Motivation: Headed to the gym? Take this with you... [Archive]

Gaoshang Xiongshou

01-27-2010, 03:37 PM

Reciprocity

Everywhere you go, everyone you see… today, everything is all about reciprocity. No one can do anything for anyone today, just out of the goodness of their own heart. It is always about “give to get”. That is selfish. It should not be that way.

BUT… reciprocity is the code of the gym. It should be YOUR personal code. You should expect the iron to reward you for your dedication and attention to the task at hand. You should expect the weight to bring it to you, and give no quarter during your meeting. You should expect for the weight to ask for more than you want to give… and you better fucking give it.

That is right… reciprocity out there… in the world… yeah, you can look past it, and be a different person, apart from the norm. In the gym… that is the time to be selfish. When you lay down on that bench, looking up at the bar with fractions of a ton on it, and it is daring you to not be a bitch, that is its gift to you… giving you what you need to man up and do work. Give it right back in the form of unadulterated aggression, determination, and ownership. However the weight comes at you, give it your list of demands, and mean it. Fair and equal exchange is soon headed your way.

Be hungry. No… fuck that… be ravenous. Want it all. Take, and take, and take, and take… but you damn well better give. This is not one of those “Tis better to give than receive” moments. Hell no… this is the time when it is better to receive. But remember the code, because you ain’t getting shit unless you give, and give plenty.

So when you hear those guys over on the wall, huddled tightly, looking like they are all about to bust out into a game of close quarters grab ass, complaining about how they come in and work and work, but have nothing to show for it, you can smile, knowing that those are stingy motherfuckers, and that they are completely clueless. When they look your way, thinking that your muscle came from a syringe (because they will), laugh the laugh of a thousand Hellspawns… your dextrose sweet act of committed selfishness is the biting, crippling, emasculating truth for them… they just do not have what it takes. And they will know it. However, if they pay attention, they will come to know of, and learn this unspoken code of reciprocity as well.

And all will be right with the world… at least until the next spineless, sorry ass, simple motherfucker starts to whine about his lack of return. Then, the cycle starts all over again.

Gaoshang Xiongshou

01-27-2010, 03:51 PM

This Shit Ain't Easy

What the hell, man? It is 10:36AM, and I am eating chicken breast for the third time today. Chicken, pasta, water… is this my life? Is this my only sustenance? Is this what I signed up for?

You are goddamn right it is. Fundamental rule of this shit… the body is made in the kitchen, not the gym. The gym is the maintenance. The gym is the fun. The gym is the orgasm. The work… the REAL work is between the four walls, and laid out in the cabinet and deep freezer.
Put in the work… the sacrifice of turkey or chicken over a cheeseburger, and your body will thank you when the time for cut is upon you. Lose your mind and keep company with all of the things that you love so much that make you want to clutch it like a drunkard holding on to Southern Comfort, and it will be an extra two to four weeks on the treadmill… and you know that is a pain.

If you ask yourself why you are doing this, then you may as well pack it in and pick up a new passion in life. Question nothing. Ignore doubt. Ignore fear. Ignore the cartoon characters that call out to you on that packaging as you stalk through the grocery store to get what is required to feed the need. And when you go back to that empty, lonely home, know that while there is not anyone and anything there, the truth of the matter is that EVERYTHING is there… everything that you need to get it done… if you really want it.

So stuff it down. Shove it down. Get it down, and get it done. Hey, no one is putting a gun to your head… why are you complaining? Tired of the same thing today that you had yesterday, and the day before? If you have room to make a change or adjustment, do it, and get it done. If not, oh well… suck it up, chow down… get it done. Pretty soon, you will see that it is all just a figment of your imagination… it is not hard. It is not impossible. It is what it is… the life of a bodybuilder. Your life. The life you chose, the life you stole from one of the Abercrombie and Bitch swimmer types at the gym who wants what you have put in the time and effort for, but was too lazy and apologetic about his life to go for it.

Yeah, I know it gets rough some days… happens to the best of us… anywhere from 6 to 12 egg whites, chicken, turkey, sweet potato, green beans, asparagus, broccoli… too plain for most people. Too bland for most people. TOO REAL for most people. But that is it brothers and sisters… the shit has to get real in this game, or you need to stop playing.
I do not know about you, but when weigh-in comes, I want to be at the top end of the weight class, standing tall and proud with mass, and not at the bottom end, having barely made weight, and had to burn most of what I built along with the fat that I was too busy chewing when it REALLY counted.

Think about it. And while you are thinking about it, get in the kitchen. It is time for the next meal.

Gaoshang Xiongshou

01-27-2010, 03:59 PM

Lotto

I bought some Power Ball tickets today… what the hell… you never know, right? I looked at the people around me, some who had decided to take the same chance as me, and some who had a fistful of scratch-and-win cards. And I could see it in all of them… the excitement and the hope. In their eyes, in their eager movements to scratch their way to a small fortune or I could hear it in the voices of those who discussed among themselves what they would do and how much their lives would change if they won.

If. IF? I am not about to have that kind of energy for “IF”.

We do not have to wonder “IF”. We do this, and you have to know that our odds are better than that multimillion dollar lotto. I know I like my chances with my own personal lotto, each and every day that I walk into the gym. The odds of hitting for one hundred and seventy million dollars? So very low. The odds of adding a half inch to your overall width by way of capped delts and an eagle-like wingspan? Much better. I will take those odds any day, and rather than continuing the payout of pocket change that would eventually amount to another tub of protein, fund your chances in the weight pit with blood, sweat, tears, and vomit.

Yeah… the chance at a life altering jackpot is pretty cool… but knowing that you are a measurable number of steps from a life altering jackpot of a different sort… yeah… that is the energy that will speak to you, and tell you exactly what time it is in case you forget. When those numbers are released week after week, and those around you face reality and disappointment, you can know that you got your jackpot. And unlike those who do win the money, you do not have to share with others, and your taxes have already been paid, with nothing being withheld… so kick back and enjoy the prize.

The world can have their glowing numbered ping pong balls. I might play their game, but I expect nothing. I play our game though… 25, 35, 45… always winning numbers. ALWAYS.

The next drawing is tomorrow, and I am so anxious that I am shaking in anticipation.

Gaoshang Xiongshou

01-27-2010, 04:09 PM

A Lot of Talk... But Saying Nothing

Why does everyone want to tell us what they used to do, or what they want to do, or what they can do, or what they are going to do? Why does everyone feel the need to tell us, instead of actually just doing it? What the hell is the point? Is it to impress us? Is it to try to fit in? Is it to make us bow down to their awesomeness? Fucking hell… if you want to impress someone, do something… anything. Talk is cheap.

It is all talk, and they are saying absolutely nothing.

