Sometimes even when you win you still lose - An article detailing Frank's struggle in the open category of strongman competitions and the paradox of setting multiple PR's only to end up last.
10 years of strength training (2 June 2003 - 2 June 2013) - I will describe my journey from a wet behind the ear rookie to the man that I am today.
Strongman demeanour
As a strength athlete you are required to maintain a certain code of conduct and an uncompromising belief system. Here are 10 things I consider to be essential in the development of such a conduct and belief system:
1. Anger, hate and rage are your best tools.
2. Learn to die grinning.
3. There are no friends or enemies, only victims (stepping stones).
4. Being die-hard is a motherfucking privilege.
5. The only things guaranteed in this game are injuries, wounds and lots of pain.
6. Train on the edge of physical and mental collapse.
7. Remove yourself from the pedestrian mentality.
8. What's the point of living if you can't lift heavy stones?
9. Discipline, hard work, ambition and sacrifice are the backbone of a strongman.
10. The world "don't" run on love.
"Ik weet dat er voor mij geen weg terug is" - Gijs
The road to glory is paved with hard work
Seeing Gijs qualify for the final was a historic moment for our little hardcore tribe. The face radiating with tremendous joy that only those who've been on the ugly side of defeat so many times will know. All those grueling days and evenings in the gym, all the sets and reps, all the injuries and wounds, all the tears and blood, all that time spent perfecting techniques. To see it all come to fruition in such a intense and close battle you can imagine the relief and satisfaction that all of us felt. Winning the strongest team together with Alex was the icing on the cake, the much needed confidence booster as he stands 2 months removed from the biggest battle yet. You don't get a million chances in this sport. Injuries pile up fast, priorities change, life takes its toll on everyone. There's never gonna be an ideal moment. This time is no different. Nothing changes, the true and tested methods of success remain the same. He's gonna have to dig deep to pull out the performance of a lifetime. We're gonna be here for him, supporting him the best we can but he's gonna have to walk that road himself. He has to do this for legacy, this is the stuff that legends are made of. I'll end the article with a quote from an old boxing movie. The movie is not in English but I've translated and adapted this fragment:
You know what I used to do before my fights would start, before I became a champ? I would sit in front of the mirror and I would tell myself: Son, you're a free man just like your opponent, you have two hands just like him... the same weight. Nobody is making you do this. If you're scared just walk away. You won't be booed. But if you step in the ring, be fearless because you know very well what fear and cowardliness and humiliation are. That's why you became a boxer, to prove to yourself that you're a different man and that you're no longer afraid of anyone or anything.
You love RPB but RPB don't love you:
It's been a minute since I've last written an article so I think it's time to put some ink on this motherfucker. You see, there's probably never gonna be a place like RPB again. Ten or twenty years from now we'll be reminiscing about the iron dungeon just like the old school bodybuilders reminisce about the 80's, back when doing 40 sets for one body part and training for 4 hours twice daily was considered not only normal, but necessary. Those days will never come back, they belong to these juiceheads who've established a balls to the wall hardcore threshold. Unfortunately we can't choose our time of birth nor the time of death but we can sure as hell choose war in between. This is our time period and we have to own up to it. We can't let other define what we have struggled to build for all our lives. As humans "evolve" they get lazier and more reliant on technology and scientific bogus that promises easier, faster and better results. They're missing the point. You don't train for results, you train to save your soul motherfucker. This shit is not some flash in the pan P90x, bowflex or other retarded contraption marketed for idiots who will never amount to anything in the athletic world. You train because you were born to do it, not because some shithead is telling you that girls like abs. This goes beyond physical appearance and strength. It has to be more than that. We're fighting for salvation, to be recognized when we're taking the express train to hell. RPB doesn't exist, in the physical sense, forget about the weights, the location. There's a metaphysical reason why it has become what it is today. It's because of an ancient need to fight against adversity, against the dirt, grime, disgust, misery, famine, poverty, disease and senseless violence. We're the lost sons of the great warriors of times gone by. Society has managed to domesticate almost all males but from time to time there are a chosen few who gather in a tribe to continue the old tradition of male fortitude and indomitable spirit. We have a great responsibility as we have inherited the willingness to shed blood by the gallons of our beloved forefathers. The first time I stepped in I knew this was home, my real home. Imagine how lucky we are to have found our real destiny, our guide to hell. When we die we'll die with a big fucking grin on our faces 'cuz we've lived a great life. A lot of people train there but few experience and see the same things that we see. Sometimes I just wanna shout at them. Do you fucking see this? Can you understand the depth of this abstract concept? So pretty please, save your soul and lift untill you die.
