Greg Plitt - R.I.P.

This morning I awoke to a slew of texts from friends and co-workers, which is never a good thing. And, in fact, it wasn't. Greg Plitt—one of the world's top fitness models and a man we've featured on the cover of Muscle & Fitness twice—had died. He was hit by a train while filming an exercise video.

Greg was a bit of a legend in fitness, for several reasons. For one, the guy was as close to perfect a fitness model as there's ever been. His physique was ideal, and he was never, ever out of shape. Plus, he had model good looks. In fact, he got work as the face (and body) of Calvin Klein and Thierry Mugler as well as a ton of fitness company contracts. But Greg's looks were possibly his least interesting aspect.

Greg graduated West Point and then went on to serve as an Army Ranger, where he became an expert skydiver. After five years served, Greg turned his passion for fitness into his career, becoming a CPT and model. Actually, his first M&F cover came out while he was still serving—in 2003.

But beyond the raw data of his life, I can tell you that Greg was as unique a character as I've ever met. He was boisterous and fun and ambitious and a more than a little unpredictable. In other words, he lived life the way we all should. In his 37 years, Greg lived more than most of us ever will, and had more fun than too many of us will ever know.

Greg inspired many, many people to follow the fitness lifestyle, through not only the instruction he provided on his website and in seminars, but also through sheer force of will. Once you met Greg, or just saw him on video extolling the virtues of working out, you had to follow his lead. His energy was throug the roof—always. Check out this video of Greg doing what he did best, and tell me you don't want to run right to the gym, or through a wall: ARMAGetSome

One summer Sunday a few years ago, when I lived in L.A., I was strolling Malibu beach when way in the distance I saw a guy carrying a surfboard under one arm coming my way. As we drew nearer one another and his silhouette became clearer I was shocked by his proportions: the guy looked like a demigod. More often than not, I feel like my own physique stacks up pretty well in public places, but the closer he got the more I realized that I couldn't hold a candle to this guy.

Shirtless, I felt smaller and weaker with each step I took toward this Adonis, and he towards me. But then, when we were close enough that I could make out a face I realized that I needn't be ashamed at all. It was Greg Plitt—the greatest physique model who's ever lived. On that day, I was perfectly happy to have the second best physique on the beach.

You were one of a kind, Greg, and you'll be missed by many, but never forgotten. Certainly not by me.

Greg Plitt and his girlfriend attended the M&F and M&F Hers party honoring Jen Widerstrom and Arnold Schwarzenegger on October 28th, 2014.

The Comeback Kid?

Back in my jr. high school days I performed in the play A Night at the Opera, based on the Marx Brothers film. One day during rehearsals a few of us were sitting on the stage floor, doing line readings. When we were done one of the other students, who was a friend, offered his hand to help pull me up off the floor. I reached out, and as I began to rise up he suddenly let go: a prank. I fell backwards, and crashed down onto the wooden riser on my coccyx. I saw stars. I’m guessing it cracked, because the pain was excruciating. I used language not befitting a 14-year-old, as he guffawed, the chump. Needless to say, our friendship dissolved soon after, and I was left with a sore lower back for months. I’ve always had lower back issues—even in my teens—and I can only attribute it to this one, stupid incident.

I relate this story here because this week I had a small victory over my inherent weakness, overcoming a theatrical calamity and a good deal of personal fear in the process.

Although I’ve long recognized the benefits of the deadlift, I steered away from the exercise for the bulk of my formative training years. While I felt nearly limitless in my ability to squat and bench, as well as in a host of upper back exercises, I feared testing my wonky lower back, relying instead on hyperextensions and good mornings to develop its muscles.

Finally, when I was in my 30’s, I decided to give the time-tested exercise a go. Without a clue as to what constituted proper form (it’s more complex than I realized at the time), I managed to work my way up to 455 pounds—not terrible considering I weighed around 175 at the time, but nothing to write home about. I wanted continue my upward progression, but was beset by a niggling fear that had lodged itself into the recesses of my brain—that my back was essentially a dry tree branch liable to snap should even one extra ounce of stress be placed upon it. Nowhere else in my training did I feel so encumbered. I can truly say I was fearless in every other exercise (which is far from the case today), but the deadlift was another story entirely. Even on lighter sets I was plagued with the thought that I was one bad move away from disaster. It turned out I was right.