There was a point in our lives… each and every one of us… where we made that decision to cross the great divide that separated us from what we knew ourselves to be. And every day, in the gym, we bear the weight of many dreams and countless desires in the rack, on the bench, or we have it waiting at our feet. We do not give a shit… weight is weight, and it will be moved. Our battle cry will be heard and seen on our faces, while those who stand around to watch will bear witness to a destruction that they cannot even imagine, because if they could, they would be doing it themselves.

Doing something is dirty. Moving weight satisfies that animalistic urge to dominate. Instead, Joe Blow from yesteryear runs his yap… but we are not listening. One look at us, and anyone would know that we rule shit. Our lives bend and are shaped by our will because we have it in us to make it so. We do not want to hear about how you used to be… what you are going to do… what you think you can do… who said what, where, why, and how… man, we cannot be bothered with that shit. This is why they never get anywhere. This is why they look to us… because we represent like a motherfucker. And yeah, it is true… we are not all bigger than life. But in the grand scheme of things, yeah, we are, and they know it.

While they all talk, and say nothing, we do not utter a word but still say plenty.

Gaoshang Xiongshou

01-27-2010, 04:13 PM

A Religious Experience

I came here today to preach. Now, if you think this has anything to do with the 66 books, or some doctrine of any organized religion, you are reading the wrong thing. But yeah, I am here to preach alright.

Of course, only if you worship at my church will you understand. And that church is the altar of the iron, people. When you hit those weights, it needs to be a religious experience.

You need to commune with the faceless, lifeless, all-knowing weight, and pray for mass. Be willing to sacrifice some of yourself for a bountiful return, and submit… bow in the name of that trinity that showed us the way: Schwarzenegger, Yates, and Coleman. Extol the virtues of the Olympic plates, and cast out the ways of the wicked… bad form, bad diet, bad outlook, and all around bad life.

Give your offering dutifully and in a timely fashion so that the doors are not closed to you, and continue to magnify the reverence of the unspoken code and bond of the brotherhood. Visit with your kind, and bring forth the way in a positive light so that those who would forsake you will suffer the smiting of the foolish. All will be good.

That is right… enter the house that Gold’s, Powerhouse, or even the YMCA built, and never desecrate it with the sin of slack lifting, excuses, or indifference. Always care, and always prosper. You will be questioned. You will be judged. Whatever… the judging that you should be concerned with is from that panel in front of your stage. Anyone else is just background noise.

And I leave you today with this final thought… when all is said and done, and you still find yourself faltering, and your faith wavering, ask yourself… what would Arnold do?

Yeah… I thought so. It is time to worship.

Gaoshang Xiongshou

01-27-2010, 04:20 PM

The Way We Were

Thinking back on the way we were… I miss it.

No, this is not the lead-in to a Barbara Streisand cover. Babs might warble about “the way we were”, but I promise you, she knows nothing about this. And the problem is, neither does anyone else. So few get it… so many fail to understand it.

The way we were… a well known brotherhood/sisterhood… family. You would walk into the gym each day, whether you were part of the day crew or the night shift, and you knew everyone, and everyone knew you. The atmosphere was dreary, and you were required to supply your own spark. The name of the game was moving weight… crushing, mind-bending pig iron that help forge your body into a living wonder of the world. It was a time when you walked in, and had interlocking rubber mats to protect the floor from slammed weights. It was when there was no air conditioning, and a barely functional heating unit for the winter. Remember the days of a power outage, and still grinding out the sets and reps in the dimly lit room, declaring to management that you were not leaving until all of the work was done? I do.

The way we were… when someone could bring in a block of chalk for deadlifts. The way we were… when there was a back room with a cot or two, for when you were going to hit a double split that day, and needed a nap in between the punishment. The way we were… when it was nothing to see a guy sitting on a bench, reaching down into his food bag, to pull out a container with cold rice and chicken breast, and eat it as is (sometimes, one was lucky enough to have a microwave there). The way we were… when there were actually posing rooms situated off to the side of the gym. I have only ever been in one gym that had a posing room, and in later years, it became an aerobics studio. Goddamnit. The way we were… when this actually meant something to every man and woman who walked through the doors, and when the gym was a home away from home. That is the way we were.

The way we are now though… is a shiny, happy people land with carpeted floors, air conditioning and ceiling fans. Suck ass music systems killing us slowly with bubblegum pop and soft rock. We have color schemes and stupid alarms. The way we are now, we have signs with rules that make absolutely no sense, written by people who are afraid of hard work, and probably afraid of the dark. The way we are now, we have trainers that do not actually know anything about training, but know everything in the book, and therefore know every conceivable way to fuck you up… that is the way we are now. I remember one day, not too long ago, when I was sitting on a flat bench with my post workout meal, and somebody decided to complain that I was eating in the weight pit (or as they like to call it, the free weight area). Management looked over at me, then back at him, and told him “he’s cool. Just leave him alone. He’ll be done in a minute”. The way we are now… this does not mean anything to anyone who comes to the gym, except for the fact that they can say that they go.

The way we are now… well, I guess it is not us… it is them. WE have come along so far, so fast, and so strong, that they want to keep us down, and so they find ways to keep the boot on our neck. But we keep getting from under it, and no matter what they do, we always will.

Misty water-colored memories of the way we were… okay, maybe. I can admit it.

But I want to get back to that.

Gaoshang Xiongshou

01-27-2010, 04:35 PM

Soldier of Your Own Fortune

The time to strike is near. Pack up your shit, and head out for the reckoning. Your friends are waiting…

They will never desert you. They will never fail you. They will always tell you what the fuck is up. Appreciate them… need them like you need air, food, water. The battlefield is rough, but they have your back…

Hammer Strength. Ivanko. Olympic. York. Icarian. They are your major support and tactical team. Shed blood and tears with these brothers… they are not going to give you shit for it, but they will give you what you need to not let the pressure get to you… and when you are ready, they will give you more to force you to push, gain ground, be the alpha, and rip shit to shreds.

Fucking unstoppable… fucking unmovable… like a fucking uncaged animal, living this shit instead of just pretending. No time wasting, no half-assed effort, and no faking for attention. You are the real deal. When you make your way into that pit, you are a warrior, the likes of which those who hover around in your world have never seen before. They will never forget it, and even though you know it, that means nothing to you. Yeah… you are looking at something; looking toward something… victory… conquest… but this ain’t some game of ‘Capture the Flag’. Oh yeah… you are going to capture something alright… but no one can understand or grasp that concept except you. It is a dark struggle on your campaign, rife with obstacles and traps set up to stop you. Do you give in though? Hell no. Do you meet that shit head on, laugh, and fuck it all to hell with thirteen inches, folded, with no lube, showing no mercy? FUCK YEAH. This is how it is done.

Imagine after the siege, standing atop the heap that aimed to take you down, and leave you doubting yourself… in that moment, it is not about who won, who lost, who came, who saw, who conquered, kicked ass, kissed ass, or any of that other shit. It is about this one thing: the motherfuckers did not stop me, and I got my mark.

