I found this on Dan John's site. I thought highly enough of it to post here and share. Very articulate about the subject and the world needs mor coaches like Dan John, Bob Whelan Ken Mannie etc.
"Another Steroid Article" by Dan John
It has been happening. Just like my coaches and friends warned me about
over twenty years ago. In the past year, three of my friends have died. Two
of my childhood heroes are shells of men even though they are only in their
fifties. In the tiny throwing community, guys who toss the shot, disc,
hammer and javelin, the talk of early deaths, heart attacks, and terrible
joint problems are becoming as commonplace of a discussion as the
weather.
I saw it happening, too. A mediocre thrower would suddenly start
dominating local and regional competition. In Olympic lifting, a lifter who
had been making the usual progress would within months add forty pounds
in the snatch and sometimes more in the clean and jerk. You could see
the other effects, too, the bloated self-confidence, the terrible skin
traumas, and then the injuries. It seemed that everywhere one looked you
saw blown biceps, dislocated elbows, and popped ligaments as the body
failed to keep up with the increased load and intensity over such a short
amount of time.
And, we all denied it. I listened in shock as a former world record holder in
the discus told a group of high school seniors at the Olympic Training
Center in Colorado Springs: “I took ‘em and never had any side effects, but
I was told I couldn’t tell you to take ‘em, so I won’t.” We watched men go
from regional runner ups to national level competitors, then literally
disappear from the sport in less than a few years. And, if it could get
worse, a father, now a coach at a Salt Lake City high school, provide “’em”
for his own sons. The lying, the deceit, the cheating, …I thought that was
the worst of it.
Until I got that phone call that one of my training partners had died. Age
35, three kids, …heart attack. A glorious athlete with all the numbers that
stagger people: over 230 in the discus, over 800 in the squat, mid-300
snatch, over ten feet in the standing long jump. We were friends, too. We
drove to meets together, trained together, partied together and gave clinics
together. My wife, Tiffini, pregnant with my seven-year-old daughter
Lindsay, cooked up a huge turkey dinner to celebrate our success at a big
meet. After dinner, we talked about training. An injured wrist made him turn
to the disc from the shot put. “You know, I have never thrown the discus
clean.”
What? “Yes, I started juicing at 16 as a shot-putter, my coach gave them
to me, so when I picked up the disc, I was already heavy into them.” No
way. “Yes.” When I put the telephone down after hearing about his death,
my mind drifted back to that dinner. Since 16. Died at 35. My brother-inlaw,
Craig Hemingway, was with me when the call came. After I hung up, I
told him that my friend had died. Craig answered: “Well, you won.”
It took me weeks to understand that insight. Walking my dog with my wife
and two daughters, I understood Craig’s point. I had just finished training; I
was focusing on an upcoming weightlifting meet. It was that simple: I won.
I was alive, strong, and healthy. I was 42.
Obviously, I am talking about anabolic steroids. They have been the curse
of the strength sports since the early 1960’s. “The answer to all questions,”
proclaimed one very famous powerlifter. Of course, he forgot to tell his
audience that he would have multiple heart surgeries in his thirties. “Die
big” proclaims the hoards of wannabe “Mr. Galaxies.” Unfortunately, you
just die.
But what else died? Training knowledge was another casualty. Almost two
generations of athletes have lost the classic methods of lifting. Drugs allow
more volume, so “more” became the rage. More exercises, more days a
week, more sets, more reps, more supplements, more, more, more.
Isolation exercises became the fashion culminating in the rise of machines
that continue to attempt to isolate each muscle from the other. A new
problem emerged: if a group of us are all training on machines, how do we
measure progress?
The first machines had “weights.” Numbers were stenciled on the weight
stacks, ’40,’ ‘50’ and on up to the last plate. Soon, the ordinary numbers
replaced the weight numbers. Now, it is usually the letters of the alphabet.
How do we measure progress? Well, I began with ‘E,” but now I am doing
‘J’ for the same number of reps. I hear there is a Russian who does ‘Q.”
NO WAY! Way.
So, how do you measure progress? In the pre-drug era, you could look at
your bench, squat, clean, snatch or press bests and compare those
numbers to people lifting in meets or articles about athletes in the
magazine. A 200 pound snatch for a 200 pound man seems like a good
measuring stick. But, how do you compare plates on a machine. You
can’t. Let’s look in the mirror. Now, pick up the soft-core porn bodybuilding
magazine and compare yourself to this month’s champ.
With the mirror and magazine as the only standard, what can you fall back
on? Two things: go to the gym pusher and get signed up for a felony
transaction or blame mom and dad. Mom and dad? Yes, blame your
genetics. The third option is to do both: take drugs and blame genetics.
Of course, there are those willing to take enough drugs to make it work.
Does it work? Flip through any bodybuilding magazine over two years old
and look at the competitors. Besides those who have died, see if you can
see a name that would be in a bodybuilding competition next month. Go to
a magazine five years old. Do you even recognize the names?
