I trained legs every week, but the squats were so exhausting that I couldn't walk afterward and doing another exercise was simply out of the question. I can do anything in life." I'd keep my belt on loosely and walk to the car, thinking victory. On those days when I left the gym I was high. When I could see properly again I'd go outside and breathe some fresh air, then come back in and say, "Okay, Tony, one more set!" And we'd go again. Sometimes it took me 20 minutes, but I always came back. I couldn't see, I was sweating profusely, but eventually I'd come back. It felt like someone was driving knives into my legs, and my heart rate went through the roof. I'd take the belt off and all of a sudden I was gasping for air and I couldn't breathe. Then I'd literally fall into the squat rack and jing! The plates would rattle and I'd fall to the floor. 30 - let's see how far we can go! When I'd get to the point where I couldn't do any more reps, Tony would say something like, "You OWN this exercise!" or "Go after it and GET IT!" He would conjure up six, eight, 10, 20 more reps out of me. One more 45 per side and Tony would put the collars on, knowing the exact space to get that sound. I liked to come up quickly with such speed that the bar would bend over my shoulders and the plates would crash together, and I relished that sensation! I'd do a quick 20 reps with 315 with all my senses focused. That sound helped me time the reps and my movement. The music, the Motown and the plates jingling against one another - big, thick, 45-pound iron plates. I'd leave space between the plates on purpose so when I came up from the squat, a real quick rep, the plates would jingle. Then we'd listen to Motown and we'd start progressing with the weight. I'd marked it with a plate, banged the plate on the collar so that I could remember which one it was, and I always wrapped a towel around the bar before I started my sets.ĭone stretching, I'd put on my lifting belt - a little loose so that I could breathe - and Tony and I would warm up real slow. I liked to use an old battered bar, slightly bent just enough so that it didn't roll off my shoulders when I was standing erect. I'd touch the weights, the rack, the bar, and I'd have this almost religious reverence for them. Of course this pre-workout time wasn't only about the stretching it was also about emotionally and physically preparing for what was about to come. I just wanted to feel it and experience it within my own being. Sometimes we'd even cover the mirror with newspaper because I didn't want to see myself squat. As I stretched out I'd try to ease my mind, convince myself I was there to have fun, to just do one or two sets and call it quits. I'd take the hurdler's position on the floor - one leg bent, the other straight - then lower my nose to my knee. We'd go to the squat rack and I remember always stretching in front of the rack. And, of course, Tony would be there waiting for me, ready for the workout. There were only a few of us there, especially that early. Watching the ocean helped distract, and prepare me. If I thought about the workout too much, I'd get sweaty palms on the way to the gym and couldn't grip the steering wheel. I'd purposely drive by the ocean to watch the waves smash powerfully against the rocks.
As I pulled out of the garage the throaty rumble of the powerful engine would blend into my psyche and become part of my preparation as I drove. So I'd put on my shoes, grab my gear and drive from Malibu to Venice in my 1960 Corvette.