That is a sick feeling, better than any high crack or meth or whatever could give you. This is what you want. And you better get it, or just surrender and be a prisoner of your own war.

Hell yeah… that shit would suck. It will not be me. Will it be you?

thesamewords

01-27-2010, 04:36 PM

"be ravenous" Bro.... those two words alone say a mouthful and testify to the disciplined yet savage life that is bodybuilding and powerlifting. In all things we do including matters of faith, the desire to achieve has to be overwhelming and at some point consuming. We consume and we are consumed. The irony is infinite.

robert da strongman

01-27-2010, 04:40 PM

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Gaoshang Xiongshou

01-27-2010, 04:44 PM

Go Time

I do not know about you, but when I step in the gym, I feel a completely new energy take over me. It comes out of nowhere, and permeates every fiber of my being, making its way deep down to the bone, to the soul, and into the psyche. The cold steel will never look more inviting than it does in that moment when I make my way inside, and see my iron playground again for the first time. Every day is like the first time for me, and while others just see benches, racks, weights, and work, you know people like us see something entirely different.
I do not know about you, but what I see is the proving ground. Who am I proving anything to? Myself. The others guys at the gym know the score with me… I do what I do for me, not them. I push and push, give and give on each rep in each set until I have nothing more. It is not about them… never has been, never will be.

I do not know about you, but when I look at each spot that I am going to take over, I can hear it… smell it… fucking taste it… the doubt that some hapless soul left there, left it waiting for me, left it looking to infect me, and derail me and take me off course. But I say no… fuck that… it is not going down like that. Sliding under that bar on the bench, or under the weight in the squat rack, I am so alive that it is scary… and anything that remains to drain me and my spirit get treated like a redhead stepchild. Getting a stranglehold on a dumbbell like I am trying to squeeze the life out of it, leaving the knurled imprint in my hand and moving through empty space regardless of weight means everything to me. Hell yes, this is Life. This is living. And I am glad to be a part of it… to have it be a part of me.

Being in the thick of it all… in the trenches everyday in this game… that is what it is all about. Making something out of what I consider to be nothing… knowing that every move I make counts as me wanting it more than the next person… this is how it should be. You, out there reading this… tell me… can you feel it? That beating, pulsing, drive to push it to the limit, and then smash through the wall… tell me… do you know that feeling? Every day, when that call of the iron beckons you, how do you answer? It is feebly, meekly, and lacking? Or is it like a true iron warrior should, living one rep at a time, letting everybody know where you fucking stand?

You have an answer, right? Good… it is go time.

robert da strongman

01-27-2010, 04:44 PM

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robert da strongman

01-27-2010, 04:49 PM

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Gaoshang Xiongshou

01-27-2010, 05:10 PM

A Little Slice of Hell

The beatdown that comes in the gym is a labor of love for something better. The kitchen is ground zero for the fortress that we construct, where the foundation is laid and strengthened. The months go by, and soon enough, we reach the end of the line, when we arrive at the proving grounds… the cut.

Cardio comes… and it sucks. But we do it. We will ourselves to put up with it, shedding fat, and praying that we do not burn off too much muscle in the process, lest we be set back by being overzealous. In the end, we look in the mirror, or we look out at the crowd standing on their feet giving us a thunderous applause, or we see that sparkle of excitement in the eye of our significant other as they visually devour their naked plaything… or, it can any number of reasons, and we know why we do this.

Some of us keep the cardio going even if not on a cut. Regardless of when it comes, it bites, and bites hard. I know I am not exactly fond of it, and I do not know many who are. Whether I am swimming, doing roadwork, jumping rope, or running stairs from the basement to the roof of a three story building in under 30 seconds, I will admit it… cardio is just a little slice of Hell.
But it is a Hell that I will gladly accept. We all have a choice, and I choose to look like perfection, born from an overactive imagination, immortalized in stone, and standing front and center in a museum of modern art. And for this, cardio is a necessary evil. What are you going to do? Bust ass to build and improve and keep it covered? Or do you want to put it on display, and show the world how you roll?

Yeah… I thought so.

Gaoshang Xiongshou

01-27-2010, 05:18 PM

The Difference

Us. Them.

There is a difference.

The difference… when we go into the gym on Monday:

Us: We are in the squat rack, working on the shit that people normally would not see.

Them: They are curling in the goddamn squat rack.

The difference… when we train:

Us: We have to hit it all throughout the week for balance, proportion, symmetry…

Them: Biceps/chest, biceps/chest, biceps/chest, and MAYBE some shoulder work.

The difference… when we train legs (if they even train them at all):

Us: We climb the stairs knowing that we did some damage, and laugh about it, thinking about the return on our investment of time.

Them: They climb the stairs, and bray like an ass. “OH MY GOD, my legs!!” “My body is SO SORE…” “wah, wah, wah, my pussy hurts…”

The difference… when we step into the place like a boss… like we own the motherfucker…

Us: We ain’t talking about shit. The multiple sets with the iron is our conversation.

Them: They are talking about too much shit, and the conversation IS shit.

The difference… when we look in the mirror…

Us: We see that we still have work to do.

Them: They look in the mirror and see the slightest hint of muscle, and then… “Dude, I am RIPPED!!!”

The difference… hell, you get the picture. I will tell you what… THIS is the real difference…

Us: We were born for this.

Them: They wish they could be us, but never will be.

It fucking sucks to be them.

Gaoshang Xiongshou

01-27-2010, 05:32 PM

I Wanna Be A Superhero

I was reminded of a moment from several years ago… I was walking through a bus station, headed out to catch a cab. I was wearing a bodybuilding.com shirt, and as I was walking, I heard some little girl… maybe eight or nine-years-old… she shrieked out, “Ooooohhh… BODYBUILDING!” I looked at her, and she shot me a front double biceps pose. I figured maybe an older brother was into it, and she knew about it through him. Thinking back on it, I probably should have taken a picture with her… But I digress… Anyway, someone had taught her to have that fierce determination in her eyes, and I nodded, smiled, and gave her a thumbs up in approval. She was happy, and she ran off calling to her mother to tell her about it. Whoever she had gotten this influence from, she more than likely looked up to them like a hero.
Well, you know how bodybuilders are… they all look like superheroes, ripped from the pages of the comic books. Day in and day out, I am taking my steps to be just such a work of art.

I want to be a superhero. It was cool to be whatever I was to that little girl, and if I happened to look like a superhero, then hey… I am doing my job in the gym and in the kitchen. And if I can be anything that a kid looks up to… if I can be even one more thing positive for them in a negative world, and inspire them to be healthy, committed, determined, and disciplined in a personal pursuit of physical excellence instead of vegetating on a couch and blaming everyone for everything, then I am not going to turn that down. Not at all.