Compare these may flies with the careers of Davis, Kono and
Schemansky. These men all had careers that spanned decades; Skee
was still stalking national titles into his mid-forties. Why the long careers?
I argue that the slow and steady progress of using fundamental training
principles is the key to long term success. It can be stated in a thousand
different ways, but I like “Go Hard, Go Heavy and Go Home. Repeat.”
Yet, a larger question still haunts me. How we stop the deaths, the
injuries, and the destruction of this plague of steroids. I can’t enforce the
crystal clear Federal laws when police officers in many areas are regular
steroid users. As a citizen of Salt Lake City, I doubt the Olympic
committee will do anything in the area of drug use after the widespread and
unapologetic corruption of the leaders of “the movement.” I can’t compete
with the muscle rags that promote pornography, questionable lifestyles,
and “secret” mumbo jumbo that keeps adolescent boys shelling out their
allowances for the next issue.
Let me give some simple ideas that may slow (I pray we stop) the
progress of the steroid pushers: 1. Use poundage on the bar as a standard
and use standard lifts. Compare progress by looking at what other lifters at
the same weight and age lifted. Use the standards: press, snatch, clean
and jerk, squat, deadlift and bench press. Maybe one or two other lifts
would make this list, but stick with the standards.
2. Use a mirror when you comb your hair and brush your teeth. Don’t use it
to measure progress as an athlete. True, before and after pictures have
their value in fat loss programs or prepping for a bodybuilding contest. But,
if you are not on a fat loss program or getting ready for Mr. Vermont, why
use them? Mirrors, on the other hand, lead to vanity, a classic deadly sin.
Vanity leads to …
3. Convince yourself, and others, that success is the steps one takes
towards a worthy goal. First, determine a goal. As a high school athlete, I
wanted a college scholarship. I had to go to a Junior College first, but I got
my goal. Is a college degree a worthy goal? I think most people would
agree it is. Is a fuller pec a worthy goal? Next, determine the steps you will
need to take. If you need help on the steps, read Dino Training again. But,
remember, be sure you have those other goals listed, too. The
professional, personal, social, and other worthy things you wish to achieve
in your life.
4. Redefine “winning.” Take a moment with my brother-in-law’s insight.
“Well, you won.”
I’m still lifting. I’m still throwing. I’m still walking with my wife and girls. I’m
alive and I’m still trying to help others climb the mountain. I miss my
friends and I don’t want to bury anymore needlessly.
The Resound! Home Page
"Another Steroid Article" by Dan John
It has been happening. Just like my coaches and friends warned me about
over twenty years ago. In the past year, three of my friends have died. Two
of my childhood heroes are shells of men even though they are only in their
fifties. In the tiny throwing community, guys who toss the shot, disc,
hammer and javelin, the talk of early deaths, heart attacks, and terrible
joint problems are becoming as commonplace of a discussion as the
weather.
I saw it happening, too. A mediocre thrower would suddenly start
dominating local and regional competition. In Olympic lifting, a lifter who
had been making the usual progress would within months add forty pounds
in the snatch and sometimes more in the clean and jerk. You could see
the other effects, too, the bloated self-confidence, the terrible skin
traumas, and then the injuries. It seemed that everywhere one looked you
saw blown biceps, dislocated elbows, and popped ligaments as the body
failed to keep up with the increased load and intensity over such a short
amount of time.
And, we all denied it. I listened in shock as a former world record holder in
the discus told a group of high school seniors at the Olympic Training
Center in Colorado Springs: “I took ‘em and never had any side effects, but
I was told I couldn’t tell you to take ‘em, so I won’t.” We watched men go
from regional runner ups to national level competitors, then literally
disappear from the sport in less than a few years. And, if it could get
worse, a father, now a coach at a Salt Lake City high school, provide “’em”
for his own sons. The lying, the deceit, the cheating, …I thought that was
the worst of it.
Until I got that phone call that one of my training partners had died. Age
35, three kids, …heart attack. A glorious athlete with all the numbers that
stagger people: over 230 in the discus, over 800 in the squat, mid-300
snatch, over ten feet in the standing long jump. We were friends, too. We
drove to meets together, trained together, partied together and gave clinics
together. My wife, Tiffini, pregnant with my seven-year-old daughter
Lindsay, cooked up a huge turkey dinner to celebrate our success at a big
meet. After dinner, we talked about training. An injured wrist made him turn
to the disc from the shot put. “You know, I have never thrown the discus
clean.”
What? “Yes, I started juicing at 16 as a shot-putter, my coach gave them
to me, so when I picked up the disc, I was already heavy into them.” No
way. “Yes.” When I put the telephone down after hearing about his death,
my mind drifted back to that dinner. Since 16. Died at 35. My brother-inlaw,
Craig Hemingway, was with me when the call came. After I hung up, I
told him that my friend had died. Craig answered: “Well, you won.”