10 life tips:
1. Strive to be disciplined and organized.
2. Self-reliance is of primordial importance. You need to be able to survive and thrive under any circumstances.
3. Associate with ambitious, die-hard and funny individuals.
4. Beware of extremists and rat-like cowards.
5. There is nothing more important than freedom. Don't believe the glamorized life-style of tough guys and "gangsters". The street is a dark and merciless queen.
6. Don't be superficial. Really think things through.
7. Stay true to your inner most beliefs even when your closest friends mock them. Don't bend your will for no one.
8. Be thankful for criticism. Someone is actually taking the time to address your problems and lend you a helping hand.
9. Life is too short to act as a stuck-up condescending asshole. Go out with different friends, have a few beers, smoke something. Relax and try all sorts of things. See and experience the world. There's no need to live in a cave thinking that your "silent suffering" will get you any points.
10. Everything in life is about balance.
To the lost:
Seeing Ricky Hatton getting knocked out with a devastating body shot was heartbreaking. The follow up when they interviewed him was even more distressful. It marked the end of a great and proud blue collar warrior. Ricky Hatton never had the boxing skills, talent or smarts to attain greatness but he had the heart of a lion and the fury of a tasmanian devil and managed to redefine toughness. Boxers with talent can bypass some of the grueling training that has filled the gyms with sweat, blood and broken bones. Not Ricky, he had to dig deep and get his hands dirty day-in day-out. Athletes like Hatton never know anything else but their sport. At the end of the day, family, women, kids mean close to nothing if there is a void where that beloved sport used to be. Sugar Ray Robinson, Sugar Ray Leonard, Ali, Roy Jones, Hatton....these guys can never retire to a normal life. They turn to drugs, alcohol, hookers...anything that can inflict pain, for fighting is an addictive endeavor.
It's a curse that eats away at your sanity and social manifestation. A warrior cannot find peace in civilian life. He cannot exist outside war. He is defined by sacrifice, agony and pride. Had he been born in the middle ages he would've been in the front line chopping away other warriors with a giant axe. It's a gift that fills your life with unfathomable joy and self-respect. It's everything you ever want to be. All of society's illusions cannot render life into a fallen champion, no matter how appealing they might seem to the untrained eye. Either you have or you don't. It's an immortal feeling of belonging and total calmness. Civilians don't understand what this select group of people are all about. The complacency of a normal life is a warrior's worst enemy.What's the point of living if you don't have anything to die for. There must be a beginning and an end and war in between. Without waging war you cannot gain entrance into Valhalla. A warrior must be built to last, to endure the bad times with the same resilience and discipline when he is preparing in training. I urge you, the reader, to fight hard, to carry the flag for those who have been left behind, for our fellow warriors who've lived life on borrowed time and paved a bloody and painful path to greatness. We must rise to the occasion and regain control over the battlefield. We must never stop fighting the enemy. We must double our efforts and unite into struggle. Never forget that you are part of an elite group of hard headed motherfuckers who dig barehanded through frozen ground until the motherfucking skin, muscles, tendons and bones come off. We'll stand and fight 'till there's nothing left but a pile of bloody bodies. We'll get what is ours by right of battle. Let there be known that few stood against the world with a grin on their face, with fury in their heart and honor as a guide. When I look at the people I train with I see myself, I see that burning desire to annihilate opposition and conquer the unknown. I see men without fear of dying, with nothing to lose, for whom every training session is a stepping stone to another metaphysical dimension. I urge you, do not wait for tomorrow. Make things happen, act with great urgency, stay under the knife, don't be afraid to expose yourself to danger for the rewards are worth the pay. Yesterday is a funeral and tomorrow might never happen. All we have is this moment, make the most out of it. You don't quit because it's hard, you grind it out and cross the motherfucking finish line in style. I'll see you on the battlefield for another balls to the wall training session.
