Thread: Kubik on Training Programs.

Good stuff.

lol, seems like a lot of old timers used to copy these BB's routine. Arnold's routine is probably the most popular back in his day.

This particular email from Brooks yesterday really stood out. It is cool to hear peoples reasons on training for strength (those of us that train for strength and less for looks that is). I like what Brooks said here. It really stood out. Hope you enjoy it.....

It was either very late or very early when I left the law school
on a dark night in the early 80's. Possibly 1:00 or 1:30 in the
morning. It was a Friday night, and everyone else had left hours
earlier.

I walked home in almost total darkness. Lexington, Virginia didn't
have much in the way of streetlights then. Maybe it does now.
Probably not.

I passed by Robert E. Lee's home, with the Lee Family Chapel and
Lee's tomb a stone's throw away. Off past the Chapel was Virginia
Military Institute, a mass of imposing brick buildings crowded
fortress-like against the stately W&L campus.

I passed Stonewall Jackson's house.

Sam Houston's boyhood home was down the road a couple of miles.

I cut to the right and headed toward my apartment.

Then I saw her -- a young woman, wearing a short jacket, walking
rapidly down the dark street past the married student housing. She was of
medium height, and thin. Looked young. Looked scared.

She was across the street walking in the same direction that I was
heading. One of the few street lights framed her briefly.

She looked behind her, and then walked faster, heading toward the
edge of town.

Two guys were following behind her.

She increased her pace.

They speeded up, too.

I was just a few steps from my apartment. It was late. I was exhausted. I
had had a full day of classes, and many long hours of study afterwards.
I wanted nothing in the world more than I wanted to lie down and sleep.

But I didn't like what I saw.

I followed them.

We walked for about a mile--just the four of us--the girl in the front,
the two guys following her, and then me, tagging along. Because there
are times when you just can't turn and walk away.

We ended up in a parking lot at a strip mall at the very outskirts of town.
Totally deserted. Pitch dark.

The girl cut into the lot. She looked behind her once, then broke
into a run.

The two guys started to run after her.

That's when I spoke.

"Stop chasing the girl!"

They did.

The girl disappeared into the darkness. There were houses and
apartments on the other side of the mall. With any luck, she would
be home and safe in a couple of minutes. And in the dark, with
a brief lead, they'd never find her.

And they knew it.

The two of them walked up to me.

I remember thinking, "This is great -- I'm a 25 year old editor on the
Law Review, and I'm going to end up in a fight at 2:00 in the morning.”

One of them pulled a knife. The other wrapped a short chain around
his fist.

I looked around. We were very, very alone. There were no cars, no
lights, no people, no nothing.

I remember stepping back with one foot, turning to the side, watching,
and waiting -- and knowing exactly what I was going to do, how I was
going to strike, which one was going down first -- as soon as he moved
one step closer.

But he never took that fatal step.

They ended talking tough, and making some noise for a few minutes
–and then they backed away, slowly at first, and then faster.

When they were 40 or 50 feet away they suddenly turned and ran into
the night. I never saw them again.

Fast forward almost 20 years.

I'm in the St. Louis Airport, on a lay-over en route to Albuquerque and
Santa Fe. I've just finished a leisurely lunch at a Cheers Restaurant, which
had great food but none of the original cast members. I ambled into a book
store and bought a Richard Jury novel by Martha Grimes to read on the flight.

So there I am, moving down the concourse to my departure gate. No sweat
-- there's plenty of time. Don't want to get there too early.

Suddenly, the entire airport erupts into chaos. Sirens go off, alarms roar, and
the PA system starts blaring: "EVACUATE ALL CONCOURSES IMMEDIATELY!
MOVE TO CONCOURSE A!"

Everyone starts running.

Even some of the security cops are running.

I ask one of them what happened.

"It's a bomb," he says.

And remember, this is post-9/11. May, 2002, to be precise.

There's an older woman in a wheel chair who's not making very good
speed. So I take her chair, and push her forward. Together, we make
pretty good time.

Then I see a young woman traveling with a baby and a small girl.
She's carrying the baby in one arm, dragging a big suitcase in the other,
and is begging the little girl to try to hurry up. They're scared, and
they're trying to run, but they're not making very good speed. The little
girl has a suitcase, too, and it weights her down like an anchor. She’s
clutching a teddy bear in her other hand, but the bear isn't able to help.

I pass another cop. He’s moving slowly, helping to round up the
stragglers and keep them heading in the right direction.

"Here, help her – I’ll help them!” I tell him. I turn the older woman
in the wheel chair over to him.

