The Mental Game Part II: Stop thinking, Start Lifting

At some point, the lines were blurred, and the world became covered in grey.  Everything in today’s society is over-analyzed and complex, with people spending more time thinking, researching, and talking than acting.  There is one place though, that a black and white approach is still relevant.  The gym.  The weight never lies, and if you want to pack on muscle, strength, and in general, just lift more weight toward whatever goals you have, the answer may be simple:  Pick up heavy shit.

Sometimes it’s as black and white as loading up the bar with some heavy ass weight and lifting it with violent intentions.  So often in weightlifting, and just about any other sport for that matter, people get bogged down in the details, and it stops them from reaching their goals. 

The fact is, the reason that people are constantly looking for the next gimmick, the perfectly designed program, the magic bullet that will give them the success they’re looking for is that it’s much easier to spend your time searching for the easiest and simplest means to an end then to admit to yourself that simple hard work and commitment will yield the best results. 

I hear it all the time.  People will come up to me and tell me they’re starting a new program, or they’re going to combine some of my programming with something else they want to do, or they found a program on the Internet that’s going to change their life.  Program jumping is the bane of the success of so many regular gym goers and athletes alike.  An athlete who is completely dedicated to a terrible program will be more successful then an athlete who jumps from program to program. 

This is especially relevant to people who are inexperienced or relatively new to training.  When you are first starting out, it really doesn’t matter what you do.  As long as you are going in the gym working hard and lifting heavy, you will see results.  Programming becomes more important the longer you train, as your body requires more specific training concepts in order to fix weaknesses and break through plateaus.  The reality is, that at the point that you are a serious and seasoned lifter; you have learned through experience what works for you as a lifter and what doesn’t.

I once heard Donny Shankle say, “Forget the program, there is no program.  Snatch and clean and jerk, that’s the program.”  He was speaking specifically about young weightlifters, but the sentiment can be applied to almost any aspect of training. 

Unless you have been training for years there is no reason to stress about programming.  Pick a program, one that you can stick to, and work it.  I mean really work the damn thing.  Get in the gym and bust your ass.  Move heavy weight, progressively pushing your limits and breaking personal records in reps, volume, intensity, etc.  With hard work and commitment, anyone can achieve results.  This is a case where paralysis by analysis is real, and I see it far too often.

Have the courage and mental fortitude to face the truth:  If you want results you have to pay the price.  Heavy weight and hard work builds strong successful athletes, not programming. 

Stop thinking, start lifting.  

The Mental Game Part I: Understanding the Athlete

I once heard Jim Wendler, the creator of the “5/3/1” program, say that as a coach, it’s not his job to motivate his lifters.  If you didn’t want to lift, or didn’t want to be in the gym, then get the hell out because it wasn’t his job to motivate you.  I whole-heartedly disagree with this stance.

In this first installment of “The Mental Game” I want to address the coach/athlete relationship and one of the marks of a great coach.  This is a story my dad told me about his days training in martial arts that illuminated an attribute that I believe all great coaches must possess:  an intimate knowledge of their athletes.

In any sport where technique is of the utmost importance, there will come a time where an athlete questions what he/she is doing.  Any hesitation or loss of confidence can be the difference between success and failure.

In martial arts, just as in weightlifting, an athlete must blend speed, power, and precise technique to achieve success.  To earn his green belt in Tae Kwon Doe, my dad was required to pass a series of tests demonstrating his mastery of the skills he had been taught at that level his martial arts training.  One of the tests that day was to break two wood boards with a single spinning straight back kick. 

On his first two attempts, he failed to break the boards.  With only one attempt remaining and his confidence in shambles, he felt there was little hope he would be able to change the outcome with his final kick. 

His sensei, or coach, “Mr. Pat,” walked over to him with another board.  He ordered the third board added for his final attempt.  The decision was puzzling for my father, but he did as his coach ordered and prepared to try to break the boards.  He succeeded, and with one precise kick, broke through all three boards.

As my father said to me later of Mr. Pat, who at the time was only in his mid twenties, “he knew something that I didn’t.”

