Bodybuilding Life
FEATURE ARTICLESTORIES FROM THE WEIGHT ROOM
by Steve BuccilliThe year 1987 found me training at a local church. Yes, the pastor of the church had realized a long time ago that the way to keep youth off the streets and out of trouble was to build a weight room. It was in the boiler room of the church, and could not have been placed in a better location. We had a concrete floor and walls; it was warm in the winter and somewhat cool in the summer.
On this day I was training legs. Legs had become a passion of mine, since they were the first muscle to show promise. At 17 years old, I had been lifting for 7 years -- and today I was ready to tear up the gym. I had my own key to the boiler room, so when the priest wasn’t home, I just walked over to the church and let myself in. I had to descend the stairs to the boiler room. Once I entered, I turned on the lights and closed the door. We had a nice set-up down there: cable cross overs, which allowed us to do every imaginable cable exercise; a hack squat machine, which also converted into a leg press; a sturdy power rack, as well as a heavy-duty incline and flat bench.
I always started out my leg workout with squats, but I had just read an article about Sergio Oliva training legs under the tutelage of Arthur Jones, so I decided to give that routine a try. It consisted of leg press work, supersetted with hack squats, followed by regular squats -- all performed nonstop. However, I threw in a twist. I would perform my first set of leg presses to complete failure to stretch my quads, then jump onto the hacks. After a brutal set of hacks, I would jump over to the bar and perform regular squats, trying to get 100 reps before failing.
I started out leg pressing at 560 lbs. I was never a strong leg presser; it always hurt my lower back. In any event, I performed my warmup and proceeded to my working set. As I started pressing, beads of sweat formed on my forehead. Seven reps, 8 reps, 9 reps, soon my shirt was drenched, 10 reps, 11 reps, 12 reps, my breathing was almost uncontrollable, 13 reps, 14 reps, 15 reps, the sound of the leg press machine was something like “swoosh, swish” as it went up and down, the sound of my breathing was like “hufffff, pufffff.” Anyone walking by might have mistaken my workout for a rail yard with a steam engine preparing to pull away. After 20 reps, I could press no more. I locked out the sled and jumped up to stretch my now engorged thighs.
Now for hurdler stretches. I almost screamed as my quads were stretched to make more room for blood. The lactic acid filled my thighs up with liquid pain. On to hacks. The weight would not change, but the time it took to complete the set did. Again 8 reps, 9 reps, 10 reps, huffff, pufffffff, swoosh, swish, when would it stop? It felt like 10 minutes had passed before 20 reps were completed. I thought to myself, “What in God’s name am I doing?” "God’s name" was right, but under the church I felt as if I had been sent to hell to beg for forgiveness!
Now for squats. I only used a third of the weight I was cable of, loading the rusty plates onto the bar. Thankfully it was only one 50 lb. plate per side, the combined weight (including the bar) being 120 lbs. total. Under the bar, I cranked out the first 10 reps. Now all you could hear was “huffff, pufffff,” and the occasional “piftsss.” This sound sometimes came in a deliberate cadence, sometimes in rapid-fire succession. Twenty reps came and went, as did 30. When I got to 50, I had to stop. Ten merciful seconds, as the bar never left my shoulders, then back to work. Sixty reps, 70 reps, breathe damn it, 80 reps, head begins to spin. Come on, only 20 reps to go. Stomach turning, 90 reps, 95 reps, finally 100 blessed reps!
I racked the weight, dipped under the bar and out of the confines of the power rack. Took a step backwards, and my left knee buckled. It felt somewhat dreamlike as my entire body began to fall backwards. I looked up at the ceiling and caught a glimpse of the one and only light bulb. Then no more light.
I awoke to the sounds of “Blessed Are We.” Was church starting? How could that be? Saturday evening services didn’t start until 6:00 p.m. I had gotten here at 1:00 p.m. Surely my workout had not taken that long? I stumbled up, my legs cramped and in knots. I looked up the 12 or so stairs I had to climb. There at the top, in shock, was the pastor dressed in his robes for Mass. “Have you been down there this entire time?” he asked. I smiled a crooked smile and said, “I guess so, I really do not remember.” The mass over, Father promised to take me home.
I’ll never forget that day. Or that place. Or Father. Some people had Venice, some had Gold’s, some trained under gurus. But I had a small part of heaven in that boiler room. It could have easily been hell, except that I loved it!
Steve Buccilli
March 2006
ROID BUST AT THE PIER ? THEY THOUGHT THEY HAD ME!
11-28-04 on Chad Nicholls Muscle Mayhem Forum, Discussions and Questions
Yesterday, Saturday, Nov. 27th, I disembarked from the cruise ship Crystal Serenity at Port Everglades, Florida, after completing a 7-day Caribbean cruise.
Now I've got to tell you that for one thing I don't look like the typical "Crystal" passenger, who might be 60-80 years old. But as a typical "7 meal a day" bodybuilder I need a cruise line that can provide me with 24-hour room service where I can literally order anything I want, not just a burger or club sandwich.
Further, I traveled on the cruise with 3 suitcases (I never travel light!) and two plastic file folder boxes, one containing articles I've collected over the years related to contest prep and the other containing articles about diet, training, and "other supplements." I never have the time to go through them much at home so a cruise is the perfect time to go through them.
Long story short, I walked off the ship yesterday after it had been cleared by U.S. Customs. I immediately located a porter, found my 3 suitcases and 2 file folder boxes under my designated "color" area for them, and proceed to exit the customs area with the porter.
Keep in mind while I am not the biggest guy around by a long shot, there is no questioning I am a bodybuilder even when totally covered up (I was not wearing baggies with a tank!).
Anyway just as the porter and I are going through the final exit where you are expected to surrender your customs declaration, the customs lady standing there asks what is in my two file folder boxes. I hesitated wondering if I should just say "office work" but thought, no, I will tell the truth even if it opens Pandora's Box. Well, that's exactly what happened because the moment I said the contents were files on "Bodybuilding" she yelled for 2 customs officers and shouted "Do a 2nd on him!" Suffice it to say, that meant tear everything I have apart!
The two customs officers, who looked they were in "heat" and ready to "make the kill," proceeded to take the next hour and half and went through every item in my suitcases and every file folder in the 2 "bodybuilding" file boxes. They did this in full view of the other disembarking passengers, which was a little bit humiliating to say the least. Needless to say, after the hour and a half was over, they looked like two very disappointed school boys and simply said, "You can go now." To which I replied with a big smile, "Sorry boys to have disappointed you!"
Worldspan
Russian bodybuilder becomes millionaire and prisoner in the USA
(link added April 10, 2005)http://english.pravda.ru/main/18/90/361/14947_bodybuilder.html
Steroid & baseball song:
http://www.markfiore.com/animation/sing.html
Adventures of a bodybuilding contestant -- four reports from the New Haven Register:
http://www.nhregister.com/site/news.cfm?newsid=13852250&BRD=1281&PAG=461&dept_id=517515&rfi=8
http://www.nhregister.com/site/news.cfm?newsid=13855751&BRD=1281&PAG=461&dept_id=517515&rfi=8
http://www.nhregister.com/site/news.cfm?newsid=13861985&BRD=1281&PAG=461&dept_id=517515&rfi=8
http://www.nhregister.com/site/news.cfm?newsid=13870447&BRD=1281&PAG=461&dept_id=517515&rfi=8