It was six years ago, when I was visiting New York from Los Angeles for the holidays. I would stay at my dad’s apartment in Queens and train with him at his gym while there. Now, I had been living in L.A. for around five years, training at night in mostly balmy weather. On this particular trip home it was in the low 20’s and snowy. My dad liked to train early. He got to the gym around 7am, which for me is the heart of dreamtime. Yet off we drove to his gym, with me only aware that I wasn’t dreaming for the bitter cold that racked my bones.

It was back day for me. I started with a few sets of pulldowns, but stopped before I really got going, deciding that I needed to do something more primal—maybe out of a desire to match the harsh weather. So, I decided to deadlift. After warmup sets of 135 and 225, I launched into the first of my planned three working sets of eight reps with 315. Set one goes down smooth. For set two I’m also feeling surprisingly good, especially for 7:30am (4:30am my time!) and in a gym that didn’t feel significantly warmer than the outdoors. On set three I powered through the first six reps. Seven was a bit slower, but still solid. One rep to go and then I could move on to seated rows, when… OOUUUUUUUCHHHHH!!!!!!

This pic has nothing to do with deadlifts, but I don't have any shots of me deadlifting, and this one is pretty cool.

That eighth and final rep of my entire deadlift regimen for the day was the killer. I knew immediately that it was bad. I dropped the bar, with a strange sensation I’d never felt before, almost as if I was going into rigor mortis. My back had already stiffened as a searing pain radiated from just right of my lumbar vertebrae. Not wanting to look to the other gym goers like I just royally fucked myself up, I somehow managed to strip the bar down and re-rack it, then I stumbled over to my dad, who was still warming up on the treadmill.

“Dad, I have to go. Now.”

I was immobile for the next three days. I had to postpone my flight back to Cali, because I couldn’t move. At all. On the fourth day after the accident I was able to stand and sit enough to be driven to a chiropractor, who offered little in the way of relief or information. The pain lasted months—three or four if I recall—as I slowly regained mobility. I wasn’t able to perambulate normally for a year. It was the most devastating injury of my life, by a long shot.

Here, now, is the redemptive part of this saga. This past year, with a healthy dose of caution, I brought the deadlift back into my routine, and while I’ve gotten stronger in it and from it, I’ve experienced a few setbacks. I’ve had mini traumas in the exact spot where I blew my back out six years ago, and after a few of them I swore off the exercise. But still I returned and, right now at least, I’m grateful I did.

This past week I hit a set of four silky-smooth reps with 405 pounds, at a bodyweight of 165—a record of sorts for me. I wore no shoes, had knee sleeves, a nylon belt and wrist straps—all in an effort to stabilize any joint weaknesses that might trigger a cascade of imbalances that lead to my two herniated lumbars (I forgot to mention that I had MRI’s done on them two years ago—yup, they’re fried).

I rose up after assuredly placing (not dropping) the weight down after the fourth rep. Rising up I feared the worst, but to my surprise and delight I was fine. Not the slightest pain. I think I could have done another couple of reps if I wanted to push it, but had made a pact with myself to never, ever struggle with a deadlift. If it wasn’t coming up smoothly then it was too heavy for me and my fragile back.

Again, 405 is nothing to write home about, but for me it’s as redemptive an experience as I’ve ever had in this crazy life spent lifting things. And so long as I don’t feel a whisper of anomalous pain back there I will continue to push heavier. I’ve always wanted to be able to say I lifted 500 pounds off the floor. Will I get there? Seems unlikely, but it’s still a goal, and if I do get there you can bet I will boast about it right here, typing away with a broad smile across my face.

The Gym is NOT Boring!

Sometimes I feel like a priest, not because I have a special relationship to a higher power, but because I’m so often a sounding board for confessions. Hardly a week goes by when someone doesn’t admit to me how they haven’t gotten to the gym as often as they’d like, but plan to start up again soon. The range of excuses as to why they’ve missed workouts is broad—from job hours to family life commitments to various benign aches and pains. 

From those who aren’t quite so afraid of being judged thought I often get the truth: that they find the gym boring. “I can go out for a run, and I love playing (insert favorite sport here), but I get so bored just lifting weights!” Of course hearing this makes me throw up in my mouth, just a little, but I try to be constructive in my response by offering the following:

Consider the gym a fitness playground. The gym shouldn’t be a place where you robotically go through repetitive motions as a trainer counts reps as he texts or Tweets, or whatever the hell else he’s doing when he should be motivating you. (In fact, I say ditch the trainer altogether, but that’s a topic for another post.)