Only Mr. Pat knows exactly what triggered him to increase the difficulty of the test despite the fact that his athlete had already failed twice.  Whatever his own motivation was, the effect was a boost in confidence to an athlete that was struggling with the mental game.  The adversity my father faced had shaken his confidence on that day.  By adding another board, Mr. Pat gave my father a vote of confidence.  His coach’s belief in his abilities brought back my father’s own self-assurance, which allowed him to free his mind of the doubt and stress over technique that was plaguing him following his first two attempts.  He had trained for this moment.  He was prepared for this moment.  It was time to let go and simply act.

Mr. Pat, though he was young, understood this.  One mark of a great coach is the ability to truly empathize his/her athletes, to truly step into their shoes and recognize what they're thinking and feelign, and be able to adjust on the fly to tailor his/her coaching to meet their needs.  The coach must be able to watch the athlete’s body language, and diagnose when they are tired, when they feel defeated, and conversely, when they are “on.”  An action as simple as adding another board during a martial arts test or telling an athlete to increase the weight on the bar even though he/she missed the last rep can boost the athlete’s confidence.  Genuine confidence in his or her preparation is paramount to an athlete’s success. 

The key is to pay attention to the details, and understand what makes each unique athlete tick.  What drives them?  What motivates them?  How do they respond to adversity and failure?  Do they tend to think too much?  Do they tend to rush?  Do they shut down when you speak to them sternly or do they need a kick in the ass?  Do they fold when the odds are stacked against them, or do they perform to the best of their abilities under pressure?

No two athletes approach their sport in the same way.  Great coaches understand that, and are able to help their athletes achieve the state of mind that will yield optimal results for them.  

The Locker Room

All around there is chaos.  Some pace and back and forth in the bathroom, clad from head to toe in navy and white.  Few stop by the mirror, fixing their jerseys, drawing black lines under their eyes, and bouncing to the music playing through their earphones.  Coaches stand on the opposite end of the room, and walk through the locker room, whispering to some and smacking the pads of others.  Some sit quietly while others scream and holler.  Music blares through a CD player on a locker just behind my head.  Lockers ring loudly as helmets crash into metal.  The air smells of sweat, but the sense of anticipation is overpowering.  All around me there is chaos.  All around me, men prepare for battle.

10 minutes.

I sit alone, at the back of the room, on a light blue bench in front of my locker.  Sweat beads across my brow like morning dew on a blade of grass.  The air is heavy, thick with humidity on this early September night.  My shirt, tattered and torn from five years of violence, clings to my body.  My blue pants with an embroidered devil head on my left quad are already soaked with sweat, but they feel comfortable, allowing my body to move naturally.  I lean forward and pick up my shoulder pads; a navy jersey with the number 63 draped over them.  I slide them over my head, the buckles clanking against my back.  I reach behind and begin connecting each buckle to the front of my pads, the equipment slowly pressing in on my chest as each strap locks into place.  I pull my jersey down over my abdomen, exposing “FDU” and “63” across my chest.

5 minutes.

Music blares loudly in my ears, but I hear nothing, bobbing and moving naturally to the beat.  My cleats tap the concrete floor in rhythm.  The tape on my hands struggles to hold together, already drenched in sweat and blood.  My heart thumps; pounding against my chest from the inside so hard I swear it will burst.  I force myself to breathe deeply, trying to control the rush of blood that pumps through my veins as the minutes pass.  I place my iPod next to me on the bench, and reach forward into my locker.  I lift the scarlet helmet from the hook in the left corner of the locker and hold it in my hands in front of my face.  I stare into it, a portal to the skeletons in my closet, and the inspiration that has brought me here.

I play for my family.

I play for my friends.

I play for my school.

I play for everyone who has believed in me and for those who have doubted me.

I play for the brothers that line up next to me everyday.

I play for me.

I put the helmet down between my feet and slowly pulled the buds from my ears.  The controlled chaos of my little world gives way to the anticipation and excitement around me.  I stand, sliding my helmet down over my head, the straps hanging to the sides as I adjust the headgear. 

To the last whistle.

I walk to the door; my senses numb, and exit through the double doors into the balmy fall evening.  A cool breeze hits me as I’m released from the locker room.  The locker room was my cage, my prison, now I am free.  I push past my teammates to the front of the line, a place I’ve earned through years of perseverance and dedication.  I look down upon the stadium, the sun perched just above the home stands.  Streaks of fire split the clouds as the sun sets.  Great streaks of crimson, orange, yellow, purple and pink illuminate the darkening sky.  The stadium lights look down upon the field, blanketing it in white light.

