Arnold

by Arnold Schwarzenegger

  Yorton didn’t have what I would call a flowing posing routine. He ripped his poses off like a machine. Each one was just: bang! A number of the men in the smaller classes had smooth routines which made them look beautiful and fluid as they moved from one pose to another. But between Yorton’s poses there was nothing. There was just each pose. And you knew exactly what you were supposed to look at in each pose. He hammered them off one after another. He kept every muscle tensed, every muscle under control. His facial expressions were proud and relaxed. They always expressed one attitude: I am the winner.

  It was also the first time I realized how important it was to flex your legs when you posed. I wasn’t tuned in to legs. I was still hung up with the Austrian idea that chest and arms were everything—in spite of having chosen Reg Park as my idol.

  Yorton seemed to know all the little tricks. He had certain leg and foot positions that caused his calves to pop out like diamonds. In one double biceps pose he did a little twist with his hips that made his waist appear inches smaller. Another biceps pose he did not do in the regular way, with the fists in; he turned the fists out to show his forearm as well as his bicep.

  I ended up in second place. I knew I never could have beaten Yorton. He had all the qualities it took to be Mr. Universe—the muscularity, the separation, the definition, the skin color, the glow of confidence. He was finished, like a piece of sculpture ready to be put on display, complete with the patina.

  As always, once I was over the initial disappointment of losing, I began trying to understand exactly why I had lost. I tried to be honest, to analyze it fairly. Aside from my total lack of finish, I still had some serious weaknesses. I had come to the contest with something good, but not good enough to win. I had a lot of mass, a great rough cut. My weak points were calves and thighs. I needed to work on posing, on diet, and all the finer points of bodybuilding.

  For me, that was a real turning point. I decided I had to go back and spend a year on things I had never really given any time to at all. Once I’d mastered them, I knew I’d be on my way to being a winner.

  A number of people recognized this in me. After the contest they came around and talked about Steve Reeves, how he had won the title at twenty-three, how he’d been the youngest person ever. They said I would beat that record. “Next year you’ll win, Arnold. You’ll be the youngest Mr. Universe in history.” I knew they were right. Next year I would be Mr. Universe.

  But I didn’t look at it as a sure thing. I would have to go through a lot of changes in the next year. I knew the standards of bodybuilding were steadily moving up. Bodybuilders were becoming better and better. I’d seen the sport improve by leaps and bounds in the few years since I’d begun training. In 1962 Joe Abender, the Mr. Universe winner of that year, had 181/2-inch arms. The same with Tommy Samsone in 1963. But now the 19-inch arm wasn’t even big enough to get you in the top five. I’d come in second with 20-inch arms. Next year it would take even more. I had no idea what surprises would be coming from America. It was a crazy country with a seemingly endless supply of potential champions. Every year there was someone new from America, someone fantastic.

  I was relying on one thing. What I had more than anyone else was drive. I was hungrier than anybody. I wanted it so badly it hurt. I knew there could be no one else in the world who wanted this title as much as I did.

  Writers from the American muscle magazines came to me in the dressing room and asked for an interview. I thought they were joking. I laughed. “No, Arnold,” my interpreter said. “They’re serious.”

  They turned on tape recorders and had their photographers shoot pictures. They wanted to know how I trained, what were my secrets. I didn’t feel I had any secrets. I needed to know the secrets. What was going on? They kept questioning me. I talked about the basic exercises, my split routine for training.

  Finally I asked them how the champions in America trained. Then they thought I was joking. But I wanted to know. I could have asked Chet Yorton a thousand questions. I knew he lived in California, the mecca of bodybuilding. He trained with the top bodybuilders, Dave Draper, Larry Scott, the guys at the very top. He was only twenty-eight but he was considered an expert. From the way he looked and acted, I thought he must know everything. I asked him only a few questions. I didn’t want him thinking I was just picking his brain so I could win the title next year. Primarily, I was interested in legs. What did he do that was different? The exercises he named were not in themselves different, but the way he did them was. His number of repetitions was higher. This helped separate the muscles and burn in the cuts.

  I had thought perhaps he had some special exercises, but that wasn’t true. He concentrated on the standard exercises. That was his “secret”—concentration. He worked to get everything an exercise could give him.

  Being around Yorton backstage for a few minutes made me painfully aware of my own shortcomings. Aside from my weak legs, I hadn’t trained my abdominals and I showed none of the quality muscles, such as serrati, which make a nice little studding between the pectoral and the latissimus. My weakest important point was legs. I had built big thighs, but I couldn’t flex them. I couldn’t show any definition: my legs were like two huge clumps. I had trained my calves, but not correctly—and certainly not with a fraction of the effort I put into the rest of my body. Yorton was training his thighs and calves as seriously as his arms and chest. Although I was constantly flexing my chest and arms, I rarely bothered about flexing my leg biceps, and I never thought about trying to control my calf muscles.