He understands nods and smiles.

"Thanks, man."

"No problem."

He wheels her down the concourse and away to safety.

I go over to the young woman.

"May I take your bag?"

All she can do is nod.

"Is that heavy?" I ask the little girl.

She nods too.

"Let me take it. It’s ok – I’ve got your mom’s bag, too.”

"I'M SCARED!" she wails.

"It’s ok – don’t worry. It’s just a test.”

“I’M TIRED!”

“Come on--I'll carry you."

So I pick her up in one hand, grab the suitcases in the other, and we
all go running down the concourse.

It ended up being a false alarm. But there was some real panic, and
some real terror working for awhile.

There are other stories. We all have them.

After you've lived a certain number of years, you start to realize that
no matter who you are, or what you do, from time to time you end
up in situations where someone needs help. Times when you need
to act fast, act decisively, and take risks. Times when "functional
strength" and "athletic fitness" really mean something. Times when
endless arguments about HOW to train don’t really matter anymore –
all that matters is whether you DID train, and if so, how HARD you
trained.

Here's a great secret. If you have strength, you find times when you
really need to use it. And if you don’t have strength, you find times
when you wish you did.

Back in the 1940's, Bob Hoffman wrote about building strength "for
times like these." The phrase is just as valid today as it was then.

I sincerely hope that none of you ever need to use your strength and
physical fitness in an emergency situation. But if you ever encounter
one, I want you to be ready.

And that's a good way to judge your current training program.

Are you "ready"?

If you are, that's great.

If you are not, do something about it -- starting TODAY!

Brooks

both articles were very true and insightful.

Good read !

Keep em comin' P -

Kubik is da man. Is this from the Dinosaur Files?

Originally Posted by CowPimp

Kubik is da man. Is this from the Dinosaur Files?

no, it is from his mailing list.

That second article is the precise reason why I train, although I don't tell many people I personally know. Usually when I do tell people they just look at me like I'm crazy, as if to say "Yeah, like that's ever gonna happen." But you never really know what might happen, who you might meet, what they might do... It's always best to be prepared, especially when you're someone more willing to look out for others than yourself. I've been in some situations where I know I would've gotten into a fight, but the other people who would have started it didn't because of my size. I am very lucky for this. Now, I'm trying to make my strength go through the roof so that if someone really does do something, I'll be ready.

Originally Posted by Squaggleboggin

That second article is the precise reason why I train, although I don't tell many people I personally know. Usually when I do tell people they just look at me like I'm crazy, as if to say "Yeah, like that's ever gonna happen." But you never really know what might happen, who you might meet, what they might do... It's always best to be prepared, especially when you're someone more willing to look out for others than yourself. I've been in some situations where I know I would've gotten into a fight, but the other people who would have started it didn't because of my size. I am very lucky for this. Now, I'm trying to make my strength go through the roof so that if someone really does do something, I'll be ready.

yes, and it gores beyond physical strength. All these guys (kubik, leistner, etc..) are all about not only the physical strength that is gained by lifting for strength but the mental strength. The mental toughness to push yourself, to overcome. That is a big part of it. If I can handle myself mentally and push through and persevere in the weight room I know that mentally I am tough enough to hanle other things outside of the weight room. You teach yourself what it means to work hard. What it means to set goals. What it means to achieve.

Originally Posted by P-funk

yes, and it gores beyond physical strength. All these guys (kubik, leistner, etc..) are all about not only the physical strength that is gained by lifting for strength but the mental strength. The mental toughness to push yourself, to overcome. That is a big part of it. If I can handle myself mentally and push through and persevere in the weight room I know that mentally I am tough enough to hanle other things outside of the weight room. You teach yourself what it means to work hard. What it means to set goals. What it means to achieve.

That is also very, very true. I can't tell you how much I've learned from myself just from weightlifting. It teaches you about your limits, goals, and how far you're willing to go to accomplish something. It's made me feel much more confident with my skills and abilities outside of the weight room, but it also allowed me to know exactly how confident to be. Weightlifting really has changed my life in an unforgettable and indelible way.

A similar story happened to me...

I was in a Karate Tournament, in the finals, and I was deadlocked with my opponent. Then, out of nowhere, my opponent illegally swept my leg and struck me while I was down. A tremendous charlie horse had resonated through my hamstring and my knee locked up. I didn't think I could go on and I was very scared. Luckily for me, my sensai magically healed my leg and I went on to win the fight with a move my sensai taught me while performing slave labor in his back yard. As my hand was raised, the crowd went fucking nuts and my girlfriend ran onto the mat while "You're the Best Around" blaired loudly. It was one of the best days of my life, dwarfed only by the time I went to Okinawa and beat up some Japanese dude to get a hot piece of Japanese ass (Not his, his girl's).

