“What was it like when you first began weight training?” Bobby asked his Uncle Randy. Bobby had just turned twelve years old and had begun weight training a few months before, coached by his uncle. They were driving in Randy’s truck, going to an outdoor store to buy ammo for the upcoming waterfowl season. Bobby loved the days when he could pick his uncle's brain about various topics, but mostly about training.

Bobby was a football and baseball player, and Randy had been taking him to the gym on Main Street, Rebel’s Gym, teaching him the fundamentals of training, the basic exercises, and the correct form. Randy emphasized compound exercises: the squat, bench press, deadlift, and overhead press, with some push-ups, chin-ups and a few curls thrown in there as well. He told Bobby those were all that he needed, except for the power clean, which would be added later when Bobby got stronger in the squat and deadlift. “I don't see any reason to clean just the bar,” Randy said. “Let's get your squat and deadlift numbers up some first.”

Bobby had quickly fallen in love with lifting weights; he loved the feeling of his muscles being worked and the “tight” feeling they got after a session. He even liked the soreness that he felt from training. “Makes you feel like you did something,” his uncle said. When they began training, Bobby had wondered why he wasn't performing the same exercises as his teammates, who went to “performance coaches,” where the athletes walked around holding 10-pound plates over their heads, squatted on a balance ball, and did endless exercises with bands. “It’s all bullshit,” his uncle had explained. “Just get strong as hell on the basic stuff, and then go work on your athletic skills.” Randy was blunt and told you what he thought, which Bobby enjoyed. You always knew exactly where you stood with Randy.

“It was different in the late 70s and early 80s when I first started out,” Randy said. “First off, there weren't many gyms around back then. I had to drive 45 minutes to Easton to go to Frank’s Barbell. It was a hardcore gym, but every gym was a hardcore gym back then.”

“What do you mean?” Bobby asked.

“Well, back then, if you went to a gym, you were serious about getting bigger and stronger. There were no cardio machines in the gyms; no treadmills, no ellipticals, no exercise bikes. There were no ferns or free pizza and definitely no spin classes or hot yoga,” Randy said, laughing. “The only machines were a lat machine and a cable machine for pushdowns. Frank’s had mostly power racks, free weights, and dumbbells, and using chalk was encouraged.”

“I was just a youngster like you when I began training,” Randy explained. “I was too young to have a driver’s license, so for the first couple of years of training, I lifted weights in my father’s barn. He had a bench out there and a wooden squat rack that he had made, and plenty of free weights. He showed me how to do the squats, presses, and bench presses, and I got bigger and stronger. After a few years, I got my driver’s license and began going to Frank’s.”

“What were the guys like that trained at Frank’s?” Bobby asked.

“Scary,” Randy answered, “especially when I first walked in there as a sixteen-year-old still wet-behind-the-ears kid. The guys were competitive powerlifters and a few competitive bodybuilders, and also just some guys who liked to train to get massive. You’d go in there and you could feel the intensity right away. The first day I walked in, the place went quiet, like one of those old western movies when the bad guy walks into a saloon. Looking back, it seems like there was a fog of chalk and huge dudes looking at me as the door closed behind me. I am sure that I'm exaggerating that memory, but it seemed that way. I remember walking in and then going to the front desk to join up. The owner, Frank, took a break from his workout and walked over to introduce himself. He shook my hand so hard that it felt like he was trying to crush it. I squeezed back as hard as I could, and looked him right in the eye just like my dad taught me to. The cost was only twenty dollars a month, no sign up fee or hidden charges. I had saved up my money from cutting lawns and gave him sixty dollars for three months.”

“Frank took me around and introduced me to everyone. All the members seemed so massive to me, but everyone was nice and welcomed me. After that, Frank walked back to the front of the gym and pointed to a large sign on the wall, titled “Gym Rules.”

“These rules are non-negotiable,” he said. “Break any of them and you are no longer a member here.”

GYM RULES 1. Put all weights and bars away. That means in the right place also.

2. Chalk is encouraged.

3. Spot each other

4. No fighting. Take it outside.

5. Dogs are encouraged in the gym, cats are not.

6. Don’t be a bitch.

“Pretty simple and easy to follow, right?” Frank asked.

“Yes sir, I like the last one the best.”

“It’s one of the keys to life, right?” Frank said, “Just don’t bitch out in the weight room, or anywhere else.”

“Frank was the best,” Randy said. “He taught me so much. He taught me to train hard, wrote me a training program, and encouraged me. I began training by myself with Frank watching me for a few months, and one day, the best powerlifter in the gym, Mark “The Animal” Powell, came over to me one Monday evening when I walked into the gym. “The Animal” was massive at 5'10” and 285 pounds, without a trace of fat on his body. He also had a 2000 total in powerlifting competition. “I’ve been watching you kid,” he said. “You are working hard and training the right way. Frank says you are a good kid, and respectful. If you want to train with me and my boys, you are welcome to. We train Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. Monday is squat day, Tuesday is close-grip bench press and some arm work. Thursday is deadlift and bent rows, and Saturday is bench press and some shoulder work.”

“I’d like that,” I said. “When do we start?”

“Hell, it's squat night, and we are getting ready to do it right now. Come on over and join us.”

“That night, I began training with Mark’s group of lifters. Besides Mark, there was Ray, another big son of a gun who benched over 500 pounds raw; Thor, who had an ass-to-heels 800 squat in competition, weighing only 220 pounds; and Jimmy, who deadlifted 775 and had his sights set on pulling 800 at his next meet. I was in some strong company, and I had to keep up or I would get buried. I worked hard and didn’t say anything, just loaded the bar, spotted, and waited my turn. Thor said to me one day, “I like you, kid. You wouldn’t say shit if you had a mouthful,” which I took as a compliment.”

“You should have seen those guys training. The intensity was off the charts. The Animal would rub his forehead on the knurling of the bar before a big squat. Each week, the spot on his forehead would open up and start bleeding. During the set, blood would be running down his face. All of them would get insanely fired up before big sets, and they completed seemingly impossible reps. Just when you thought they would miss a rep, they would lock it out. That’s where I learned what real intensity is all about. I thought I had been working hard, but I realized that there was another level that I didn’t know existed.”

“Did you get strong lifting with those guys?” Bobby asked.

“Oh, just a little,” Randy answered. “In a year, I had gained 100 pounds on my squat and deadlift, and 50 on my bench. I started out weighing 205 and within a year, I was 235 pounds and rocked up. The guys had me eating so much red meat and drinking so much milk that it seemed as though it was coming out of my ears. Those training sessions were amazing. You would never miss a rep training with those guys. Believe me, with the blood and chalk everywhere and the yelling and Mark slapping Thor to get him ready for a big set, the “Lunk alarms” in these modern-day gyms would be going off all the time.”

“I’m glad that we have Rebel’s – that seems like a hardcore gym,” Bobby said.

“Yep, one of the few left, and we are lucky that it is. The owner, Mongo, hasn't given in to the cardio and fern crowd, and he never will. He could make more money that way, but he wants to preserve at least a semblance of a hardcore facility.”

“It seemed so much better back then,” Bobby said.

“Well, I think it was, but that doesn’t mean that it can’t be great for you. Get some of your buddies who are serious about training into the gym. Push each other and make the group your tribe – your community. There is nothing like having a group of guys together who are “all in” and are all working towards a common goal. You are just starting off and have a lifetime of great gym memories to come.”

“I like that,” Bobby said, “Creating a tribe.”

“You create that, and others will want to get involved, I promise,” Randy said. “Folks want to be part of something. Just make sure that the people in the group are as serious as you are about getting bigger and stronger.”

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