  When I’d left for London, my friends and I, all the people who had contributed toward my ticket, thought it would be fantastic if I placed even in the top six. We discussed it in those terms and decided that doing so well in the first contest would be a clear indication that someday I could actually win the title. When they heard I’d come in second, they were ecstatic. Their minds were blown. They picked me up at the airport and rushed me into Munich for a big victory celebration. We had everything imaginable to drink—in kegs, bottles, cans. There was wild music and dancing. But there was just one thing in my mind: I couldn’t wait to get to the gym and start working for next year’s contest.

  Chapter Four

  I returned immediately to my training schedule. I didn’t lay off at all. Twice a day, religiously, I put everything else out of my mind and did my workouts.

  Other things began happening for me, things that would eventually affect the shape of my whole life. The man who owned the health club I had been managing suddenly announced he was ready to get out of the gymnasium business. He wanted to continue only publishing his magazine and manufacturing protein. He offered the business to me first. It was the perfect opportunity. I would be able to train and be independent. I couldn’t ask for anything better. But I didn’t have the money to buy the equipment. I could borrow some of it, but not enough. I was not established enough to go to a bank, and my friends had almost no money. I knew somehow I had to find the money. And I did—managing other clubs, selling food supplements, giving private lessons, and doing whatever odd jobs I could pick up.

  With these and the sums I was able to borrow from friends, I was finally able to scrape together enough to buy the gym equipment. Even then things did not let up. I still had the loans to repay and there were improvements that had to be made in the gym. It was a struggle, a hell of a struggle.

  At nineteen, in the Bavarian Alps, one week before placing second in the Mr. Universe contest

  I didn’t let my family know about these troubles. They had no idea what was going on. They were upset about my going from the Army to Munich, leaving home to manage a gymnasium and refusing to go on to school and prepare myself for some respectable profession. They called me periodically and wrote letters. They asked when I was going to get a real job, when I was going to become stable. “Is this what we raised,” they asked, “a bum?” “How long will you go on training all day in a gymnasium and living in a dream world?” I endured all this negative
thinking. Every time I visited home for a holiday, my mother would take me aside and say, “Why don’t you listen to your father, Arnold? Use him as an example. Look what he’s done with his life. He has accomplished things. He’s with the police. He’s respected.”

  I let everything they said pass over my head. My thinking went totally beyond that, beyond jobs, beyond Austria and small-town respectability. I continued doing precisely what I knew I needed to do. In my mind, there was only one possibility for me and that was to go to the top, to be the best. Everything else was just a means to that end.

  My parents had no idea how closely I was having to live during my early period in Munich or they’d have been even more insistent.

  One thing that saved me was my interest in business. I had majored in it in high school. I think somewhere in the back of my mind I realized I would have to have a good understanding of the mechanics of business in order to make my dreams profitable. I began putting this to use in Munich. I turned the publicity from having placed second in the Mr. Universe contest to attracting new members to my gym. In almost no time I built the membership from 70 to 200.

  Then, shortly after I returned to Germany, I competed in a contest in Essen. Because of my performance at the Mr. Universe contest, I was treated as a Superman. I don’t think the judges even bothered to look critically at me. I had the contest won the moment I walked through the door. Although it’s not customary to do any measuring during a competition, one of the judges took out a tape and measured my arm, which was over 20 inches. That was it for him, that was all he was concerned about.

  I went back to Munich with still more coverage in the bodybuilding press. That brought an even bigger increase of membership in my gym. Things were finally beginning to look better. I could pay my debts and still have money left for myself.

  Later that fall I received a letter from London asking if I would come to England to do an “exhibition.” Within days another one came from Newcastle, one from Plymouth, one from Portsmouth and another from Belfast—all asking me to do “exhibitions.” I was bewildered. What did they mean by “exhibitions”? I didn’t understand that side of bodybuilding at all.

  The London letter was from Wag Bennett, who had been one of the Mr. Universe judges. He had invited me to his house for dinner after the contest was over and told me he liked my type of body more than Yorton’s; he had, in fact, put me in first place. He had arranged the London show and had been instrumental in encouraging the other promoters on the English circuit to invite me. He informed me that he and his family would like to help, to advise me on my posing routine. I remembered that I’d felt comfortable with Bennett and wrote back to accept his offer.

  I flew to London a few days prior to the exhibition. Wag put me up in his house and proceeded to teach me to pose to music. At first I was indignant. I had won second place in the Mr. Universe contest. I thought, What makes him think he can show me how to pose?

  It was a stupid, arrogant reaction. The truth is, I could not have had a better or more understanding teacher. Wag Bennett had been judging contests for many years and knew a great deal about what was impressive both to judges and to an audience. In the living room, he gave me some initial instruction about what constituted effective posing. I didn’t want to take off my shirt. I wanted to wait and surprise him with how much I had improved since the contest the month before. When I did strip down to my trunks, he was impressed. And he said it was all the more reason to put together a dynamic posing routine, using music.