Originally Posted by Dale Mabry

It was one of the best days of my life, dwarfed only by the time I went to Okinawa and beat up some Japanese dude to get a hot piece of Japanese ass (Not his, his girl's).

And that's what getting strong is really all about... getting pussy that someone thinks they have on lockdown.

Originally Posted by CowPimp

And that's what getting strong is really all about... getting pussy that someone thinks they have on lockdown.

A-fucking-men!

Originally Posted by P-funk

yes, and it gores beyond physical strength. All these guys (kubik, leistner, etc..) are all about not only the physical strength that is gained by lifting for strength but the mental strength. The mental toughness to push yourself, to overcome. That is a big part of it. If I can handle myself mentally and push through and persevere in the weight room I know that mentally I am tough enough to hanle other things outside of the weight room. You teach yourself what it means to work hard. What it means to set goals. What it means to achieve.

Right on.

The second article was pretty intense. At first, I didn't really 'see' the show of physical strength, but more so the mental aspect, the attitude to do what needs to be done, to take action and to use one's intelligence wisely when the opportunity arises.

Weight training aside, I believe any worthwhile endeavor can build and solidify the ability to be mentally strong. It is how one responds to and learns from experiences that are challenging; they develop and strengthen the fortitude of the individual.

Good read.

another great read from kubik. Nothing fancy, no training tips, no secrets. Just one hell of a great story.

The strongest man I know was born in Cleveland, Ohio. To
understand who he was and how he became the strongest
man of the century, you need to know a little bit about his
background.

He was the youngest son of two penniless immigrants. His
father came over from Czechoslovakia, the youngest of
thirteen sons. In a land where the eldest brother inherited the
bulk of the family fortune, his chances in life were slim at
best. He faced a lifetime of back-breaking toil in the family's
lumber business in St. Martin, Slovakia. If he had owned the
business, or even a piece of it, the hard work, the pain and the
sweat might have made sense. But with his eldest brother the
virtual patriarch of the lumber mill, he looked for other
opportunities. His youthful eyes turned, as did so many, to
the United States. He toiled in silence, saved his pennies, and
finally, after several long years, saved enough to purchase
passage to America, the Land of Opportunity.

When he got there, he found that for an uneducated Slovak
who couldn't even speak the language, the Land of
Opportunity meant nothing more than the opportunity to
starve to death or work in the steel mills.

The steel mills of the 1920's and 30's required the most
intense physical effort imaginable. You didn't bomb, blast or
blitz in the steel mills. You didn’t "pump iron" in the mills –
you lived, breathed and ate it. There was no need to "go for
the burn." The burn was all around you. It was hot in the
mills -- hotter than the fires of Hell. You worked, you baked
and you sweated. You shoveled coal and you shifted iron.
You felt the inferno heat of the blast furnace from across the
building. It was the hottest job in the world, the heaviest job
in the world, and the hardest job in the world.

There are jobs in a steel mill where the strongest of men can
last only a few minutes. They work in shifts. One man goes
for a five or ten minutes, reaches the point of collapse, and is
replaced by another. The second works, drops, and is
replaced by a third. A fourth steps forward. Within minutes,
he too goes down. Then the first man returns to the heat, the
back breaking labor and the pain.

It takes a MAN to work in a steel mill. Don't tell me about
1000 pound squats, 500 pound clean and jerks, 900 pound
bench presses, or building a 24" biceps. Lifting weights is
one thing. Shoveling coal into a blast furnace all day long,
day after day for your entire life, is something entirely
different.

And yet, the ceaseless grind of back-breaking labor never
broke the spirit of these remarkable men. When the mill
workers left their jobs in the evening, after working a ten or
twelve hour day in the hottest of hells, they marched down
the street together, singing at the top of their lungs. They
continued to sing mile after mile, until they reached the tiny
houses that dotted their ethnic neighborhoods. The Poles
dropped off first, still singing as they reached their homes.
Then came the Irish. The Germans were next. After that, the
Hungarians. Then the Italians. On and on they went, and as
their numbers dwindled, those that remained sang all the
louder. At the far end on the line, the men from Slovakia
reached their homes. They marched along, ushering each of
their comrades home amid a barrage of chorus.

At the end of a five mile walk, two men were left. One
reached his house. They stopped, shook hands, and the
chorus stopped as if by magic.

The last man whistled as he covered the remaining yards to
his home.