Ricky Hatton man, thanks for showing me how to fight and how to go out on my shield. Even when you lost you never lost. I know you will never find peace because peace is a utopian concept for a hard bastard like yourself. I know life has ended with this final fight and everything else offers no real comfort. I know boxing was the sanctuary and the temple of pain in which you were baptized. You'll never get over this tragic end. I saw that in your eyes, the look of desperation. It's the look of a warrior with nothing more to give. Your career has come full circle. Thank your for showing me that we only have a small window of opportunity to make the most of our lives until our athletic abilities inexorably deteriorate. You fought like a caged animal, with great pride, like a man on a mission for redemption. Alas, there was nothing there. I hope you will not commit suicide like you said you were contemplating. We've lost to many warriors already. I hope you will pick up the pieces and venture into another battle. You might not go on a full on attack but you can prepare other men for battle. Farewell.
For those who don't know and have never seen Ricky Hatton in action check this video:
Ricky Hatton - Tribute
The Big Four:
This series of article will follow the adventures of the big four: Big Fridge, Big Belly, Big Drunk and Just Big as they prepare for competitions, training sessions or just life in general. Beware, they are descendants of the great ЧАК НОРРИС. The mysterious Front Fart might make a special appearance sometime soon.
3. Big Belly - Diarrhea specialist
2. Big Fridge trying to get insurance
After demolishing the front door of an insurance company Big Fridge makes his way to the front desk where some pencil necks are trying to look busy.
- I need an insurance!
- Sir, you are not allowed with a car in the building.
- What car? This is the T-655 Automated Doombringer Vehicle I assimilated from a military base during my morning jog to Honolulu. Just before I ate those 30 wild boars in Guatemala and drank the water reserve of Brazil. I didn't even bother to enter the base myself. I just sent my two shoulders to take care of the problem. My shoulders are so big they're projecting world cup matches on them. My shoulders are so big that they live 500 km apart from each other. I simulated an eclipse just by flexing one shoulder. I once fell asleep in the park and woke up to see people ski jumping from them. The government has registered them as hills. Google maps has them as a separate country. It took 7 days to map out the entire territory.
- Sir, it appears you are registered as a weapon of mass destruction and therefore you are not eligible for insurance.
- Don't make me wake the shoulders up boy. Give me an insurance before I start frying your brain and feed it to your mother. You hear me you ass-spelunking panty-wearing diminished balls new generation pink and purple fairy? I use lunkheads like you to protect my car from bird shit. Boy, I wash my hands in boiling oil and stick my fingers in your wife's holy burrow. Even NASA is afraid of me cuz every time I fart the ozone layer gets thinner.
And so, after several hours of threats, Big Fridge got his insurance. The end.
1. Just Big meets a modern couple
- So what do you like to do in the weekends? We enjoy reading a romance book, drinking soft tea and contemplating on whether we should castrate our son because we hate violence and aggression and we would like to keep him soft as tissue paper. You know, we want our son to be so soft that he wouldn't be able to punch his way out of a wet paper bag.
- Early in the morning I dip myself in whisky and beef brine so I can toughen my skin. Then I proceed to the nearest forest and spar with two grizzly bears. After they fold like cheap chairs I take them home and use my nails to skin them. I use the hair to make a rug which I then take to my girlfriend as a gift. I keep the blood so I can paint red eggs at Easter. After that I start the nuclear power-plant so I can wash my face with pure uranium. Sometimes the uranium is scared of me but I beat it into submission. Speaking of castration, I cut my balls every night but they grow back by morning. One evening, the testosterone in my body materialized and started killing the neighbours. During training I crap gold sand which is then used by jewelers to make the queen's crown.