To the last whistle.

My stomach turns.  This moment is the culmination of thousands of hours in the gym, hundreds of practices, and years of pain, injury, and persistence.  It all comes down to this, and the pressure builds with each step that I take towards the field.  I look back at my teammates, the sun reflecting off the sea of scarlet helmets behind me.  I look into their eyes; focused, determined, hungry.  In that moment I allow myself to believe that the night is ours.

For the man next to you…to the last whistle.

I bounce back and forth, ringing my arms out, not for the purpose of warming up, but simply to alleviate the mounting pressure.  I take my place in line next to my brother, and we lock hands as the rest of the team does behind us, two-by-two.  We begin the walk down the hill, across the street, over the parking lot, and through the gates of Robert T. Shields Field.  It’s a walk that I’ve made everyday for five years.  It’s a walk that’s all too familiar to me, but on this night it’s different.  It feels like an eternity, as we pass parents, friends, and family who clap and shout encouragement.  I hear their voices, but I can’t make out what they’re saying or who’s saying it.  My eyes are locked on the field as it comes closer and closer, and all I hear is the click clack of our cleats.

Click clack.  Click clack.  For the man next to you…to the last whistle.

The hill begins to steepen, and for a brief moment we break our ranks and move in pairs to the right of the pathway.  I reach out and touch the boulder.  A great rock sits in a bed of soil, surrounded by small stones.  On the face of the great boulder, a bronze plaque is bolted in honor and memory of Robert T. Shields.  My fingers brush across the rock, cool and smooth.  Quickly, I change directions and skip back to the center of the path as each of my teammates takes their turn to engage in the FDU tradition.  At the end of the hill, the gates to the field open to a vast sea of green turf, facing the home stands, which glow red with plastic devil horns as the public address announcer booms over the loudspeakers.

 

Click Clack.  Click Clack.  For the man next to you…to the last whistle.

My walk grows to a slow trot, and I release my teammate’s hand.  The nerves are gone and my mind no longer races.  The fear that tormented me all day leading up to this moment is gone, the coaching points I’ve been going over and over in my head forgotten as instincts take control.  I break into a full sprint as my cleats pierce the turf…

It’s game time.  

In Time

In time my joints will ache as the first clouds assemble long before raindrops begin to fall.  In time my muscles will shrink and my strength will diminish.  In time my mind and body will slow, the years taking their terrible toll on something that was once vibrant, athletic, and potent.  In time I will regret what I did in my youth, as my body fails me.

In time my passion will diminish, my love for hard work and training slowly leaving me day by day, stealing my youth with them.  In time my iron will will be broken, as a rock erodes, crumbled through the repeated crashing of the surf.

In time I will know the pain of love and loss, as I watch one soul after another enter and part from my life.  In time I will be a lonesome man, jagged and frustrated with the world.

In time I will know the stress of a career.  In time I will have to provide for a family.  In time my soul will be crushed by the relentless onslaught of responsibility and reality that inevitably comes for every man. 

In time I will look back on football and weightlifting with longing, a simpler and better time in my life that can never be duplicated again.  In time, work, family, and exhaustion will force me to leave everything I once loved behind.  In time it will be impossible for me to hold onto the passion that I cultivated as a young man; strong, vital, fearless. 

In time my youthful dreams will be nothing more than fantasies, as I’m forced to embark on a career of moderate success to pay for a minivan and support my mundane lifestyle.  In time I will dream of what could have been.

In time I will become just like everyone else, as I succumb to the destiny of living a life I never wanted.

They tell me in time all of these things will happen.  They tell me in time I’ll see.

But that time is not today.  So while those people wallow in their misery and warn others of impending doom, I will live with passion, strength, and an indomitable will.  I will fight like hell for everything I desire and believe in, with no apprehension or fear for what the future holds. 

While so many live lives of trepidation, perpetually scared of what time will bring them, I will embrace the opportunity, for time is only an enemy if you allow it to be.