Truthfully, there is no place where you can get more creative about reaching your fitness goals than a gym. Think about the variety of equipment at even a meager one, and then consider the number of ways in which you can structure a workout, and add to that the multitude of intensity techniques you can use to change up each and every workout, and each and every set within those workouts, and, well, it’s damn near impossible to get bored in a gym as far as I’m concerned!

I'm in pretty decent shape here. From a Per Bernal shoot in early 2014.

Not following my drift? How about a simple comparison of what most people think a triceps workout looks like versus what’s possible in a triceps workout if you treat the gym like a playground?

The average gym goer might train his/her triceps like this:

AVERAGE, BORING TRICEPS WORKOUT

• 3 sets of 10 reps of cable pushdowns—2 minutes of rest between sets

• 5 minutes of rest between exercises

• 3 sets of 10 reps of machine extensions—2 minutes of rest between sets

• 5 minutes of rest between exercises

• 3 sets of 10 reps of machine dips—2 minutes of rest between sets

Total Time: Approximately 26 minutes

Intensity Level: 1

I can see how this kind of routine can be considered boring by most. Maybe not by me, but by most. Compare that workout though to the kind I’d do instead:

SHAWN’S AWESOMELY INTENSE TRICEPS WORKOUT

•  3 sets of cable pushdowns—20, 18, 16 reps

• Between each set perform 10 knuckle pushups (no rest)

• 3 sets of machine extensions—18, 16, 14 reps

• Between each set perform a light set of 15 reps of machine preacher curls

• Giant drop set of machine dips—6, 6, 6, 6 reps

• Follow immediately with a light 20-rep set of cable curls, then stretch triceps for one minute

Total Time: Approximately 12 minutes

Intensity Level: Off the charts!

By keeping active through the entire workout, mixing things up with supersets, antagonist body part supersets, and drop sets, you keep the intensity high and the interest level high as well. There’s just no way a person can get bored doing a workout like this, even if he or she was to do it for weeks at a time, which I don’t. In fact, every one of my workouts varies from the last. I’m not a big believer in carefully structured progression in my workouts, at least not at the point I’m at now. I just believe in working toward maximizing intensity while listening to and respecting your body. If you keep the intensity uniformly high your body is sure to improve through its own progressive adaptation. If it keeps getting stronger to handle the regular stress you place upon it and you keep pushing towards its threshold, then undoubtedly you will keep gaining in some capacity, until your body has reached its natural limit.

Long story short: If you’re getting bored in the gym then you’re doing something wrong.

Happy New Year!

Today is January 1st, 2015, and like so many others I went to the gym. Because I had the day off from work I was able to go at an "off" hour—2:30 pm—which meant that the place wasn't too crowded, despite the date.

What better way to kick off a new year than with exercise? It sets the tone for things to come, serving as both a physical and a psychological primer. For many millions, today's workout was an initial stab at making good on a new year's resolution. For the vast majority of those millions however, the commitment to that resolution won't last much past Valentine's Day, which is a shame for them, good for me.

One study I read indicated that only 8% of people who have gym memberships actually use them on a regular basis and that 4 out of 5 memberships go completely unused. Of course, gyms count on these numbers, taking a calculated risk by actively recruiting many more members than they can actually accommodate. I'd hate to be training at the gym where 100% of the members decide to show for a workout at the same time!

12/29/14: Consider this the "before" pic in my grand experiment.

Anyway, the gym I trained at at 2:30 pm today was fairly empty, which was good, except nearly everyone in it worked their jaw muscles far more than any others. My workout was punctuated by stories of NYE parties, upcoming travel, and work woes. Normally I'd have my trusty iPod Shuffle to shield me from the jabbering, but I recently lost the charging cable and so have to train earbudless until a replacement arrives in the mail.

Nevertheless, I hit it hard, pounding my chest, triceps, calves, and abs into submission. One of my goals for 2015 is to add 10 pounds of muscle, meaning a jump from around 165 to 175 pounds. 165 seems to be my default weight (I've hovered around it for the last 15 years or so) but I've recently discovered, quite by accident, that I am able to add muscle still... if I train less frequently with shorter workouts.

The "accident" was an overwhelming workload at the office that has kept my workouts briefer and less frequest than I'd prefer. Yet every experience lends new insight, and from this one I've learned that I'm not done growing yet, if I don't want to be.

And so begins my first attempt in a long time to "bulk up." I'm actually excited by the prospect, as I've been in "maintenance mode" since last decade. I'll be sure to provide progress reports and pics right here on a semi-regular basis.

As for you, I wish you a happy, healthy new year, and great workouts in a gym that's relatively free of temporary newbies!