But as for me wanting to be a superhero… at least to have that look… yeah, that is all for me, actually. Look at them… Wolverine… Spider-Man… Hulk… take your pick. That is the shit I want. Not exactly that kind of size, because Cutler’s type of size on my frame just is not going to look right. BUT, that does not mean that I cannot and will not go for mine, and look like I just stepped off the pages of a Marvel serial. I do not know any of you… but me, I have to have it. I wake from sleep and enter into slumber with that one image on my mind… a physique that will drop jaws and leave people wondering, “What the fuck was that?!”

I do not need a flashy costume. I do not need a cape… a secret identity… high tech cars and weapons… my weapons are Olympic bars and plates. That is how I get down.

I want to be a superhero. And I will need others to represent also… so who the fuck is with me?

Gaoshang Xiongshou

01-28-2010, 10:03 PM

Ain't No Sunshine

It is a long road, and it is dark most of the way. There are those moments of light and color here and there, but for the most part, it is black and white. Gritty. Urban. Empty. Sometimes, in the search for something good and real, this is what it comes to.

To those on the outside looking in at us, sacrifice means entirely too much. To us, it is just a word, although we know the weight it carries, and the importance of due diligence. No one understands. But we do. And to make it in this game, you have to want something. You have to need something. Regardless of how things look, you have to roll out of bed, hit the gym, punch the clock at work, get all of your meals in, pay the bills, go to bed, and then have the fortitude and wherewithal to do it all again the next day… no parties… no magic moments… no birds flying around chirping and singing some happy song while you are on the move. Ain’t no sunshine on this fucking road.

But I will tell you what is on this road… life, and living, on your own terms. It may not seem like much to some, but if you are happy with it, live that shit, love that shit, fuck that shit that the outsiders are talking about, because that is what is going to get you from A to B. When that 315 pounds tells you to work, become a slave, do what it wants, and ask for seconds. Living and loving in a dark and cold hell where you rule was not meant to be pretty. It was meant to be productive. It was meant to be damning. And the moment you took that silent oath to surrender it all to the iron, you chose the life that was meant to be yours.

You want friends? You have a full and supportive brotherhood (or sisterhood, for you ladies) at your disposal. You want truth? Do not expect it from the outsiders… they will blow smoke up your ass, give you empty dreams, and have you hoping for what will eventually become broken promises. Among them, we walk alone. But we know that we walk hundreds and thousands strong, stronger than those in the warm, sunny world of mediocre complacency.
I remember being that way once. Looking back on it, it sucked ass. Never again, at least not until I take the dirt nap. I can deal with no sunshine beating down on me, slowing me down, and making me not care about where I am going or what I am doing. That works just fine for me.

That is real shit, and the real understand the real.

Gaoshang Xiongshou

01-29-2010, 10:36 PM

Can't Be Scared

The gym… 17:32 hrs.

As always, I see it. I feel it. I smell it. It is obscene.

With my hand wrapped around the bar, and a presence that not only commands respect, but dictates like I own the place, it comes… the fear. Oh… I am not scared of a damn thing. But they are. The regular time wasters, used to my controlled rage with the triple digit – and on occasion, quadruple digit - numbers, still find themselves in shock at the sight of me. And the new guys… well, that just has to be seen.

Such is the life of an outsider who invades the space of the normal. I am not trying to show off. I am not trying to stick out. I am just a man on a mission. But someone has to rise up, take a stand, and show everyone how it is done. When I hit the gym, I am that man, and I am not even trying to be. This is just me. This ethic… this zeal… this hunger for more, it is alien to them, and it amazes some… scares others.

I cannot help that when I come into the gym, I am on the move, preying on my ultimate self. In those moments within those four walls, that is what you need to do… there is no other reason to be there. If you are not, you are taking up space… my space… and you have to know that I do not appreciate that shit. Watching me, standing there like a deer in the headlights, that is not going to get you anywhere. But if you insist on doing that, I hope you are paying attention and learning something.

It was not my aim coming into the gym today, but whatever… I will show you the way to being big. Follow me… but know if you do, you sure as hell cannot be scared, because if you are, I will leave you where you stand.

Gaoshang Xiongshou

01-29-2010, 10:41 PM

For Identification Purposes Only

All things are not created equal. It would be nice, but it is not going to happen. When you are next throwing down with the weight, step the hell back and analyze that shit for a second. You are there with a purpose. You walked in for a reason. You want something. You are chasing something. And you know you are going to get a stranglehold on it. BUT… you are not going to get it by cramming everything under the sun into training, flailing about, and looking like a chicken with its head cut off.

Sure, a standing French press might look cool to everyone there, but your time to look cool and attract attention comes later, in a packed auditorium in front of a jury of four to six. Gym time is business. It is work. You celebrate your banker’s hours daily and get your pay every two weeks. Well, the gym is your office as well. Put in good work… receive great pay. So, find what works for you, get your gains, and exploit your system every way possible. I would rather lay to rest someone’s stage ambitions of placing higher than waste my time.

You may have the strength to handle every conceivable triceps movement known to man, but if you can figure out the one or two meat and potatoes movements that will make them sing with growth, then why not bust ass on those? If you have a weak area (and we all do), quit spinning your wheels, find the solution, and rip it up. Nothing screams clueless more than someone who just goes in circles and goes through the motions, but gets nowhere. You are better than that.

So to all of you, my brothers and sisters, find your way… know it… LIVE IT. Know where you are in your journey so that you can adjust and make your travel easier and more rewarding. You have a destination. Goddamnit, you are going to get there. And then when some unsuspecting innocent finds their way into your world, on your stage against you… fuck their mind, and leave them twisted like a pretzel. I guarantee you that they will never try that shit again.

Gaoshang Xiongshou

01-29-2010, 10:48 PM

One More Rep

There comes a moment in our daily battle with the iron that is unlike any seconds before it. With fibers engaged and insane committal to the task at hand, we march forward… 3, 4, 5, 6… and as you come to a close on the set, you realize where you are. You realize who you are. And, you realize that you want more… as hard as it may be, you want it. And you WILL have it.
That is the best time in the world... that single moment, where everything in time stops, all goes silent, the world goes grayscale, and although anything else you do not hear, you actually hear the tortured scream of your body in your head as you crash into a wall of obscenity... That release of sweet, rapturous pain in the muscle that you are training, which seems to spread all over in the blink of an eye, seizing control of rational thought and logic, daring you to soldier on and push, pull, or raise again, and again, and AGAIN…

This is the secret bliss that many know about, but few seek out. This is the moment of truth, the instant that defines if you are really training, or just going through the motions, and trying to impress people.

