Reg Park had been a powerlifter; he had done squats with 600 pounds, bench presses with 500 pounds, and dead lifts of over 700 pounds. I saw no reason why I shouldn’t continue in the same groove. I won the German championships in heavy-weight powerlifting before I stopped. My body weight was up to 250 and I convinced myself that it was time to chisel down, to start getting more quality in my body.
I met Reg Park in January of 1967. After winning second in the Mr. Universe contest, I began writing letters to him. Before that, when I was just a young bodybuilder, a nobody, I hadn’t been sure he would bother to answer. But now he did write back, saying he had indeed heard of me and was looking forward to meeting me sometime. He said he was doing a show in London at the beginning of the year and suggested that we might meet then. I wrote to Wag Bennett and asked if there was any way I could do the exhibition with Reg Park.
I remember training in the gym in London and hearing he would be arriving there in an hour. I kept training and getting more and more excited. I was like a child. I was going to meet my idol for the first time. I felt giddy. I increased the weight on the barbell. I looked at myself in the mirror. I kept working—as if I could finish my body before he arrived. I wanted to be pumped up; I wanted to be at my best. I was very nervous about it. My mind was churning.
Then he walked in the door. It was really incredible seeing my idol for the first time. I recall having this foolish self-conscious smile on my face. I just kept looking at him and smiling—almost like when a girl has a crush on a boy and she doesn’t know what to say; she just has this smile on her face. I was absolutely speechless. I was afraid to talk. I didn’t know how to approach him, what to say. I wanted to say only the right things. I wanted his attention, his approval of my body, his compliments, which I got. But it must have been strange for him. I ran around like an excited little kid, looking at his muscles, trying to talk to him—which was difficult, since at the time I still didn’t know English well. But we had a beautiful communication going without really having to say very much. For so many years, Reg Park had been part of my life. Now I could finally train with him, watch him. He was famous for certain muscles I didn’t have—such as calves, deltoids and abdominals. These are the major muscles one needs to look really Herculean. That’s when I cut out the nonsense and started getting his whole program down.
Meeting my idol, Reg Park, for the first time
I went with Reg on the entire exhibition trip—to Ireland, to Manchester and the different cities in England. We had the same kind of body, tall and wide and huge, and this was appealing to a large audience. At the first exhibition he introduced me to the audience, saying that as far as he was concerned I was the next Mr. Universe. In a few years I was going to be the greatest thing bodybuilding had ever seen.
I traveled with Reg Park for a week. I watched and learned a lot. One inspiring thing was that his body tuned in the same way mine did. We both liked the heavy, heavy workouts with barbell sets and not as much with dumbbells. It was fantastic having Reg Park as a training partner, working with me, standing above me to help if a weight was too heavy or I cramped up from too many reps. I’m sure I wore him out during the tour. There were so many things to talk about that still seemed mysterious. Such as how different bodybuilders had to do different exercises for different body parts. According to Reg, the reason was bone structure. It was obvious, for example, that a guy with short legs had to do fewer squats because his legs would fill up much faster—which was why I should never squat with a short guy; my long legs required more squats, more weight.
Working with Reg Park for that short time helped more than anything to clear up the little confusions I had about the principles of other champions. I learned that you can’t really say, “You must do this to get such and such a result.” You have to try out certain things and find out what is best for your own body. I collected advice from Reg the whole time. I wrote it all down to take back to Munich and use as it seemed to serve me best. In the end, he promised he would invite me to South Africa the next year to do an exhibition with him. But he said it was contingent upon my winning Mr. Universe the coming year. He thought I would win for sure—if I worked hard.
Back at the gym, I trained almost totally according to Reg Park’s principles and system: keep the exercises simple. There were certain moves he did that were different from mine and I adopted them. I knew that in the coming year I had to be supercritical. I had to analyze and work on my faults harder than ever before.
I discovered that taking measurements gave me both satisfaction and incentive. I measured my calves, arms and thighs regularly, and I’d be turned on if I saw I’d increased an eighth-inch or a half-inch. On a calendar I kept even fractional changes in measurements and weight. I had a photographer take pictures at least once a month. I studied each shot with a magnifying glass. I hung around people who were aware of physical shape and who could continually give me compliments. Suddenly I was up all the time. My confidence soared.