Frankie the Freighter
This is an emergency broadcast. War has been declared. Following the warfare engagement last week, Frank, a.k.a. Frankie the Fridge, a.k.a. Frank the Tank, a.k.a. Mr. Intensity has released a statement concerning his future battle plans. To those tuning in, be advised, there is an upcoming assault scheduled for the year 2013. The man with cannonballs for shoulders is preparing relentlessly and will bumrush the stage to show everyone what ambition and determination can do. If you see Frank compete and you don't get motivated then pack your gear and start knitting sweaters or some other grandma activity cuz you're in for some serious damage getting mixed up with a tribe of real hard headed motherfuckers.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MMBuBIAzN8o&feature=plcp
This series of articles will cover my favorite boxing fights going back to the early 20's. Let's reminisce about the old timers who paved the way for the greatest and most scientific sport in the world.
Jack Dempsey vs.
Jess Willard
Widely considered as the most brutal beating in modern
boxing history, this savage bout propelled Dempsey to legendary status in
America and won him the heavyweight championship of the world on July 4th 1919.
Jack Dempsey, who stood at 1.85 m and weighed just under 85 kg, was dwarfed by
the giant Jess Willard, at 1.99 m and 112 kg. Dempsey had a style that made him
very effective against tall, long-range fighters, a style that would later be
adopted by Marciano, Frazier and Tyson. In a nutshell, the idea was to get low in
a crouch, bobbing and weaving his way to slip the jab and get leverage to
deliver those massive blows. In spite of
what the public perceived as wild and uncontrolled attacks, he did not waste a
lot of punches, striking quickly and with accuracy. For the first
minute and a half Dempsey struggled to get inside on Willard who had a long jab
and knew how to hold Dempsey whenever he got close. He landed a few right crosses and
left hooks on Willard but they didn’t deter the great giant. Then, a ferocious left hook from across
the ring sent Willard to the canvas and shattered his cheek bone. The rest of
the fight was an execution, as Willard slowly decomposed into a pile of blood
and broken bones. Willard would go down another 6 times in the first round. In
a courageous and reckless move, he continued the fight and Dempsey would tag the
champion with devastating left and right hooks for two more rounds until, finally,
Willard would succumb to the damage and retire on his stool. Willard suffered a broken cheekbone, fractured jaw in several places, two cracked ribs along with four teeth missing. It was a savage
display of brutality and the birth of the original baddest man on the planet.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The 4 hour war
In the business of strongman you're only as good as your last training session. A few bad days can send you to the bottom of the food chain in a hurry. If you're not built to last this endeavour will break you down systematically until there's nothing left but a quivering shell waiting for another high tide. You need not fear competitions, those are easy, the pressure is off. The 4 hour war is what will make or break you. The battle is won or lost long before you'll ever enter a real war. Preparation takes place in torture facilities populated with relentless maniacs ready to take your respect every chance they get. It's a war of attrition, and the goal lies in annihilating ones physical and mental resources. A ferocious fighter once said: "When we go into battle either we come out victorious or we don't come out at all". Let manic enthusiasms and reckless abandon be your primary weapons. Forge a heart of steal and relinquish your loved ones, you can't them with you and they can't help you. If you are to survive it is imperative to divorce yourself from the ideas of hope, love and happiness and other meager feelings. Only then you can function as a reckoning machine, powerful as a freight train. You will never get used to the pain. You're gonna tear muscles, break bones, bleed, sweat and cry. You're gonna want to quit, you're gonna pray to be in some other place, you're gonna wish you'd be dead, you're gonna see your life flash before you. In spite of all this, you will continue to train with a big grin on your face, laughing hysterically. Why? Because it's the only place you can call home, the only battle that you know. The 4 hour war will never end, even if you die, some other poor soul will continue your work, therefore you can never outlast the war but you can earn a spot on the memorial plank. Make sure when you die that you go out in a manner befitting a warrior.