You may sweat. You may bleed. You just may cry. You will be battered… beaten… and you will fall. But you also will rise… rise again, stare at that bench… stare at that rack… stare at that dumbbell… and everyone will see it in your eyes and know… you, we, us… we are not human. We look like it, but we are more, and we mean business, and the business at hand is one more… always, one more, and every time, you must push and push, take what the weight gives you and throw it back in its unseen face, and always, ALWAYS, look to get one more rep, because what that one last rep means is that you do not concede defeat, and moved Heaven, Earth, Hell, and even Limbo to get there.

If what you are doing does not mean anything to you, then you will accept mediocrity. And you will sell yourself short on what is rightfully yours. OR… you can stare that demon of doubt in his hot white, vacant eyes, dig into the depths of your being that you have never even seen, and let yourself, the world, the universe, and the very entity that is existence know that you will not stop… you will not fail… there is more… always more.

Go get it. And when you do, get another, and then one more. Compromise nothing. Sacrifice your comfort. See your end result, and know that you are steadfastly contributing to the cause. Live for it, and even be prepared to die for it, because you want it that badly… never give up on it…

ONE MORE REP.

If you cannot or will not do that, GET LEFT BEHIND.

powergraham

01-30-2010, 10:22 AM

Well, Gaoshang Xiongshou has kindly agreed to let me post some stuff I write up here, so I figured I'd try and post it in the same format to keep things familiar.

The God Complex

Completing a heavy and punishing set of reps can be a surreal experience. Not many other things in life conjure up the same mix of feelings and emotions. Relief. Power. Burning pain, and raw ambition. A concoction of sheer cowardice, knowing at that moment, you could not hold up your hands to protect yourself, but feeling so fucking big, because nobody can pull off what you have just accomplished.

This, is the god complex. We feel that we are above everyone else, that we, are amongst a special elite, above the average. We are the anomolies, rejects, freaks. People look upon us with confusion and often, disgust, for we are different. We walk into our gyms, walk past the row of 18 elipticals, past the stepping boxes, and past the pilates instructor, and we head for the heaviest fucking things we can find. We take these things within our grasp, and we lift. We show that the god complex, is in fact, a fallacy, for we are fucking gods among a world of insignificant and under achievers. We are the men and women of a rare breed, who are not afraid to look into the eyes of brutality, and pick a fight, and come screaming out the other side, only to know that we have the same gruelling ordeal tomorrow, and we understand this with a grin on our sweatsoaked lips.

Do not accept mediocrity. Do not accept half answers. There is only a god complex for those who do not understand, that we, are not human. We are Gods.

Gaoshang Xiongshou

02-04-2010, 05:28 PM

Birthday

I recall talking to a friend who had just celebrated a birthday. They had a good day, and we had a lot to talk about in the days to follow.

Their birthday made me think about mine. No, not that thing that comes around every year… that is nothing but a day to me, no different than the day before it, or the day after it.

No, when I think about my birthday, I think about the day I first set foot in a gym, and began on the journey that has made me what I am now, and will make me what I will be later. That was the day that an animal was born. That is the day when a being began being forged from the fires of searing, deep muscle failure and the tears of my body as I moved weight, unrelenting and merciless in my endeavor, paying the price to be in the game. Oh yes indeed, the day I stepped into the gym, it was go time. I have never looked back, and I dare the challenges of the future to meet me head on, and get twisted in the process.

It was the day when this world was promised a force that would be unlike any other. It was a force that would make a statement here, there, and everywhere, with whoever came in contact with it. It was a force that would be known by many, but understood by few. It was the beginning of life. That day that comes around every year… that is for your girlfriend (boyfriends, for the ladies). That day is for your family. It is for friend and foe alike. But the birthday… the REAL birthday… that is all for you.

Who remembers their birthday? I may not remember the exact day, but that does not even matter. All that does matter is that my birthday came when it was time, and I have been wrecking shit ever since 1993. So now, I know some of you are thinking about your birthday… that glorious day when it seemed like the gates of a parallel universe opened up, swallowed what you were, and spit out what it knew you would need to be in order to make your moves, and put on numerous pounds of get down.

Every day that you take that cold iron in your hand, you celebrate your birthday. The bang of the plates as you load them, the rattle of the poundage as you press or pull… there is your birthday song. Birthday cake? To Hell with that… BIRTHDAY SHAKE!! Your present is a fucking masterpiece that people wish they had, and they will waste no time in telling you. Yeah… now how is that for a birthday celebration?

So whoever you are, wherever you are, raise your protein shaker or water jug high, and toast that great moment in your life...

Happy Birthday, brothers and sisters. Now get in the gym and rip it up as only you can.

Gaoshang Xiongshou

02-04-2010, 05:42 PM

Hate Breed

Every day… every fucking day, I am breeding hate.

Every day, it grows, festers, causes my blood to boil, and its presence in the weight pit is my training partner.

This hate… this vile, loathsome contempt is for mediocrity… my mediocrity. But you know…fuck mediocrity. They can have it. I do not want it.

I welcome the aggression. I welcome the angst. This ain’t some “woe is me” tale though… hell no… this is just life… my life… probably yours too. I will be damned if I do not reach the pinnacle of this, in this, with myself. What is the point otherwise… for my health? Well, okay… perhaps. But still…

The mirror does not lie to me. It tells me what the deal is when my mind starts to play tricks on me. He introduced me to hate, and now, me and that motherfucker are thick as thieves. When no one else understands why I do what I do, what I get out of this, what is required of me to put into this, and why I want this and crave this and am fucking starving for this… it is the hate. It will keep me on the straight and narrow, and I will love it more than I would a woman because it will see me to my end, where a smile a mile wide will stretch across my face.
Oh sure, I could accept what is, and be happy as I am coming along. But that shit leads to complacency, and that gets me nowhere. No, damn that… I am going somewhere… today, tomorrow, and forever. The world will see me stiff, stuffed in a box, and six feet under before I give up this relentless pursuit.

It sounds like I am bent out of shape… just all fucked up in the head. I am not… but I ain’t fucking satisfied either. The hate allows me to live in that moment as if it was my very last. The hate allows me to push or pull that shit like my life depends on it. The hate tells me what I have for the set, and when it is gone, I get more for big, painful fun… one more, two more, three… I love it. Drives me to a new place, a scary place, one that only knows hope… fuck fear. Fear gets you second place or lower in the show, and in life, and that is not what I am about. I am all about excellence, and nothing will stop me from having it.

I want it. I need it. It will be mine.

Every day… every fucking day, I am breeding hate. Every day… every fucking day, I am getting closer to the top.

