This is an emotional activity. The best training sessions are the ones where you come in with an intensity that makes Ray Lewis shit his pants and you look at the weight with a pure contempt that can set fire to it.
You have to hate the iron, you gotta look at it and want to rip its head off. You have to focus all your attention on that single goal of moving that shit. Light? Move it fast… Heavy? Move it and own it… Accessory work? Own those reps, make each one count and feel the goddamn muscle smokin.
That iron is keeping your from your goals, its an inanimate object who’s sole purpose is to allow gravity to hold it where it stays. Without your work, it stays there, collecting dust. Your job is to pick it the fuck up. No science, no angles of attack, just move it.
Its a cold piece of metal that manifests all what you want from your physical goals. Anyone who ever told you you couldn’t, anybody who didn’t make you feel good enough, anytime you looked in the mirror and said “jesus christ I look like shit” and every excuse you can make is all there wrapped in a 45 pound bar. Look at it, lift it, attack it, hate it, because that internal fire will push you towards your goal better than any scientific article, any training program, any method you can possibly imagine.
10×10? 5/3/1? Westside? Doesn’t matter what it is… if you aren’t assaulting the shit of that iron bar, you join the ranks of the vast majority of gymgoers who look the same year after year after year… the ones who go through the motions like a damn metronome, the ones who do the same shit time after time getting minimal results. Those are the same ones talking about you wondering what you are doing different.
Its simple, you are making that iron your prison bitch. You are welcoming that iron bar to cell block H and introducing it to its new master, right away.
Sounds extreme, yes, but this is an activity of extremity. The ones who excel are a little twisted in the head. Nobody who pushes themselves like we do is normal. We have addictive personalities, we are a bit masochistic, when others are complaining about how hard it is, we are pouring sweat and pushing a bit more. When people stop lifting for the day and start their hamster wheel of 30 minutes of treadmill walking, we are still at the power rack.
You can’t do this without channelling that inner anger and insanity that exists in every single person who excels at something physically. Natural talent only goes so far, what separates the winners from the ones who finish last is that unrelenting desire to fucking get it done.
Be intense, embrace the dark side of your personality for that time in the gym… be consistent and train like a man eating his last meal. Savor each bit of pain you feel with each passing rep and know that you are better than the average man because you made a commitment to be better.
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