JMSB Mission Statement and Inspiration

I want to share something that I experienced yesterday that I think will help illuminate exactly what I want to accomplish with this blog, the videos I post, and the workouts I write.  I often get the sense that some people see what I do and what I put out as a cry for attention by a meathead who wants to showoff.  Hey, if you’re sitting there reading this right now and you agree with that statement, good on you, you are entitled to that opinion.  It’s completely incorrect and if that’s your point of view I don’t give a shit what you think anyway because I don’t need that negativity in my life, but as I said, it’s your opinion.

The truth is, first and foremost, this is my passion.  Everything I do and everything I produce, whether it is a blog post, a video, a workout, or something I do on the football field I do because I love it more than I could possible explain.  When I talk about weightlifting and strength and conditioning training I get excited.  My adrenaline starts pumping and all I want to do is get after it and throw heavy ass weight over my head.  I want to share that passion with friends, family, and people I don’t even know.  I want people to see how much I love what I do and follow me and experience the same happiness that I do by hopefully finding what they’re passionate about.  I don’t care if that passion is in weightlifting or Crossfit or music or whatever it is you’re into.  I want people to see the discipline, the love, and the desire that I have and bring to everything I do, and I want them to be inspired to have the same.

The other reason I do this is to make myself and those around me better.  When I was younger, I had people who pushed me, who helped me get better in athletics and in training.  Some I knew.  I had friends and family who guided me towards success.  They taught me about commitment, hard work, and persistence, and perseverance, while others who I don’t even know personally were willing to put videos and articles online to share their knowledge and passion with the world.  I’ve learned so much from just going online and finding people who are much better and much more knowledgeable than I am, and watching and listening to everything they say and do. 

Now that I am able to look back and see how important those people were to my development as a man and an athlete, I want to give some of that back.  When I train, and push my mind and body to the limits, I hope others will watch me and find inspiration in what I do.  In turn, they’ll go out and kick ass and inspire me to continue to improve myself.

That’s what “JMSB” is all about in the end.  A community of people who love training of all kinds and desperately pursue self-improvement on a daily basis while simultaneously helping others who share their passion.

Today I woke up and my teammate Rich Vazzano wrote a status on Facebook about hitting a PR push press set of 105 kg.  This record came six months after having his shoulder reconstructed.  I have no idea if he’s been following my programming at all, but I hope that I helped inspire him in some small way to push himself to get better and to train harder than the ordinary athlete.

Then, hours later while I was at work, I received a text from my good buddy and quarterback Mike Baby Toes Santos telling me he hit a huge squat of 365 pounds for 2 reps and a 45 inch box jump.  I’ve known Toes for years and he has always heard me preach about training hard, the power of squats, and that the legs make the man.  While he’s always trained hard himself, on his own and at a performance gym, I again hope that I have been able to positively influence his training and even more importantly his mindset on training in the nearly four years I’ve known him.

Finally, one of my closest friends and teammate Mike Mancino texted me and told me he cleaned 178 pounds for 5 from the hang.  Mike is one of the hardest workers and most gifted football players I’ve ever come across.  But for years he loved the bodybuilding workouts and hated squatting, cleaning, and using the legs in training.  I have tried for so long to get him to forget the bodybuilding bullshit and train like a man and athlete.  Now, he not only embraces it, but we laugh and joke about the morons in the gym doing cheat curls and thousands of chest exercises, while we share stories about big cleans, technique, hard work and heavy weight. 

After hearing about these guys working hard and conquering their training today, I knew there was no way I could wallow in self-pity about having to work six hours before rushing to the gym to lift for the last 35 minutes it would be open.  I was so hyped all day thinking about my workout from a combination of Jon North’s weightlifting talk and the inspiration I derived from my brothers sharing their training with me that when it came time to tape up and move heavy weight I couldn’t be stopped.  Just two months after having my fourth and fifth knee surgeries I SMOKED a 135 kg (297 lb) split jerk from the rack even after not having practiced the split jerk in about four months.

Experiences like this remind me exactly why I put myself out there day in and day out.  Physically my body is beat up, but I push through the pain for my own gain, and because I remember that there are others out there who might be watching, looking for guidance or inspiration.  Mentally, when I want to quit or I don’t feel like writing a workout late on a Sunday night, I remember moments like this, when the guys around me pushed me and inspired me to get better, and I fight through.  Without the support of my teammates, my family, and everyone else out there that wakes up each day with a passion and relentlessly pursues exactly what they want, it wouldn’t be possible. 