Gaoshang Xiongshou

02-06-2010, 09:48 PM

Bloodlust

It is bad enough that you go into the gym and see guys doing the latest and greatest “Bulging Biceps in 8 Minutes!!!” workout found in Muscle and Fiction magazine, or some wannabe doing the most recent “Full Body Workout in 3 Moves” from Men’s Health that will be replaced next month with the newer “Full Body Workout in 3 Moves”. Add to that that guys are hell bent on building their core on the stability ball with every conceivable exercise or on the BOSU, instead of manning the fuck up and just taking the bar in hand and doing the deadlift… add to that also that everyone is a supplement guru, like this one guy matter-of-factly telling people that milk thistle is protein, and he uses it for mental focus in the gym (as he does his 10lb. half curls; TRUE STORY… I saw this with my own eyes)… or people swearing up and down that cardio in excess will not burn muscle… we have all of that, and more, and to top it off… people are trying to gain by following some mumbo-jumbo pseudo-science “Power Meal” article printed in one of the circulating muscle tabloids.

What the fuck?! What is wrong with people?

I want to gain like everyone else. But unlike the rest of the mindless slaves of Weider, he who preys on the innocent, I have a bloodlust... for the real shit… that man shit… fucking red meat.

Goddamn it. Red meat… ribeye… Porterhouse… top sirloin… You want to be big and hard? You want to piss off your girl and get smacked in the shoulder, and not even feel it? You want the scale to start moving to the right, and beg you to get off? Find someone who has graciously chopped up a cow and sells to the public… and there you have it.

Red meat is good for the soul. Red meat will make a happy man out of you. Red meat will…

“But what about saturated fat?”

Dude, you need that shit. Do not waste my time with stupid shit like this. Yeah, the chicken is good. Certain fishes are great. But the bottom line is this: A fucking behemoth like you needs meat. DAILY. And if you are not getting it in… I just do not know what else to tell you, except to enjoy being a small fry for the rest of your life. I feed on that shit twice daily… three times, if I can swing it. Hey... tough economy all over... I know how it is. I feel everyone's pain. But it can be done, and it is not as hard as you think.

Go get it… and get that mass that you have been selling your soul for.

Gaoshang Xiongshou

02-06-2010, 09:55 PM

More

As I stand under the bar before I make my descent, or as I pull the stack at the seated row station, something goes through my mind: you could not tell me that I did not want it.

Yeah… want it more… want that size, want that hardness, want the sweep, and want that thick-as-a-brick appearance. I want that taste of victory, of realization, of actualization. I want that high of coming out on top, having fought off the demons that sought to get in the way of the building and cutting, and having made my way around the minefield of traps throughout the process.

I never think it is going to be easy. In fact, if it is, I do not need it. I need the challenge. It feeds my bloodlust for smashing through that wall of complacency. Everything I need to know will rest in my hands, coming in at varying weights, be it as a fork weighed down to several ounces, or a bar loaded to 585 lbs. for rack deads. Quads bulging to the point that I can barely feel them on Mondays do not matter. Traps and rhomboids that feel like they have been shredded on Wednesday do not matter. Stretches held for time that rip the fascia all asunder and make me see red do not matter. The end result is all that matters. Fuck yeah. I am paying my dues, and I am standing by for my receipt.

So I lie on that bench, or run the rack. Some guy is there, sharing my space. Maybe I am lifting more than him. That means nothing to me. I am not there to show off… that shit will get me hurt. He is there for something, as am I. The only difference is that I know what I am there for, and judging by his lackadaisical performance to the task at hand, he does not know what he is there for. And what I think about the guys who will be beside me onstage at some point, I also think about him:

The payoff for diligence and determination… you might want it. But I want it more.

Remember that shit.

225orDie

03-08-2010, 02:04 PM

This has to be one of the greatest threads ever!!

Gaoshang Xiongshou

03-08-2010, 02:17 PM

Headed out to train today, or if you have already gone, and will be there tomorrow, take this. Someone, maybe even you reading this... someone needs it. If nothing ever gets you pumped up, this once scene HAS to do it.

YouTube- Rocky IV - Training Scene - Hearts On Fire

Silence in the darkness creeps into your soul
Envy moves the light of self control
The gate that holds you captive has the door
Burnin' with determination to even up the score

Heart's on fire, strong desire, rages deep within
Heart's on fire, fever's risin', high
The moment of truth draws near

Time will not allow you to stay still, no
Silence breaks the heart and bends the will
Defense is guilty passions out of control

Rules and regulations have no meaning any more

Heart's on fire, strong desire, rages deep within
Heart's on fire, fever's risin', high
The moment of truth is here

OH!

Is here
Oh yeeeeeaaaaaah!

Heart's on fire, strong desire, rages deep within
Fever's risin', energizin', right up to till end

Heart's on fire (heart's on fire)
Strong desire (heart's on fire)
Rages deep within
Ooooh
FADES-
Fever's risin' (heart's on fire)
Energizin' (heart's on fire)
Right up till the end
Ooooh
Heart's on fire (heart's on fire) (heart's on fire)
Strong desire (heart's on fire)

Gaoshang Xiongshou

03-08-2010, 02:57 PM

Choices

Choices… yeah, we all have them. What we do with them defines who we are.

Take me, for example. There was a Christmas party last year at my Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu dojo. Started at 7PM, and went until whenever. It would have been a good time. But I had to work at 7AM the next morning, and when I got off at 4PM, I was not going to want to go train at that time, or have to deal with an after work crowd. And it takes me an hour… both ways… to get out to the dojo. And of course, I wanted to make my gym time before work. This meant that in order to do that, I had to get to the gym earlier than when I normally do, so I had to go to bed an hour earlier to get up an hour earlier to start getting in my meals for the day and stay on track. SO… there was no party for me. I had my priority. I had two choices, and I made mine, and stuck by it, and was proud of it.

It means that much to me. Never mind that the food would have been decent, that there was a girl out there that I would have wanted to see, or that there were several hours straight of old UFC matches… forget their tale of the tape… what does that do for me and my tale of the tape, as I look to increase some numbers?

Not a damn thing.

Choices… yeah, we all have them. What do you do when you are faced with the hard ones? You knuckle up, bear down, and face the music, be it good or bad. When you want something, sacrifices have to be made if no compromise can be had. Is it hard? Fuck yeah. Is it worth it? FUCK YEAH.

At least it is in my world… I cannot speak for anyone else. But day in and day out, Life is nothing but one big choice… live it, and live it on your terms, or just let it run you into the ground. Not me… it does not go down like that here.

So the guy that does nothing with himself, wants this, wants that, but does nothing except complain about how hard it is… more power to him… that is his choice. Keep having a hard time running around the block, or not being able to lift anything heavier than a sack of groceries. Girlies, when you tell me that you do not want to work out and lose weight because you do not want to lose... as you put it, your "big, luscious, thick ass"... fine… go right ahead… sit there and do nothing. But do not complain when no one wants you, the fat girl. That obviously must be what you want.

Pity… what they all really want is pity.

Fuck you. You cannot have it.

Do not let them suck you in. Do not give it to them. Their life... their time... what they are is what they want. Let them live with it, because you have better things to do.

Gaoshang Xiongshou

03-10-2010, 02:42 PM

Drive

Ever have those days when you feel like you are missing something in this thing we do? Sometimes you just hit a wall, and wonder where the fuck it came from? Those are the days you feel like you want to stop.