Meeting Reg Park helped me in a number of ways. One was to make me want to become a better person. There was a funny period I went through which began about the time I was nineteen. I’d become fully developed physically, weighing between 240 and 250 pounds. I’d begun to get a lot of notoriety and I started feeling superior to everyone. I think that when you’re almost up to the top, but not quite there, it’s easy to be carried away with what you imagine to be your own importance. I was pretty ego-oriented anyway. I already felt I was better than anyone else. I felt as if I were a Superman or something. That was my attitude: macho. I was strong and I walked the streets feeling and acting tough. If someone made the slightest remark or gave me trouble I would hit them over the head. I was aggressive and rude. I’d go into a beer hall where we ate dinner after training and start a fight for no reason at all.
It was a bad time. Now, looking back on it, I’m embarrassed. I was nothing more than a punk, a big bully throwing my weight around. I had fights almost every day. It might be in the train station with an Italian or a Greek. Or it might be in front of a girl, just to show off what kind of a man I was. I made a lot of trouble, got in scrapes with the police, drove crazily, collected handfuls of speeding tickets—they were all connected with my need to emphasize my masculinity, my superior size and strength. But when I’d finished my tour with Reg and built up the momentum of my training schedule for the Mr. Universe contest, I grew more and more satisfied with my progress and became aware of how good my body was, how good I was. Then gradually I could allow myself to admit how bad I was in other areas. The more I won, the more I started feeling like a human being again, just a normal guy. I became so content to work hard and drive myself to the top that the whole business of fighting and acting out the macho role went away. In the space of a month it was gone. I suddenly knew who I was. But in a way I think it was important for me to have gone through this period early, because I could look back, see how stupid the tough-guy stuff was, and not waste any more of my life.
The whole point of the tough-guy business was just to psych myself up, have another way of telling myself I was great. It was part of the winning trip. “I’m great, I’m the greatest.” I was continuously trying to convince myself of it. In fact, I did it so well I forgot there was another life besides the life of a bodybuilder, besides my life. I was trying to prove something, because I was frustrated, because I was still not the best. I use a perfect example in the book Pumping Iron. When you have a BMW, which drives well although it’s not a great car, you try to race with everybody to prove that it has speed. But when you have a Ferrari or a Lamborghini you know you can beat anybody on the street. You don’t race any more. You start driving 55 on the freeway. Anybody can pass you and you know that if you step on the gas they’re gone. You know how good you are, you don’t have to prove it any more. It was the same for that period in my life. I wanted to think I was the greatest bodybuilder but I wasn’t. Not yet. Not even in my mind. That’s why I had to spend every minute trying
to prove it.
My life changed in other areas. For the first time ever, I had a steady girl friend. It was the first stable relationship I’d had in a long time. It made training easier and calmed me down—I no longer had to prove through rudeness how much of a man I was.
Chapter Five
I knew I was a winner. I knew I was destined for great things. People will say that kind of thinking is totally immodest. I agree. Modesty is not a word that applies to me in any way—I hope it never will. But there are a number of things I had concluded about myself by that time—which was just prior to my second Mr. Universe contest. I’d formulated them in a simple list. I went down this list periodically and checked it off item by item.
Number One: I had the right chemistry. My bone structure was perfect—long legs, long arms, long torso. Plus, everything was in proportion. It fell together and flowed.
Number Two: I was learning to utilize both the good and bad points of my upbringing. Because of my strict parents, I was very disciplined. However, I didn’t get certain things I needed as a child, and that, I think, finally made me hungry for achievement, for winning in other ways, for being the best, being recognized. If I’d gotten everything and been well-balanced, I wouldn’t have had my drive. So, as a result of this negative element in my upbringing, I had a positive drive toward success and recognition.
Number Three: I started training in an area where there were no distractions; there was nothing else going on, and that gave me enough time to concentrate and find out what bodybuilding was really all about.