Mine, All Mine!

It's the holiday season, and in New York that seems to mean that it's also time to abandom the gym. At least that's the case at the particular midtown gym I've been training at the last few days, much to my delight.

On three separate occasions this past week there were good-sized chunks of time during which I was the only person on the gym floor, and I couldn't have been happier. Imagine: a gym to yourself! I savored every minute, purposely choosing exercises that had me spanning all corners of the gym floor. It was... sublime.

Now, before I start to come across as a complete anti-social nutjob (I'm only a partial one!), I will say that I also enjoy training around others. But it's who those others are that counts. Unfortunately, since moving back to Manhattan from Los Angeles three years ago I've not found a gym that has an even remotely inspiring atmosphere. Here, gyms are more about amenities—towel service, lotion dispensers in the bathrooms, hand sanitizing stations aplenty—and less about working out.

I belong to two gym chains here, both gratis, thanks to my job title and some generous souls, but between the dozen or so gyms I've trained at in the two chains there's just one gym that I would consider joining if I had to pay, and it's only because of the equipment. The clientele at each seems mostly disinterested in the task at hand, preferring to chat, text, and watch TV over lift weights.

Compare this to Gold's Venice, where I was a member for seven years. While there's certainly a lot of socializing going on, most everyone is there to work. There's lots of grunting and crashing of weights and sweat, and on the whole I find it energizing. I feed off the vibe of the place, and I'd like to think I help contribute to it when I'm training there myself (which I do whenever I'm back in L.A.).

But here in NYC, I find myself to be an outlier in the gym. I train hard and fast, with my earbuds firmly planted and my iPod Shuffle playing my favorite gym tunes, and with a focused intensity that I can only imagine is taken for either anger or outright insanity by my fellow trainees. I have the valume turned up to a point where I'm sure I'm doing damage to my hearing in the long-term, but it's to drown out the incessant conversing and rep counting by disimpassioned trainers to their equally unmotivated clients.

All of which is to say that I feel especially blessed this holiday season, because I'm not only celebrating family and friends, and the spirit of giving and remembrance that we all do, but also empty gyms!

Of course I realize that I'd better make the most of this elbow room while I can, because the sobering truth is that the ditch-the-gym season is soon to be followed by the new year's resolution season. Time to charge up the iPod...

Let the Blogging Begin!

Doing what I love to do most, at Doug's Gym in Dallas.

Welcome to my first fitness blog. You'll note that I modified "blog" with "first fitness," because I've had several blogs before this one, covering the environment, politics, and even a comedy blog. But it's fitness with which my name is most closely linked, and as I type this I'm finding myself somewhat surprised that I've not had a blog like this until now. Not exactly, anyway...

Back in 2002 I started a website titled "IronAge" which was dedicated to preserving the history of bodybuilding, and specifically an era I dubbed the Iron Age, which spanned the mid-60's through 1991—the year that the great Lee Haney won the last of his eight consecutive Mr. Olympia titles. It was during this time period that (I believed) bodybuilders' physiques reached their apex, in terms of overall appeal. Guys were muscular yet refined, lean but not overly so, and they aspired to achieve heroic proportions—wide shoulders, flaring lats, strong-looking shoulders and arms, a broad chest, sweeping thighs with defined calves and, importantly, a trim waist. Arnold Schwarzenegger is a guy who competed during this era, and as the best of that time (and some would still say all times) he became my de facto hero when I was around 12 or so.

It was at that age that I began lifting weights. Unlike so many kids though, I didn't lift in an attempt to make the team or get the girl or not get sand kicked in my face. I wanted to be Mr. Olympia, and from the age of 13 until today I've trained as if my ultimate goal is to one day be crowned the best bodybuilder on the planet.

At 13, displaying the physique of a 12-year-old.

Now, I have no delusions that I will ever compete in a bodybuilding contest, much less with the top one, but I haven't lost the work ethic I forged so many years ago when my dreams were grander than my sense of reality. And I'm really glad for that, because these days training is one of my great joys in life. I LOVE training, so much so that I've been a bad friend, relative, and boyfriend on occasion all to get my workout on. Maybe it's because it's so ingrained in me by this point, or because it fits my temperament, or because I'm able to clearly connect the act of training with the results. Whatever the reason, working out is my happening, and it freaks me out.

So, be sure to check back here every now and again to read my musings about working out, nutrition, the making of Muscle & Fitness, Muscle & Fitness Hers, and FLEX magazines, and probably more than a few pointless ramblings—the kind tailor-made for a blog.