  

Join us or get the hell out of our way.  If this sounds like something you want to be a part of, let me know, otherwise take your negativity and cheat curls somewhere else.

The Importance of Failure

The young man sat, fixated on the bar, just behind the platform.  His clothes were caked in chalk, the neck of his shirt saturated with blood.  He was very aware of the challenge that lay before him.  150 kg was loaded on the bar in front of him, a clean and jerk PR that until this day, he had never lifted with even the intention of getting under the bar.  Twice he had tried it already, and twice it had buried him.  On his first attempt, he pulled the bar, and as he went under, he had no confidence that he would make the lift, and simply let the bar fall in front of him.  On his second attempt, he had gone under the bar and  was immediately spit out by the weight, to slam unceremoniously against the platform then the wall behind him.

In the corner of the room his coach leaned against a jerk box.  Once a great lifter himself, the coach was middle-aged, with a salt-and-pepper beard and short, silver hair.  He said nothing.  The coach simply stood, watching his lifter intently, arms crossed over his chest.  Even after his competitive career had ended, the coach had continued to train, and his tree-trunk legs stretched his sweatpants, while his sprawling back possessed the peaks and valleys of a mountain range. 

The lifter stood, chalked his hands, and stepped to the platform.  Calmly he pulled set his back, pulled the bar, and went under.  To his own surprise, he caught it.  He tried to stand...then again...but his legs betrayed him.  Realizing he was pinned, he pushed himself backwards and let the bar fall to the ground.  This was his third attempt, and he had made progress, but that would be all for today.  He had already successfully clean and jerked 145 kg before attempting this max effort lift.  He was exhausted, and frustrated in his inability to hit his PR.  

The young man sat back down, unstrapped his shoes, and began to remove them.

"Again."

The young man looked up, his coach's eyes trained on him, expressionless.  "Again," he repeated.  The young man sighed, and tightened his shoes.  In his mind he knew he would never make this weight today.  He was exhausted, his body ached, and his mind yearned for a meal and to lay down in his own bed.  Despite his lack of confidence, he stood, walked slowly across the room, and chalked his hands again.  He walked to the platform, set his feet, and wrapped his hook grip around the bar.  He dropped his hips, set his back, and pulled again.  This time he didn't even pull under the bar.  He violently extended as he had many times before, but instead of moving swiftly to catch the bar, he simply let go.  In one fluid motion he stumbled backwards off the platform.  The young man's head swirled, his feet numb, his vision blurred.  

This was it.  He turned to his coach, in expectation of the words, "that's it for today." Instead, all he got was his coach, expressionless, stroking his beard. 

"Again."

The young man couldn't believe it.  What good could possibly come from trying this weight again today?  He had only even caught the clean once, and if he was honest with himself he knew he had no chance of standing up on the rep.  He hadn't even gotten to the hardest part of the lift yet, the jerk.  Why couldn't he just live to fight another day?  He ignored his disbelief, and walked back to the bar.

Again and again he pulled on the bar, and again and again the massive weight defeated him.  A half hour passed, then an hour.  Finally, he caught the clean, and with all the willpower he could muster, he began to stand.  He strained against the weight, driving his heels through the floor as he desperately tried to keep his back from snapping in half.  Halfway up, he stalled, his chest fell, and the bar with it.  

The young man's hands fell to his knees.  His head was ringing as he fought he breath.  Slowly, he pushed off his legs and stood, his movements measured but awkward with the pain and soreness of his repeated failure.  He had never felt so defeated.  For over an hours he had tried time and again, and he hadn't even been able to clean the weight.

He became aware that his coach was moving towards him.  The coach stopped just in front of him, and reached out his hand.  Confused, the young man shook it.  The coach smiled, his calloused hands enveloping those of the lifter.  The coach must have seen that his pupil didn't understand.

"You pulled it," the coach said, with pride in his voice.