Brothers and sisters… it gets like that some days. But you have to remember why you are doing this, and you do not need one reason, and only one reason. For me, part of my reason is for a guy named Ken.

Ken was my training partner back when I lived in Michigan for several months during 2003 and 2004. I walked into the original Powerhouse in Highland Park, and knew I had a new home. The real lifters outnumbered the casual lifters greatly. Powerlifters, strongmen, ex-competitive bodybuilders (or so they said), lots of cops, lots of fire fighters, lots of locker room and street pharmacists, and a whole host of others who would be going behind the closed door, or who had just gotten out from behind it. It was great. The atmosphere was charged with a sense of purpose and a sense of urgency in every rep. Ken was one of those lifters.

When I started there, I was the new kid on the block. Everyone saw me day in and day out, either training for myself, or training clients. People came to know me eventually, and much like anywhere else, I formed a bond, and cemented my spot there amongst the guys and girls. However, despite all of this, I worked alone. Looking around at the eclectic group there, I noticed… big as hell, strong as hell, but it was all wrong as hell, and I could not trust any of those guys to help me take it to the next level. I studied them all though… the only one who stood out was Ken, a powerlifter who was making his way into strongman. I could trust him, and so I did. We started training together, and we had a mixture of everything… bodybuilding, powerlifting, and strongman. Good times indeed. I remember so much of it like it was yesterday. There was a good amount of progress made, and a lot learned.

All of that came to screeching halt on September 1, 2004. Ken was a Detroit Police Officer, but the pay was less than stellar. He took a job as a bouncer at one of the strip clubs there at night, and on that day, the bullet was fired that was the beginning of the end of his life. For whatever reason, management sent him out with two guys, and one went to his car and got a gun. Ken took the shot in his abdomen, and 12 hours later, he was gone… struck down at only 28-years-old.

It was about a year before I got back into the gym. That shit really tore me up. Exactly one year later, the restriction was lifted on officers moonlighting for extra money, and they were allowed to take second jobs. He wanted to better provide for his family, and he had to die in the process. For that to happen a year later was just another blow to the gut for me. That shit pissed me off.

I have a lot of reasons for wanting what I want, and doing what I do. But none of them I can articulate as clearly as this one: A big part of my drive is Ken. Man, he knew where I was going, and wanted to be. And he was the only one who believed that I was going to get there, while everyone else refused to. He pushed me hard. He knew I had the potential… and this was someone that I knew less than a year. I took my approach and workout ethic back to formula with him, and I have what I have today, which has made people duck and dodge me in the gym, and training partners quit, leave the gym, and never ever come back. Sure, I still have the desire to be bigger and harder as my drive in the gym. But Ken added to it because he is no longer here to see this. His goals… unfulfilled, are now mine… at least one of them.

I do this for a lot of reasons… suffer through the monotony of the diet, deal with the blinding pain of rebuilding and binding muscles, sacrifice a great part of my better years so that tomorrow, I can be more than I am today… yes, I do it for me, but in his memory, I do it for him as well. This is my drive. Have you found yours?

There are going to be days when it seems like this world, your world… it moves in slow motion. What do we do? REMEMBER. Whatever it is that drives you, find it and hold on to it. Coming to a standstill is only an option when you are in gridlocked rush hour traffic on the way home from work.

I will continue to push, to see that he is honored properly and fittingly…

2011… Arnold Expo… Ken and I are getting together for one more good time.

Rest In Peace, brother. You did well.

Gaoshang Xiongshou

03-11-2010, 10:44 PM

Stranger

Man, I do not even fucking know you.

That is what went through my mind this morning as I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Different than what I used to be, but not yet what I wanted to be, I see nothing but a man trapped in Limbo, suffering from some kind of sick and twisted mind fuck. Yeah, I have put in the time, and have reaped some reward… but in the grand scheme of things, this shit is nothing but a drop in the bucket, and the motherfucker is deep.

I have the tools. I have the talent. I have the know-how. I have the time. And yet, it just does not seem like enough. I am guilty of wanting… of dreaming. I dream big. But that son of a bitch looking back at me is not big. Well, at least, not big enough… bigger than this time two years ago. But that is a small consolation for me… I want what I want, and I will not stop until the mission is complete.

In the gym, people stare, whisper, get skittish, and do anything else to show that they are out of their element when they are in mine. They can see it in my eyes, and feel it in every rep that they watch me do, but are too relaxed in their endeavors to do themselves… they know I want it. They have to know that I need it. The urge to crush poundage is as strong as the heartbeat inside of me, and it cannot be denied. I would not even know how to if I wanted to… that is how I know this journey is real, and how I know that there will be no getting off course. Give me the gritty, grimy, hard to tow purgatory of this pursuit anytime; watch me eat it like 12 oz. of flank steak, and ask for more. I know where I am going, and it is not in sight just yet, but I know it will be, and I cannot even sit still while thinking about it. Yes, indeed, someone better is coming.

That is right, goddamnit… I know who I am looking for, but that motherfucker in the mirror is not him; he is a stranger. You know… I might just want too much… nah… fuck that, there is no such thing. I want my absolute best. There is nothing wrong with that. And anyone who would tell me otherwise is injecting something other than Cyp or EQ, and they need to go back to wherever the fuck they came from. This is not going to get me down. In fact, seeing this stranger is exactly what I need some days. He pushes me to go farther every day. I still do not like his weak ass though… fucking stranger.

But oh yeah… when he, that image that I have envisioned, when he finally does show up, you can most certainly believe that it will be party time.

Gaoshang Xiongshou

03-12-2010, 07:31 AM

Scarred for Life

As I recently heard it said, “Accumulating injuries is the price we pay for the thrill of not having sat around on our asses”.

Fuck yeah… that spoke to me for real. Stuff hurts. Stuff aches. We might leave bits of skin or traces of blood wherever we happen to frolic with the iron. We love it. We live for it. We need it. Given a choice, we just might die for it.

And today, as I moved from one set to the next, changing the weight, I happened to look up and saw a metrosexual guy giving himself the once over in the mirror.
Now, I understand a guy wanting to keep his appearance up to pull the ladies. Far be it from me to stop any guy from his pursuit of the booty. But man, it was 5:40 in the fucking morning, and there was not a woman anywhere in sight… so why the fuck was he in the mirror checking his goddamn hairline and teeth to make sure nothing was stuck between them? What the hell is that shit?! And then he went back and grabbed his 10’s, stood in front of the mirror, CROSSED his legs, and started to press.

What. the. fuck?

Is this the type of thing you all see? Do you at least see it from time to time? And as he put the weight down, I saw his hands… he looked like he had never done a hard day’s work in his life. Looking at his physique… if one can call it that… he damn sure did not do anything in the gym.