  I was totally confused by his suggestion that I pose to music. I didn’t have an ear for music, and I didn’t like the semi-classical stuff he said I ought to use. At the time, I thought anything old or classical was boring, a waste of time. I liked up-to-date music, something popular, with a beat, something that moved. He explained that for the purpose of the exhibition I had to use more complex music which had depth and texture. The record he felt would give me the range I needed was the sound track from the movie Exodus.

  Wag explained something I understood but had never bothered to formulate myself. Bodybuilding was show business, especially in its advanced stages of competition and exhibition. If I expected to make it big in the field, I had to become a showman. Naturally, that argument sold me.

  He put on the music from Exodus. At first, I was embarrassed. I had to laugh. I couldn’t pose to that. He urged me to try. He showed me how to hit the best, most dramatic poses during the high points of the music and how to do the less dramatic, more subtle poses during the quieter parts. He taught me to move and turn with rhythm and flow. He brought out photographs of other bodybuilders in action and ran films of them posing. He explained why some of them worked and others didn’t. After two days, I ended up with an entirely different posing routine.

  In the beginning, I’m not sure Wag thought I would be able to do it. As big as I was, and as uncertain, I imagine I looked clumsy and slow. Plus I probably showed very little progress. I’m never that good when I practice anything. It’s only when I’m really doing it, when it has to count, that I turn on. Which happened in London at the first exhibition. The moment I stepped out on stage, everything fell into place. The results amazed me. It all happened as Wag had predicted. The people applauded when the music was up, and when it was down they were quiet. The whole thing worked. After I’d finished, the audience kept cheering and applauding and I realized the music had done it. Before, my posing had been like a silent film and now it was a sound film. It gave me a whole new dimension. The lights were special to create shadows on the body, the music starting and stopping dramatically; I felt as though I were having something created for me, something very satisfying. I was up on a pedestal with 2,000 people watching and I felt great.

  That night I signed autographs for the first time. I couldn’t believe it. People crowded around me and shoved papers in my hand. I didn’t know what to do with them. “Sign them!” cried Wag. “They want your autograph.” What a feeling that was to write Arnold Schwarzenegger across the program. All of a sudden I was a star.

  Now bodybuilding did become show business for me. I bought Exodus and took it everywhere I went. I acted like a real professional, bringing my own music, telling the stage manager what lights to use and when to open and close the curtains. That’s my style. As soon as I grasp something, I take control.

  The response to these exhibitions throughout Great Britain was fabulous. The Dutch heard about them and asked me to come to Holland. They didn’t want just any bodybuilder. Even though I was a newcomer, they wanted Arnold. It had to do with having a big body, being spectacular. People could identify more closely with a huge body than with a perfect body. In those days, a perfect body was too advanced. People could relate to hugeness, to the animal spectacle of a big guy. They called me “The Giant of Austria” and “The Austrian Oak.” Articles read: “if Hercules were to be born today his name would be Arnold Schwarzenegger.”

  I did an exhibition in Holland, one in Belgium, then went back to England. I was paid 100 marks plus expenses for each exhibition. It was almost nothing but I was happy. I still had no money to speak of. But I was young. I knew there was money in my future. I was getting experience doing these exhibitions. I learned all the little gimmicks—that I should smile, not look too serious, oil myself carefully, and limit the number of poses to keep the fans shouting for more.

  I was becoming a pro. Already my actions were beyond my years and experience. I was growing so fast, moving ahead and becoming so suddenly famous in bodybuilding that I could barely watch what was happening to me.

  I trained hard that whole year. I kept training the same way, using the split routine—which I was no longer doing out of necessity. Now a lot of other bodybuilders started following this routine. American magazines wrote about the split routine as if it were my secret; it became the big thing. Everybody thought that was how I’d grown as much as I had in such a short time.

  Although the gym was a burden, I could see that it would be
profitable. I struggled through, paying my debts, making ends meet.

  I started having a good time in Munich. I met some bodybuilders who were serious about training. I was becoming a star, being interviewed and photographed, and I let that go to my head. I was young, full of energy, and began running wild. I got into powerlifting and trained with Franco Columbu. I turned Franco on to bodybuilding and he turned me on to powerlifting, on to heavy resistance training, which is different from bodybuilding. I liked the idea of really pressing a lot of weight, so I started competing in powerlifting events. Besides the ego satisfaction I got from working with heavy weights, it gave my body more mass, which I still felt I needed. It was an idea I couldn’t get out of my head. I was doing heavy squats, heavy bench presses, and this provided some of the foundation work of my body, which has always made me appear strong. Certain bodybuilders lack that look. They have good bodies but they don’t appear powerful. The reason is inadequate foundation training. Good early training shows up in the muscles around the spine. There is really no exercise for those muscles; their development is just an indication that you have put in some heavy ground work, heavy squats and heavy dead lifts, a lot of lifting and rowing. I had done these exercises from the start. I developed strong basic muscles which gave me the powerful look people wanted to see.