I thought long and hard prior to submitting this article for publication. I know some of you will not believe and that’s fine because the message is true. In the end, as powerlifters, strength athletes, and combat sport practitioners, we go to extremes to succeed. This is a tale of one such extreme.
The Big Easy
"This is crazy. This is crazy. This is crazy," I said. "I can't believe I let you bastards talk me into this." I was kneeling in the middle of a boat that felt little more than a bundle of pallets loosely tied together. We were slowly traversing the inner recesses of a Louisiana swamp.
"Get a hold of yourself," Will said. "And stop rocking the God damned boat."
"Are you sure about this?" Chris asked, looking to Will for confirmation, our vessel was moving at a painfully slow pace.
"Have a little faith," Will responded. To our immediate right, four mounds subtly surfaced from the murky water—gators.
"Jesus Christ!" two of us called out in unison.
The air was impossibly thick with mosquitoes. I was shivering with what I believed was certain to be the onset of malaria. We were all, the five of us, risking our lives. It was insanity. All this torture was to be endured for our deadlifts and, particularly in my case, the quest for the 700-pound pull. "Sir, is it much further?" I asked the boat captain, who seemed as slight as a hooded skeleton. Appearing to ignore my inquiry, he continued to pilot the boat with little more than a length of pole, a poor excuse for an oar.
“You sure she knows fat bar pulling, too?” Jon asked. He was referring to Marie Laveau, the former Voodoo Queen of New Orleans. We were seeking counsel with her spirit in hopes she would conjure the help we needed.
“For the last time,” Will said. “Marie doesn’t know shit about pulling. She’s going to put us in touch with someone who does.” Owen perched in silence, eyes closed in the back of the boat, no doubt visualizing the pull that would be his reward for risking his life on such a fanatical adventure. After what felt like hours, the Captain pointed to a light in the thick trees off in the distance. It was Laveau’s hut with a fire burning inside. She was expecting us.
Will’s Pitch—Strange Mardi Gras 
It was a late and dreary Thursday evening. Thunder boomed in the distance while I was deadlifting in the Beast. I was training with Owen, Jon, Chris, and Will. We were all pulling, and the weights were feeling extra heavy. “I need something else,” I said. “Some programming tweak or something. Tate’s tip with the khakis can only take my pull so far.” The Beast resembled a sound stage for a cotton Dockers commercial.
“I hear that,” Owen agreed. “My back is shot, and the meet is only a couple months out.”
Lightning flashed in the distance. I turned to Will. I could tell he had something on his mind. “What the hell’s the matter with you tonight? You’ve been quiet as a church mouse.”
“I can’t take all your deadlift bitching anymore.” Will removed his belt and slammed it to the sweat-covered rubberized floor.
“Come on, man,” I said. “Lighten up.”
“No, I’m serious, man. Bitch bitch bitch. That’s all I hear. Do you really want to do something to get your pull moving?” Will stood firm pointing a finger in my direction.
“Of course.”
“I’m not screwing around here,” Will said. “I’m talking about a serious opportunity, a serious opportunity to take your pull to the next level.”
“Let’s hear what you’ve got to say,” Chris said.
Will looked around, as though trying to determine if we were the only group left in the gym. “You sure you can handle it?”
“Hell, yeah,” Jon said.
“The five of us need to head to New Orleans.”
“New Orleans?” Chris questioned.
“Yeah, there’s something there we need to investigate.”
“Something?” Owen asked. Silence fell upon the Beast.
The Voodoo Behind the Pull
Our vessel slowly approached land, breaking though the moss-covered water. We were smack in the middle of alligator and cottonmouth territory, not to mention swamp rats and pervasive biting insects of all varieties. However, as we left the boat for the comfort of land, these animals were the least of my worries. I was preoccupied with the entity occupying the hut in this godforsaken territory. As we cautiously approached what we believed to be the one-time home of the Voodoo Queen, Marie Laveau, I turned to see the Captain hastily departing with our transportation.
“No turning back now,” Chris said.
“I think we’re fucked,” Jon said. I could see the worry in his young brow.
“Just keep your heads and be mindful of your surroundings,” Will said. “We’re going to be fine. Just fine.”
The door to the tiny hut slowly opened as we moved toward it, and she was standing there, a black woman, older but not unattractive. “Hello, boys,” she said. “I’ve been expecting you. My name is Marie Laveau, but you probably know me as the Voodoo Queen of New Orleans.” Yeah. The Marie Laveau who died in 1881. This is crazy. “Please. Please come in before you get eaten alive. Or worse.”
Or worse?
