As a kid in high school, I never particularly liked math; I
was OK at it I guess, but it wasn’t my favorite subject. One
thing I did like about it, though, was that I immediately knew
where I stood. Back then, my ninth-grade brain wanted some
things to be at least certain.
You either got the right answer — or the wrong
one. If your test paper came back with a lot of red marks, then
you got the answers wrong.
And there was no arguing with the teacher, no
excuses to be made. The numbers didn’t lie. If I got a wrong
answer, it meant that I didn’t understand the problem correctly,
or I used the wrong formula, or maybe even made a mistake in
dividing or multiplying or even putting the decimal point in the
wrong place. It was my fault, and I would have to reapply
myself and do better next time.

What struck me the other day is that going to the weight room
is very similar to my experience in those math classes of long
ago. The world of mathematics is filled with the abstract
concepts of, among other things, quantity, reasoning,
calculation and measurement, resulting in theories and formulas
that great thinkers have put forth and wrestled with since the
beginning of human history.
As the wrong answers on my test papers showed,
math is subject to the matter of rigorous proof — the
application of systematic reasoning to avoid mistakes and
fallible intuitions. In its most basic sense, math teaches us
that correct axioms correspond with reality. Wrong answers do
not.
As I type these words into my laptop, I glance up
and look around my dimly lit, 5,000 sq. ft. weight room. To me,
it’s my dream come true — my heaven on earth. It’s filled with
everything that bolsters and support the world of lifting —
walls covered with thousands of photos from training sessions
and meets; pure, cold concrete and rubber matted floors, power
racks, monoracks, bench racks, monster leg presses, GHRs,
thousands of pounds of iron, and 30 other pieces of equipment
that surround the room. These are the steel walls where I could
return again and again to build my strength, my body,
self-esteem, business strategies and other facets of my life.
I used to think that the weight room was simply a
place of refuge, a place where I could escape from issues and
problems and concentrate on improving my performance. When
things started to sour in my personal relationships, when I went
through a living nightmare as a result, I ran to the weight room
for solace.
What I did not understand at the time was that by
running away to train, I was also running away from the real
issues in my life that would keep returning to make me unhappy
and cause pain.

In fact, I almost saw the weight room as the cause of
keeping me from dealing with the things I avoided and, in some
ways, this may have been true. What I was to learn, however,
was that the gym was not an escape from things, but
actually an entrance into the world of reality as I knew
it.
It was the place where I could find inspiration
and motivation, where I have had to deal with some of life’s
biggest challenges. And where I have hand some of my best
training workouts, business ideas and negotiations. In the
weight room, I have forged powerful friendships, held therapy
sessions and made some outstanding breakthroughs toward
achieving my goals.
To me, and to many others around the world, the
weight room is not just a place to train, but rather a Zen-like
temple — a place on symbolically higher ground where we
bring our hopes, dreams and aspirations. A place where we
commit to grueling personal discipline and the continual
challenge to improve ourselves: five more pounds on the bar, one
more rep, another pound of muscle mass, another pound less body
fat, more self-understanding. If we are serious, it is a way
of life.
The weight room is a place where the trials never
end. It is the place where we test ourselves continuously — we
struggle to reach one goal, and, as soon as we
reach it, there is another and more difficult one to meet.

And like in the hard-knuckle realm of
mathematics, the numbers don’t lie. If your training goal is to
bench 350 lbs., 345 or 349 won’t cut it. There is only one
right answer: 350. In the weight room, we learn the right from
the wrong, the good from the bad.
It is a place where, in our determination to
better ourselves, we learn control and self-realization. As in
much of life, things might not always go our way, but in the
weight room, we train to try to shape the outcome of our
goals as best we can.
In our programs and routines, we try to discover
the right way to train, to “turn the eye inward” and deepen our
understanding of what we are doing. We emphasize daily practice
and a focused concentration on the task at hand, that we may try
to achieve perfection. This means shutting out negative or
extraneous thoughts and controlling all that you need to.
As with any difficult challenge, there will be
sacrifices, disappointments, anxieties and frustrations, and
most likely injuries. But these trials, if we survive, make us
all stronger and better individuals. What we learn in the
weight room will prepare us for the body blows that life throws
at us.
During my life’s most serious crisis, I went to
the gym to train, and I learned more about myself in that one
day than in any other time in my life. I was alone, and in
doing one movement after another, my intensity of emotions kept
building inside, ranging from extreme anger to abject fear.
I cannot tell you how I trained or the weight I used, but I
can tell you I worked so hard that I had tears streaming down my
face. This was not crying, but they were tears of rage, fear
and finally — tears of happiness.
I was finally happy because I understood then that my
training was not simply an escape and an impediment to solving
problems, but a necessary and fundamental part of my life that
makes me who I am. I knew that all the discipline,
character-building and fortitude trials that I had endured and
mastered in the weight room were really all the tools I needed
to get through this most recent crisis, and any other crisis
that I might have to face.
What the weight room taught me — and still
teaches me — is that you have to have the right attitude. But
it’s having the right attitude that is hard. First comes
understanding yourself. Then, you take personal responsibility
for your actions and the way you want to live your life.
I have read emails and spoke to people with no
jobs, not a dime to their name, moving from place to place, but
only want to know how to get their bench up. Many would see
these situations as dysfunctional, but I see these people
hanging by the only thread they have at the time.
With luck, this one thread will lead to another and, in time,
they will get back on their feet. The far darker thought is what
might happen if they stop asking and abandon their training.

Trials will never end, of course. Misfortune and
adversity are bound to occur as long as people live. But those
of us that are serious in the weight room know things that
others do not. There is an understanding that penetrates deeper
than surface reality. You see, when you realize that for years
you have “been there, done that,” dealt with and overcome
adversity in the weight room, you’ll soon appreciate that you
already possess the ability to deal with life’s daily setbacks.
And with this understanding, we may lead fuller and richer lives
— indeed, all we can be, as the slogan goes. This is the goal,
is it not?
Maybe in time my “steal walls” will come down.
But, only when I am dead and gone and a scrap yard melts them
down so they can be crafted into someone else’s temple.
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