells and void of cardiovascular equipment. Cardiovascular equipment? Bikes, treadmills, stairmachines? No way...they didn't exist! After all...during our workouts our hearts were beating faster than Ringo Starrs drums when he was playing for the Beatles. We didn't need to waste time doing cardio...it was already built in. It couldn't get any better.


We lived to train and trained to live...
and we loved every minute of it!
It was all about the workout!
And for me...it still is!

[arbel2]

"There is no greater feeling on earth than the feeling that you have when you know that you have done everything humanly possible to achieve your goal and live your dream!"

Part 7

Atlantic City 1987: The lights were bright and everywhere I looked I saw people gambling. Black Jack, Poker, Slot Machines, Craps and Roulette. I was never much of a gambler myself. That's probably why I trained so hard every year but never showed up for the big day. I wanted to win the USA or the Nationals and turn pro but I couldn't handle the risk of standing onstage with anything but the overall title and trophy.

No, the stakes were too high and I would rather not risk failure. It was easier to watch the others and excuse myself with promises of future victories. I remember that day like it was yesterday. My good friend Alex paid for my plane fare and ticket to the Nationals in Atlantic City, New Jersey. Perhaps he thought that it would inspire me to compete again and go after my dream of becoming a pro. After all, it was almost five years since I hit my trademark vacuum pose in front of a crowd.

What made the day interesting was the fact that I was drinking beer with my sidekick, Walter. Walter couldn't believe that I was drinking and reveled in the thought that he was corrupting me. John DeFendis drinking beer? I never drank beer. The closest I came to alcohol was a Shirley Temple or Virgin Pina Colada. But this day was different. I was drinking to escape the truth and the truth was that I was slowly watching my dreams disappear. Another year was passing by and another Champion was about to be handed the trophy that I thought I deserved.

I was the fox in Aesops fable "The Fox and the Sour Grapes." You see the fox wanted the grapes so bad and he kept jumping to pull them off of the vine. His attempts were futile and finally he fell to the ground, exhausted and grapeless. Knowing that he was never going to savor the sweet taste of the grapes he became vindictive and negative. As he lay on the ground he looked up and said, "Who wants those rotten, sour grapes anyway!"

As I sat in the second row with Alex and Walter I criticized the competitors onstage with my slurred speech. I kept saying, "Look at these guys onstage...they ain't got nothin. They probably mortgaged their houses and sold their cars just to pay for their food, supplements and airfare. Most of them are going to go home with empty dreams and empty pockets!"

I downed another beer and kept saying that I would never make that mistake again. As I drowned myself in inner sorrow I tried to convince myself that I was totally content being a wannabe. Who needed this? Why would I want to subject myself to the rigors of contest training just to win a title? Even better yet...Why would I want to gamble and take a chance of losing in front of thousands of spectators? It was so much easier sitting there with my Budweiser in hand while laughing at the competitors. Or was I really laughing at myself for not following through on my goals and realizing my dreams?

The next day I awoke with a feeling of nausea and uneasiness. I was told that this was a hangover from my beer escapade, but I knew better. I knew it was much more serious than that. I knew what I had to do and I realized that I would not be able to live with myself until I followed through and won the USA.


I went back to Florida and I carefully planned out the next eight months with my focus on winning the 1988 USA. It would have to be a flawless plan...
No mistakes, No miscalculations and No Regrets!
Even though the contest was to be held in Las Vegas I refused to gamble...
Knowing that I must be at my best and minimize any chances of defeat.
Pulling My Head Out Of My Ass

I knew the drill well. Wake up at 5:00 am, cook all six meals, slam down some black coffee that resembled mud with a half of a cantaloupe and an Animal Pak. Then it was off to war. Every workout was a grueling testimonial of the effort that it would take to win the USA and solidify my dream. After all, it was 1988 and overtraining didn't exist. It was the era of Intensity or Insanity workouts with 40, 50 and 60 set routines.

A typical leg workout consisted of a nonstop cycle of 400 pound Squats, 1200 pound leg presses and a leg extension machine that looked like it had its last day from the burden of countless repetitions with the pin buried at the bottom of the stack! Then there was stiff legged deadlifts, leg curls and seated leg curls for a hundred reps each followed by a 20 minute stretch of lunges around the outside of the mall with a hundred pounds on our backs. (The gym was connected to a shopping mall.)

Why were all the shoppers staring as we fell countless times and then regrouped and continued our trek? Did they feel sorry for me?

If so, I never understood why because I was living my dream...I was having the time of my life because I knew where I was going. I didn't need anybody feeling sorry for me because I was on top of the world. Nobody was going to beat me because I made sure that I was going way beyond all limits that my competitors would have set for themselves. I lived and died in that gym every workout and every day!

There is no greater feeling on earth than the feeling that you have when you know that you have done everything humanly possible to achieve your goal and live your dream!


I lived my dream and I continue to set new goals and have new dreams.
That is what life is all about…
Being the best at everything you choose to do and not settling for second place.
Las Vegas is the gambling capitol of the world…
I loved Las Vegas on that hot, dry summer night in July of 1988…
But I never had time to gamble. I just went in and did my thing and got out.
You know...I never was a gambler.