The Voodoo Queen turned, revealing the largest derriere I had ever seen in my life. It was reminiscent of two Volkswagens fighting for parking under her massive dress. “I know why you boys are here,” she said. “But before we get to that, can I fetch you a bite to eat? I’ve got some fresh turtle soup brewing over the fire.”
“I don’t think so,” we said, almost collectively.
“Thank you,” I added. Always be polite when speaking with a voodoo practitioner.
“Just get right to it then, I guess,” she said, as she turned and scratched her mighty rump. “You boys have come a long way to seek improvement and that’s commendable. I’d also like to be rid of you before the vampires come out.”
“Vampires?” Owen asked. “Real vampires?”
“Oh, they’re real alright but not to worry. Even they're sensible enough to leave the Voodoo Queen alone. At least most of the time.” I paused to wipe a generous dollop of perspiration off my forehead.
“You boys are looking for big pulls and I have just the thing for that.” The Voodoo Queen waddled over to a boiling caldron hung over her considerable fireplace. She bent over to lift a massive snake, draping it around her neck. “Relax, boys. His name’s Zombie and he’s friendly. Well, friendly enough. Just don’t make any sudden movements toward the Queen and everything will turn out aces.” She dipped a sizable ladle into the caldron and carefully poured five steaming drinks into as many primitive goblets, spilling nary a drop.
“Come,” she said, motioning us to approach the table holding the drinks. “This is what you’ve come for. Drink. Drink and you will find what you seek.” Each of us lifted our respective goblet, each waiting for the other to drink first. I looked from face to face, each coated with swamp mud and beaded with perspiration. Will nodded and raised his cup. We followed suit.
“Bon appétit,” Chris said.
I downed the bitter amalgam as quickly as I could. All at once the room started to spin, and I fell to the floor where I apparently lost consciousness, for how long I don't know.
The Great Emancipator 
I regained consciousness in a room that seemed subtly larger than I had remembered Laveau’s hut had been. I turned to observe my peers pulling themselves up from the dirt floor as well. There was no sign of the Voodoo Queen. I looked at Owen’s face to see his gaze drift over my shoulder. His eyes, suddenly as big as saucers, viewed the impossible. Behind me, he was standing there all of six feet, four inches and much thicker than portrayed in the history books. With traps bulging under his suit, his right hand brandished a large axe with a silver-tipped blade. It was unmistakably Abraham Lincoln, complete with his signature top hat. What the hell?
"Abraham Lincoln?" Owen asked.
"Yes, sir, young man. In the flesh. Well, in a matter of speaking." We shook hands and his grip was iron.
"I don't understand," I said. "We came all this way for help with our deadlift training."
"And it is assistance you shall have," Lincoln said. “My assistance.”
"You know how to pull?" Will asked.
“Listen to me, young men. You need a strong posterior chain to hunt vampires,” Lincoln paused. “Not to mention a thick back side to deal with General Lee, the Confederate Army, and the harsh realities of Civil War.” Lincoln grabbed his belly and laughed. It was good to see he had a sense of humor.
"How did I get my strong posterior chain?” Lincoln asked rhetorically. “Deadlifts. Heavy deadlifts. I officially pulled a 760 back in 1832 when I was just a young man of three and twenty."
“Rawdog?” Owen asked.
“Of course raw,” Lincoln said with a slight snicker, laying the axe down near his feet (for the moment). “We didn’t have gear back then.” He smiled.
"So you're here to discuss deadlift training with us?" Jon asked.
“I am,” Lincoln said. “Before I became involved in politics, I made a living performing manual labor. I was always strong and had skill at wielding an axe. I used to split wood for fire and rail fencing. In my downtime, when I wasn’t hunting, I pulled.”
Hunting?
Pulling from Horse Stall Mats 
“Let me share with you young men a technique that really helped get my deadlift moving whenever I stalled,” Lincoln said. He motioned behind him and there was a loaded bar resting on two separate stacks of rubber mats. “Horse stall mats,” Lincoln said. “Nothing fancy. It’s like pulling from wooden blocks, except they are easier to stack to various heights, as each is about three-quarters of an inch thick. Also, because the horse mats are really formidable, they won’t compress."
“I typically use three mats, which sets the bar at about two and a half inches off the ground but still well below the knee. My focus is to pull with the same technique I would utilize during a pull from the ground. I found that by utilizing the same technique, the work had a tremendous carryover to my deadlift from the floor.” Lincoln approached the bar, loaded to 245, took a conventional stance with a double overhand grip, and pushed through his heels. He knocked off five solid reps. “Be sure you put your feet in the right place. Then stand firm,” Lincoln said. “Now, you guys try.”
