THE BARBELL MAN (PART 2): Your Weakness Is Being Weak

THE BARBELL MAN (PART 2): Your Weakness Is Being Weak

By Shane Robert

(See Part 1 here)

A month or so had passed since my first interaction with Frank. Despite my initial fears, he turned out to be a very nice guy and we were becoming, if not friends, well acquainted in the superficial way that only happens at the gym. I had progressed a little more on my strength—I was now able to deadlift one hundred fifty  pounds and had started benching and squatting to go along with that.

It was a Monday which meant one thing—bench day. I walked out of the locker room and made my way to the drinking fountain to hydrate my pre-workout super drink, where I found Frank reading a magazine and eating a sandwich.

“Whatcha got there?” I asked as my shaker bottle started to fill up and turn the color of something that might mutate reptiles into ninjas.

“Pre-workout,” answered Frank through a mouthful of sandwich. 

“I mean what is it?” 

Frank started to unwrap another sandwich and shoved it under my nose. 

“Peanut butter and jelly. You want some? I have two more,” he reached into the bag at his feet and pulled out two more neatly wrapped sandwiches. 

“I think I’ll stick with this. What are you working on today?”

“Squats.”

“Seems like that’s all you ever do!” I said jokingly. Frank shrugged and took another bite of his sandwich. “Well, I’m benching. I hope your squats go well.” 

Frank nodded and started to unwrap his third sandwich. 

I had finished benching (training goes quickly when you only bench seventy pounds) and moved on to assistance work. Despite being a bench day I had decided to try my hand at Glute-Ham raises (something I had recently read about on a website) and was trying to Jerry-rig a Glute-ham raise out of the lat pulldown seat. I would fall so fast that I’d have concussed myself on the first rep if my arms hadn’t caught me and pushed off. In the middle of performing this circus act I fell right into Frank as he walked by.

“Whoa, careful big guy,” said Frank as he scooped me up like a feather and placed me on my feet.

“Sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“I think I’ll live. You know that works better if you face the other way.”

“Huh?” I said, still dazed from falling into the brick wall that was Frank.

“The lat pulldown. Generally, you face the other way and, you know, pull down.”

“Oh. I was trying to do some Glute-ham raises. This setup isn’t ideal, but this stupid gym doesn’t have a proper Glute-ham machine.”

Frank thought on this for a moment. “Well. Get after it.”

I went back to cursing the ill-equipped gym between each grotesque rep of faceplants while Frank headed to the squat rack. He had been working up and finally reached what seemed to be his working weight. It looked to be around five hundred. He did five powerful reps, then racked the bar and wiped the beads of perspiration that had formed around his forehead. After a short sit to catch his breath, Frank came back my way.

“What’s that for anyway?”

I looked around the gym, confused. “What’s what for?”

“That thing you're doing.”

“The glute-ham raise?” I asked, surprised that he didn’t know. “It’s to strengthen the butt and hamstrings. Probably one of the best movements around for that,” I said pompously. 

“That’s not what I meant. The name kind of tells you what it does. I mean, why are you doing that?”

“Oh, I see. Well, my deadlift hasn’t really gone up this week, and I read that my hamstrings are probably the weak link holding that back. By doing this, I can strengthen them and drive my deadlift up,” I said.

“Hmm,” said Frank, nodding in thought as he went back to the squat rack and hit a few back off sets of eight at what appeared to be four twenty-five. Later on, after I completed many rounds of “core” training, I ran into Frank in the locker room.

“So your hamstrings are weak, huh?”

“Yeah. I think so. If I can get those stronger, I read that my deadlift will go up. I really want to hit two hundred.”

“Two hundred? You mean pounds?”

“Yeah. I’m so close! I did one fifty-two weeks ago, and I know if I can just strengthen my weaknesses, I’ll hit two hundred.”

Frank sat silently, looking at his locker with a concerned look. He finished packing his bag and started heading for the door.

“You know, I don’t know much about all that, but it seems to me, if you’re deadlifting one fifty, your weakness isn’t your hamstrings.”

“It isn’t?” I asked excitedly. This is the moment I had been waiting for. I was about to hear the golden ticket to help get my deadlift moving.

“Nope. At your level, everything is weak. You just need to get stronger. Anyway. Something to think about.” Frank turned and left.

I sat on the bench, hunched over. I mustered my energy to finish packing up and leave the gym. For the next few days, those words echoed around in my head. “You just need to get stronger.” What did that mean? If everything was weak, how did I get stronger if not by strengthening weak points?

I was determined to find the answer and consulted every magazine I had ever bought. There were many articles that I was convinced would help, but with titles like “BRING UP YOUR PUNY SHOULDERS - THE EXERCISE YOU AREN’T DOING”, “BUST PLATEAUS WITH THIS NEW TRAINING STYLE/EXERCISE/SUPPLEMENT,” I quickly discovered none of them were useful. I resigned myself to the fact that I would have to leave my ego aside and ask Frank to elaborate for me. 

I wouldn’t see Frank for a few days, and I was getting more and more anxious, second-guessing myself about everything that I thought I knew, unsure if the money invested in magazines and countless hours trolling the depths of bodybuilding forums had been a complete waste.

“Hi,” said Frank as he walked toward the squat rack.

“Hey,” I said with a hangdog expression.

“All right?” 

“Yeah. I just,” I hesitated, not wanting to ask Frank directly for help. “Yeah. Just a little tired.”

Frank nodded skeptically, in the way one does when they know they are being lied to, and headed to the squat rack. I continued on with my vigor-less training, feeling even worse for being too cowardly to ask Frank for help. Though by now I was mostly convinced that Frank was a nice guy, some of my initial doubt lingered; I was afraid he would ridicule me for needing help. I would come to learn that not asking for help is the only thing deserving of ridicule. However, I was far too unsure of myself at this early point in my lifting career to do it with ease.

As I trudged toward the locker room, I passed Frank at the squat rack and gave a half-hearted wave. Before walking through the door of the locker room, I felt a pull to stop and face my fear. I turned slowly, each step a fearful internal conflict, and walked back toward Frank who was still sitting on a bench catching his breath.

“Do you have a minute? I have a couple of questions.” I said 

“Sure, let me just get another set real quick.” Frank said with a smile as he stood and walked to the bar.

Once he reached the bar, I could swear that I was looking at a different person. His body had become as tense as stone, and his eyes had changed from friendly to frenzied in a split second. He stepped under, unracked, walked back and took a large breath before descending deep into the hole and rising back up explosively, the six big plates on each side ringing like a bell tower. Once. Twice. Three times.