Priorities = shot to fuck. And people wonder why they do not get anywhere in the gym, and just give up…

And then I looked at myself… looked at my hands. They were scarred. Ugly… worn… palms cracked, with rough calluses from griping iron death like my life depended on it… skin dried out and peeling… slivers of flesh poking up from pinched fingers and fingertips.
I look at my legs, and see the bruising from dragging the bar up and down my shin, and scar tissue on the knees. I look at my face and see the hard lines that have been etched in from my years of struggle and torture just to prove something to myself first, and the world second.

Look at all of that, friends.

And then zoom out like I do, and get a look at the big picture… the body that has paid the price, and now reaps the rewards… the body that has been torn asunder under the harshest weight that you can bear, moving that shit like you were unstoppable and goddamn invincible, and still comes back, begging for more week after week. All the hurt in the world is worth it when you are face to face with the man in the mirror, and your greatness. You can look at yourself and say, “I did this shit”. Not just say it, but say it and know it. Fuck the pretty… life is not supposed to be pretty, and to us… this is life.

Yeah, looking at us, those who really care and have a fucking clue, we have battle scars. I wear mine proudly. And I am scarred for life. Capped delts, twisting highways of veins, a back thick like a side of beef, and legs that look like they can kick a hole in a brick wall… yeah, I will take my scars for sure.

Everyone else can worry about their hair, nails, and makeup.

powergraham

03-31-2010, 07:16 PM

Here's another from me. Thanks to my boy Gaoshang for letting me post.

Who Are You ?

Some people were born with the innate logical pretense to work a 9 to 5 job until their body can no longer function. Some people were born with the desire to do nothing with their lives except relax. Some, neigh, most have the function of being absolutely useless, nothing but a non-descript mark on the world, another name programmed into birth records which will be glanced over and forgotten as quickly as it is written down.

But there are some, few, rare, gems amongst the people, born with the possiblity to become legendary. A god amongst men and women, who can carry themselves into a room and stop the music immediately, eyes of lust preying from the opposite sex, and envy gushing to the faces of your gender, wondering why they cannot carry off that look in a simple 2 piece suit, and others thanking their lord for making it much easier to tear off with their teeth.

These people are few and far between, and history provides us with but a few prolific examples. McQueen. Monroe. Kennedy. Hepburn. All with a distinct quality that nobody could explain, but the entire population of this planet would enjoy. What seperates these seemingly perfect individuals from us, you, ourselves ? Seemingly nothing, but still you feel so insecure.

Go and look in the mirror, and ask yourself, Who the fuck are you ? Who, the fuck, are you ? Are you the 9 to 5 wannabe, whose biggest ambition in life is the corner office ? Do you just want to kickback, and be able to afford 2 weeks holiday a year ? Or are you a useless discrepancy on the footnote of history ?

Or are you one of the rare few, that come along and show the world what the fuck they are dealing with ? Are you going to sit back as the world throw it's punishments unrelenting, or are you about to stand up, and show the world who you really are, and who you are about to become ?

Show no fear. Become Immortal. The sweet release of death will be nothing compared to the punishment of life.

Joshua H

05-27-2010, 05:35 PM

I like it!

crazyndn

10-13-2010, 12:02 AM

Love these. Thankyou sir

Ibarramedia

10-13-2010, 01:00 AM

Good stuff we got here. Very good stuff..... :ok:

Gaoshang Xiongshou

10-16-2010, 11:01 AM

Bump for crazyndn

"Rodz"

11-26-2010, 12:40 AM

Scarred for Life

As I recently heard it said, “Accumulating injuries is the price we pay for the thrill of not having sat around on our asses”.

Fuck yeah… that spoke to me for real. Stuff hurts. Stuff aches. We might leave bits of skin or traces of blood wherever we happen to frolic with the iron. We love it. We live for it. We need it. Given a choice, we just might die for it.

And today, as I moved from one set to the next, changing the weight, I happened to look up and saw a metrosexual guy giving himself the once over in the mirror.

Now, I understand a guy wanting to keep his appearance up to pull the ladies. Far be it from me to stop any guy from his pursuit of the booty. But man, it was 5:40 in the fucking morning, and there was not a woman anywhere in sight… so why the fuck was he in the mirror checking his goddamn hairline and teeth to make sure nothing was stuck between them? What the hell is that shit?! And then he went back and grabbed his 10’s, stood in front of the mirror, CROSSED his legs, and started to press.

What. the. fuck?

Is this the type of thing you all see? Do you at least see it from time to time? And as he put the weight down, I saw his hands… he looked like he had never done a hard day’s work in his life. Looking at his physique… if one can call it that… he damn sure did not do anything in the gym.

Priorities = shot to fuck. And people wonder why they do not get anywhere in the gym, and just give up…

And then I looked at myself… looked at my hands. They were scarred. Ugly… worn… palms cracked, with rough calluses from griping iron death like my life depended on it… skin dried out and peeling… slivers of flesh poking up from pinched fingers and fingertips.

I look at my legs, and see the bruising from dragging the bar up and down my shin, and scar tissue on the knees. I look at my face and see the hard lines that have been etched in from my years of struggle and torture just to prove something to myself first, and the world second.

Look at all of that, friends.

And then zoom out like I do, and get a look at the big picture… the body that has paid the price, and now reaps the rewards… the body that has been torn asunder under the harshest weight that you can bear, moving that shit like you were unstoppable and goddamn invincible, and still comes back, begging for more week after week. All the hurt in the world is worth it when you are face to face with the man in the mirror, and your greatness. You can look at yourself and say, “I did this shit”. Not just say it, but say it and know it. Fuck the pretty… life is not supposed to be pretty, and to us… this is life.

Yeah, looking at us, those who really care and have a fucking clue, we have battle scars. I wear mine proudly. And I am scarred for life. Capped delts, twisting highways of veins, a back thick like a side of beef, and legs that look like they can kick a hole in a brick wall… yeah, I will take my scars for sure.

Everyone else can worry about their hair, nails, and makeup.

Hell ya bro, great read, thanks

robert da strongman

03-07-2011, 01:49 PM

here is something to get you going...

AdHSUDng4l4

"Rodz"

03-18-2011, 02:14 AM

yKJbScRc7ww

robert da strongman

03-29-2011, 10:51 PM

A-yZNMWFqvM

What’s he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin;
If we are mark’d to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God’s will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.
God’s peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more methinks would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse;
We would not die in that man’s company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is call’d the feast of Crispian.
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam’d,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say “To-morrow is Saint Crispian.”
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say “These wounds I had on Crispian’s day.”
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he’ll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words-
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb’red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.

tjk5596

05-09-2011, 11:10 PM

I am with you 100% bro. No... I take that back 120%!

jeremielopez

05-10-2011, 06:06 AM

jeremielopez

05-14-2011, 05:51 AM