I approached the bar and pulled five easy reps. The others followed in succession. After each of us had a turn, Lincoln slapped another 45 on each side, bringing the weight to 335. He pulled a solid triple and we followed. “I trained my deadlift predominantly in two ways. The first was a competition style deadlift from the floor. By the way, I was always a better conventional puller, but my techniques work for sumo style lifters as well. The second exercise, which I discovered later in my lifting career, is the mat pull we are doing right now.”
Soon the bar was loaded to 605. Lincoln chalked his hands, approached the bar, pulled air into his belly, and ripped the bar to lockout. Owen and I followed suit.
“What are the benefits of pulling off the mats?” Chris asked. Lincoln glanced at me and loaded the bar to 625.
“I found that it allowed me to train the deadlift hard while simultaneously reducing some of the pressure on my lower back. I was effectively overloading the top end of the lift while performing more reps with a heavier weight. I liked feeling the heavy weight in my hands more consistently."
“Now pull that shit,” Lincoln said, looking to me. “Set a new PR off the mats right here and now.” I approached the bar, readying myself for a massive pull. Big air, chest up, and drive through the heels. I pulled as hard as I could, and the bar was moving. It was just above my knees when I feared it would stall. Bring your hips forward and lock it out. I did it. I locked out 625, dropped the bar, and gave Lincoln a big ole' bear hug. “Thank you, Mr. President. Thank you,” I said.
“I found that everyone responds a little differently to deadlift training. Some trainees respond well to rep training, and some respond to low reps and even singles,” Lincoln said. “I found that my pull moved mostly when I utilized heavy singles off mats, especially for the last four training weeks pre-competition.”
Eggers’ 625-lb deadlift attempt at the 2012 RPS Connecticut Powerlifting Battle of Champions
Nosferatu on the Bayou 
I was staring at my calloused hands, proud of my pulling accomplishment, when the climate of the room changed. I turned to Lincoln. A look of concern now adorned his mug. “Time for you gentlemen to leave,” he said, as he ran to the corner of the room and donned a thick leather overcoat. Vampire protective wear.
“What is it?” Owen asked.
“Vampires,” Will said.
“They are coming,” Lincoln added, leaving the deadlift platform to grab his trusty weapon of choice. Get behind me. We’re going to have to fight our way out.”
The walls of the hut began to tremble. All at once I thought the roof would be ripped open as we were trapped amidst a vampiric cyclone.
The Voodoo Queen of New Orleans suddenly reappeared. “Thought you could use some help,” she said to Lincoln.
“A friend is one who has the same enemies as you have,” Lincoln responded. He reached into his coat and removed several knives and a small pistol. He handed the pistol to Will and the knives to the rest of us. “Aim for the heart,” he said to all of us. “They are incredibly agile and powerful,” Lincoln said. “Keep your wits and we’ll make it through. Oh, how I miss Armstrong and Speed.”
Three vampires exploded through the door in front of us. As soon as I saw their black eyes and fangs, Lincoln threw his axe, the head of which buried in the chest of one of the vampires. The evil creature promptly dropped to his knees. “John Wilkes Booth,” Lincoln said to one of the two remaining vampires. “At last, we meet again.” The vampires prepared to charge when Lincoln hastily pulled a flare of some kind out of his coat and immediately lit it. The extreme bright light temporarily blinded the vampires, but it wasn’t enough to derail their attack.
Before I could react, I felt a sharp blow to the face that sent me sprawling backward at least five yards. I looked up from the floor to see that Chris had Wilkes Booth in a rear naked choke. Jon quickly ran to retrieve the axe and deftly tossed it back to Lincoln. Lincoln spun and, without hesitation, buried the axe in the chest of John Wilkes Booth. Chris released him from the choke and his body unceremoniously fell to the floor like a sack of sand. I could see Will and Owen working over the third vampire when suddenly everything went dark.
Afterward
Somehow we all survived. Except for the bumps and bruises, we emerged from Louisiana relatively unscathed and with new training tips for our respective pulling arsenals. The pulling has improved. The black eyes and fangs still haunt my dreams.
Summary of the Great Emancipator’s Deadlifting Tips
- Horse stall mats stacked 2–2.5 inches high gets the bar off the ground but still well below the knee.
- This allows you to train the deadlift hard while simultaneously taking some pressure off the lower back (tremendous carryover to deadlift from the floor if done correctly)
- This effectively overloads the top end of the lift and can allow for the feel of heavier weights more consistently without burning out.
- It can help boost pulling confidence prior to a powerlifting meet.