That’s the kind of men they were -- men who worked ten or
twelve hours a day in the hottest and hardest of jobs, and then
walked home SINGING at the top of their lungs for sheer
joy!

This was where the strongest man in the world was born. The
year was 1927. Times were tough, and in a few more years
they were much tougher. He nearly starved to death during
the Great Depression.

His father continued to work in the mills (when there was
work to be had). His mother and sisters helped to support the
family by doing sewing, laundering and similar odd jobs. His
older brothers sold newspapers, shined shoes, worked in
groceries and hardware stores, and served coffee and burgers
at a local grill.

One day, the mills that gave the family 90% of their meager
weekly income almost killed his father. A hoist snapped, and
an overhead beam came swinging out of nowhere and hit him
full in the face. His jaw was shattered, his nose broken, and
one eye nearly torn from its socket. They had no medical
attention in the mills in those days. His co-workers laid him
on a shutter, and carried him five miles to his home. They
carried him home to die.

That was the one day they didn't sing.

But he didn't die. He lived. He fought pain, he fought agony
and he fought death. He won. He went back to the mills just
six short months after they carried him home.

The kid grew up. He was never very big, but he was fast and
athletic. He played tight end when the kids played football.
He learned to place his hits like Ty Cobb when the kids
played baseball. He dreamed of playing for the Cleveland
Indians.

The War came, and one by one his older brothers joined the
service to fight for father's adopted country. He enlisted as
well, signing up in the Navy at age 17. His parents begged
him to stay in school. He enlisted because he wanted to be
sure to get there before it was over. He remembered Pearl
Harbor. Everyone from his generation remembered Pearl
Harbor.

He got out of the Navy, applied for benefits under the GI bill
and went to college. Studied journalism. Met a girl and
married her. (Her father worked in the steel mills as well.)
Got a job with a top paper even before he graduated because
he needed the money. Started a family. Had a son in 1957.
Had another in 1964.

In 1965, at the age of 38, he weighed all of 130 pounds at a
height of 5'11". One day, he saw something at a newsstand
that caught his eye. It was a copy of Muscular Development,
the old York magazine edited by John Grimek. He picked it
up, flipped though the pages, started to read -- and started to
dream.

He started to lift weights three times a week in his back yard
patio. He did all of the basic exercises. Squats, presses,
rowing, curls, upright rowing and bench presses. He followed
John Grimek's instruction as closely as possible. He liked
Grimek. Grimek was a Slovak, just as he was. He thought
Grimek was pretty darn impressive.


In roughly a year, he packed 30 pounds of muscle onto his
frame. The difference was extraordinary. At 160, he looked
like he was carved from a granite slab. His eldest son thought
his dad was Superman.

He never entered any sort of competition. He never squatted
300 pounds, much less one thousand. He never benched 200
pounds, let alone 800. His upper arms probably measured 14
or 15" cold -- perhaps a tad more pumped, but nowhere near
the 24" guns the big guys claim in 2005.

He chugged a glass a day of gelatinous protein powders
mixed in milk. He liked Hoffman's Hi-Protein because
Grimek and Stanko used it. Blair's Milk and Egg Protein
tasted better, but it was expensive, and he was saving money
to send his kids to college. Besides, Blair's was just a little
too West Coast for comfort.

He never took steroids. He probably didn't know what they
were. He never attended any of the seminars after the lifting
meets where the traveling carnival of "champions" told the
local guys the secret of the little blue pills. If he'd been there,
though, he would have walked away without them. His father
had taught him the code: the secret that men know, that
fathers hand down to their sons, the one that deals with such
intangibles as honesty, integrity, knowing right from wrong,
and following the courage of your convictions. Little blue
pills were not a part of the code. Cheating is never a part of
the code. It never will be.

He was one of many men of a forgotten past -- men who
trained with a basic barbell and dumbbell set, men who did
the basic exercises, men who trained at home, men who read
Bob Hoffman's editorials, men who agreed with Peary Rader
when he said, "Don't Do IT!" (referring to steroids). Men
who believed (and still believe) that John Grimek was the
best built man who ever lived and Paul Anderson was the
strongest man in the history of the world.

He's 78 now. He still lifts weights, training three times per
week, using mostly dumbbells. He uses the same bars and
plates he purchased in 1965. He says he'll keep on training as
long as he keeps on breathing.

He's my father. And he's the strongest man I know.

Brooks

Originally Posted by P-funk

another great read from kubik. Nothing fancy, no training tips, no secrets. Just one hell of a great story.

Wow, that was a great read.