It took me weeks to understand that insight. Walking my dog with my wife
and two daughters, I understood Craig’s point. I had just finished training; I
was focusing on an upcoming weightlifting meet. It was that simple: I won.
I was alive, strong, and healthy. I was 42.
Obviously, I am talking about anabolic steroids. They have been the curse
of the strength sports since the early 1960’s. “The answer to all questions,”
proclaimed one very famous powerlifter. Of course, he forgot to tell his
audience that he would have multiple heart surgeries in his thirties. “Die
big” proclaims the hoards of wannabe “Mr. Galaxies.” Unfortunately, you
just die.
But what else died? Training knowledge was another casualty. Almost two
generations of athletes have lost the classic methods of lifting. Drugs allow
more volume, so “more” became the rage. More exercises, more days a
week, more sets, more reps, more supplements, more, more, more.
Isolation exercises became the fashion culminating in the rise of machines
that continue to attempt to isolate each muscle from the other. A new
problem emerged: if a group of us are all training on machines, how do we
measure progress?
The first machines had “weights.” Numbers were stenciled on the weight
stacks, ’40,’ ‘50’ and on up to the last plate. Soon, the ordinary numbers
replaced the weight numbers. Now, it is usually the letters of the alphabet.
How do we measure progress? Well, I began with ‘E,” but now I am doing
‘J’ for the same number of reps. I hear there is a Russian who does ‘Q.”
NO WAY! Way.
So, how do you measure progress? In the pre-drug era, you could look at
your bench, squat, clean, snatch or press bests and compare those
numbers to people lifting in meets or articles about athletes in the
magazine. A 200 pound snatch for a 200 pound man seems like a good
measuring stick. But, how do you compare plates on a machine. You
can’t. Let’s look in the mirror. Now, pick up the soft-core porn bodybuilding
magazine and compare yourself to this month’s champ.
With the mirror and magazine as the only standard, what can you fall back
on? Two things: go to the gym pusher and get signed up for a felony
transaction or blame mom and dad. Mom and dad? Yes, blame your
genetics. The third option is to do both: take drugs and blame genetics.
Of course, there are those willing to take enough drugs to make it work.
Does it work? Flip through any bodybuilding magazine over two years old
and look at the competitors. Besides those who have died, see if you can
see a name that would be in a bodybuilding competition next month. Go to
a magazine five years old. Do you even recognize the names?
Compare these may flies with the careers of Davis, Kono and
Schemansky. These men all had careers that spanned decades; Skee
was still stalking national titles into his mid-forties. Why the long careers?
I argue that the slow and steady progress of using fundamental training
principles is the key to long term success. It can be stated in a thousand
different ways, but I like “Go Hard, Go Heavy and Go Home. Repeat.”
Yet, a larger question still haunts me. How we stop the deaths, the
injuries, and the destruction of this plague of steroids. I can’t enforce the
crystal clear Federal laws when police officers in many areas are regular
steroid users. As a citizen of Salt Lake City, I doubt the Olympic
committee will do anything in the area of drug use after the widespread and
unapologetic corruption of the leaders of “the movement.” I can’t compete
with the muscle rags that promote pornography, questionable lifestyles,
and “secret” mumbo jumbo that keeps adolescent boys shelling out their
allowances for the next issue.
Let me give some simple ideas that may slow (I pray we stop) the
progress of the steroid pushers: 1. Use poundage on the bar as a standard
and use standard lifts. Compare progress by looking at what other lifters at
the same weight and age lifted. Use the standards: press, snatch, clean
and jerk, squat, deadlift and bench press. Maybe one or two other lifts
would make this list, but stick with the standards.
2. Use a mirror when you comb your hair and brush your teeth. Don’t use it
to measure progress as an athlete. True, before and after pictures have
their value in fat loss programs or prepping for a bodybuilding contest. But,
if you are not on a fat loss program or getting ready for Mr. Vermont, why
use them? Mirrors, on the other hand, lead to vanity, a classic deadly sin.
Vanity leads to …
3. Convince yourself, and others, that success is the steps one takes
towards a worthy goal. First, determine a goal. As a high school athlete, I
wanted a college scholarship. I had to go to a Junior College first, but I got
my goal. Is a college degree a worthy goal? I think most people would
agree it is. Is a fuller pec a worthy goal? Next, determine the steps you will
need to take. If you need help on the steps, read Dino Training again. But,
remember, be sure you have those other goals listed, too. The
professional, personal, social, and other worthy things you wish to achieve
in your life.
4. Redefine “winning.” Take a moment with my brother-in-law’s insight.
“Well, you won.”
I’m still lifting. I’m still throwing. I’m still walking with my wife and girls. I’m
alive and I’m still trying to help others climb the mountain. I miss my
friends and I don’t want to bury anymore needlessly.
The Resound! Home Page