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Tales from the sick side
I originate from a place where humanity gives way to primordial animalism. Where if you've got no heart and a glass chin you're gonna get exposed. A place where violence is the norm, the basic element of intimidation and oppression. All over the globe, the same ingredients make up these places: poverty, senseless violence and animalistic behavior. Escape is not possible, the damage cannot be undone and will linger on forever. Playground games were always bloody and cruel, playing tag with a plank and a rusty nail, mutilating pidgeons, cats and dogs, rugby in the mud with a makeshift ball, boxing with winter gloves and no headgear, baseball with round stones, truth or dare with cheap vodka, etc. Nobody has any fucking rights, no one is entitled to shit, this is survival of the fittest in all its splendor. These places breed malignant narcissists, sociopaths, chronic alcoholics... perfect candidates for psychopath of the month.
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Once in a while you get to see a great display of toughness, determination and maturity. That's how I would describe Kevin's performance in the Strongest Man of Vlaanderen competition. It was the journey of a man on a mission, with a solid game plan and picture perfect technique. He acted in a manner befitting an experienced warrior, always prepared and oblivious to panic or pressure. From people forgetting their straps, magnesium, tacky to quitting before the referee blew the whistle, we saw how "pressure cracks pipes" but also how "it can make diamonds".
I always believed that if you have an event in which you excel you should make it "yours". That is your event and you'll bleed yourself dry before you give it up. Kevin did just that with the tyre flip. He manhandled the tyre with controlled aggression and a scientific approach to technique. The yoke run was also performed with the same calculated ferocity and technical minutiae. Deadlifts for reps, forget about it, while everybody was rushing to pull rep after rep with no rest in between, which just nullified their effort, Kevin took his time and grinded a new personal best. Being a mentally deranged human being, obsessed with absorbing punishment I was thrilled to see him go all out on the carry and drag. In my book it's not the strongest who "wins" but the guy who can stay under strain the longest. In true RPB fashion, quitting is not an option. RPB breeds winners, it turns kids into men of character and prepares soldiers for battle. Months and months of careful preparation, dozen of injuries, a ton of sweat, scars, puke and blood all contributed to the victory. I am honored to have been part of such a great memory. On July 28th, 2012 we were in a remote belgium town witnessing the best performance of Kevin.
Like I said on the way back, we live 365 days a year but how many of those days are worth remembering? In the end, all we're left with are memories...fight for those memories, fight for yourself and the people that support you, fight to live forever, fight to be remembered and to remember and fight to inspire the kids in the audience. In a short and trouble-ridden life, we all get our moments in the sun. Gijs had his epic moment with the overhead stone presses, Frank with the atlas stones and now Kevin with the tyre flips. Thank you guys for these unforgettable moments. See you on the battlefield.
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Living where the buses don't run
People keep telling me about economic principles, macro-economy, business cycles, consumption expenditure, and other bullshit words that are "designed" to entertain pseudo-intellectuals. The truth is that we're being fucked on a constant basis all the while filling the pockets of the rich minority. Instead of wasting your time posing as some hot shot intellectual maybe you should get out there in the real world, in the street with real people and real situations. If you're dreaming of the perfect world, where because you went to school, had good grades and did good things you are entitled to a long and prosperous life then wake the fuck up. Nobody gives you shit, you gotta man up and make things happen instead of waiting for them to fall in your lap. Oh, and by the way, if you have to tell people how smart you are then you probably aren't that smart to begin with. But hey, what do I know, I spend my free time in medieval torture facilities with insane individuals who couldn't give a fuck about external/internal politics and economics.
Oh man...like you're reading my thoughts man.. especially this part: "Nobody gives you shit, you gotta man up and make things happen instead of waiting for them to fall in your lap."
ReplyDeleteToo bad you couldn't join us today man! Wednesday another day @ RPB!