Just because there is a possibility that you won't be successful does not make the venture meaningless.  Finding the courage within to try time and again even when you know that failure is imminent takes strength and mental fortitude that will benefit you in everything you do in life.  Understanding the value of failure will help you find what it takes to achieve success and give you the confidence to overcome whatever obstacles you may face, no matter how insurmountable they may seem.

Strength Is a Skill

Strength is a skill.  If you want to be strong, you have to practice being strong.  Your body will only do what you prepare it to do.  Here is a story to illustrate my point.

This past spring, I came back to school after winter break having established a foundation of strength over winter break, and began to get back into weightlifting.  Weightlifting is a sport in itself, and consists of the snatch and clean and jerk.  I had trained the lifts before, with very limited success, (my previous best numbers were 85 kg snatch and 110 kg clean and jerk) but I was once again bitten by the bug.  There was something that drew me to the challenge of weightlifting, and I immediately fell in love with throwing heavy weights overhead again. 

My clean started rocketing up, but my snatch remained mediocre.  I began programming workouts directed entirely at improving my snatch and clean and jerk outside of normal football workouts.  Soon my snatch was up to 90 kg, and I had my sights set on the FDU offensive line snatch record of 98 kg.  So, I kept training.  Over, and over. 

One Saturday morning, I was training with a buddy after morning football practice.  I was feeling good so I kept pushing, and made 95 kg.  I was about to move on to the clean and jerk when my buddy said, "C'mon go for the record!"  After some prodding, I threw on 4 kg and faced down 99kg.  

Unfortunately, the weight smoked me.  I mean I had no chance.  Each try got worse and worse.  I tried once and almost got under it.  I tried twice and left it out in front.  I tried a third time and the damn bar felt so heavy I barely even pulled it.  

I told myself that I would give it one more try, then give it up for the day.  I stepped to the bar, stopped thinking, and just pulled the goddamn bar.  I made that 99 kg snatch that day.  Unofficially breaking the Oline snatch record and putting myself one kilo away from becoming a man in Russia.  

Three weeks later I made a 107.5 kg snatch, and broke the my own Oline school snatch record for the 3rd time.  I never really stopped to consider how I had improved my snatch that much in that short an amount of time.  Now, looking back, the reason I broke through and hit these PRs was simple.  I snatched.

I didn't get significantly stronger in those three weeks.  Between spring football practice, being beat up through a combination of my own lifting and football lifting, and being on my feet all day as a strength and conditioning intern at Seton Hall University, I was not doing anything special.  I was simply getting in the gym, week in and week out, and snatching.

What many people don't realize is that strength is as much a product of the central nervous system as it is muscle.  The brain is an incredibly powerful tool.  The brain controls all the functions of the human body.  This includes muscle contraction and movement.  Through training and repetition, you can teach your mind to order your body in a way that will improve technique, handle more weight, and move in a way that will achieve your goals without spending time worrying about programming or building muscle.  

I say it all the time when people ask me how to improve their pull ups.  There's an old saying, if you want to be good at something, do it every day.  If you want to be strong, you need to practice strength.  Don't stress about your programming, don't worry that you're going to be "overtrained," and don't lose your mind if you're missing maximal effort lifts.  Sometimes you just need to keep pounding at a heavy weight to teach your body how to handle it.

I heard an incredible quote from legendary American weightlifter Donny Shankle that illustrates this point.  "Learn the feeling of what heavy is and display the courage of a champion to deal with it."    

If you want to be good at the clean, you need to go to the gym and practice the clean.  If you want to improve your pull up numbers, you need to teach your central nervous system to handle your own bodyweight.  If you want to even improve something like the depth of your squat, you need to get in the gym and squat deep!  

Too many people spend too much time on the Internet looking at the hundreds of programs for the magic bullet that will take them to the promised land.  If you want to be strong, practice being strong. If you want to handle heavy weight, you need to handle that weight.  

In sports, athletes practice their craft everyday.  In football we don't worry about how sore we are or how beat up we are.  We still go out to the field every single day and beat the shit out of each other because we need to hammer in, through repetition, the techniques and strategies that will allow us to be successful.  It is no different in lifting.  Get in the gym, put in the time, and move some heavy weight!  Stop worrying about how to build your lifts through all sorts of bullshit programming and assistance movements.  Your body can only handle what you prepare it to handle.  If you want to go do something, go do it.