Number Four: I always had a positive attitude about going to the top. Never was there even the slightest doubt in my mind that I would make it. And this helped me keep training and trying. I was determined and constant. I never wanted to pause or stop training. I trained twelve months of the year, really hard, with no letup. Most of the bodybuilders didn’t do that. I sacrificed a lot of things most bodybuilders didn’t want to give up. I just didn’t care, I wanted to win more than anything. And whatever it took to do it, I did.
Number Five: I was honest with myself about what my body looked like and where I’d have to improve. As soon as I became aware of a weak point I went all out to eliminate it. For instance, in the beginning everybody said, “Arnold has no calves. Compared to his thighs or arms, his calves aren’t developed at all.” One look in the mirror told me they were right. I had to have better calves. I had to train my calves every day and twice as hard as any other muscle. That’s what I did. And a year later I had calves. Then someone said to me, “Arnold, you don’t have enough deltoids.” So I trained my deltoids really hard. I developed my own exercise called the Arnold Press, a rotating exercise designed to work directly on the deltoid, which we will get into when we talk about training. All my energies, both psychic and physical, were focused on one thing: becoming Mr. Universe. It would not be a sure win—not at that point. I wasn’t blind. I had weak points—glaring weak points—and I got to work on them. Many bodybuilders refuse to do this; they keep working on their strong points, which is more gratifying. But I didn’t want the best arms or legs or chest. I wanted to be the best-built man in the world.
In Munich with Gerhard Mueller, the world’s top soccer player, 1967
I knew I had what it took. Now I had to bring it all together. This took posing ability, showmanship. I had to be able to handle my body on the posing platform during prejudging. I refused to just imitate somebody else. I developed a posing routine that fit me and my body, my size and my style. I cut out magazine pictures of other bodybuilders posing. Sometimes I saved only the hands or the twist of the torso. I circled the part I liked. Sometimes the pictures were not of bodybuilders. I looked for models and dancers in poses I really liked, poses I thought I could do. I was trying for something distinctive, something strong and fluid and powerful and beautiful. When I put them all together, I had twenty poses. I went through them, arranging and modifying, working to tie one pose to another pose, until I had something that said Arnold.
I was a rough type, but with symmetry and elegance. I had to capture that style. Posing is an expression of you, it’s a part of you. I was like a cat. My body was supple, smooth. I wanted a lot of movement in my posing routine, which was something I didn’t see in many bodybuilders. I wanted to move like a cat, going gracefully from one pose to the next, making a lyrical sweep and then hitting it with power: Boom! Just like a cat when it jumps—making this beautiful, silent jump—then landing with a lot of noise and force. A cat kills, a big cat. And that’s what I wanted to do.
I’d close my eyes and think about how I was going to look up there. I would visualize it and try to mold it together. Gradually I narrowed it down to the poses best suited for me, the strong, catlike poses, and I worked slowly at putting together a complete, flawless routine. I tried this routine at an exhibition and then asked people to criticize it. I insisted on hearing what they did not like. I got criticism from close friends, people who knew what I was up to and gave me honest feedback. I needed their criticism. I went home and worked on those weak points.
One word was constantly on my mind: perfection. I concentrated on remaining in a pose for a certain amount of time. It was important to hold it for a minute to get rid of the shaking and to let the muscles know how they should be flexed. I had my routine filmed, I ran it over and over. I watched myself. I analyzed my routine and criticized it. That’s how I learned. I spent countless hours posing, more hours analyzing.
Posing is pure theater. I understand that and I love it. There are bodybuilders who put almost no time into posing. And, of course, they don’t win.
I also spent time watching other guys pose, watching films of them, especially guys I was going to compete against, to determine their weak points, their strong points. Then, on the day of the contest, I could outpose them. I’d see where they did slow poses, and figure out how I could put in three poses for their one, and thus be able to show many more body parts to the judges. All of this together made me certain I’d win.
Each night before I went to sleep I thought, “The better you pose, Arnold, the more it will look as though you’re really in charge of yourself. You can handle yourself. You are confident. You are good. The better poser you are, the fewer facial expressions you will make. Keep your face relaxed. Your face will show that you are a winner. You are a winner, Arnold.” I wrote this down and put it where I would see it. I repeated it a dozen times a day.
Your mental attitude has a profound effect on the judges. When you compete, your whole attitude is important. You have to be proud, you have to stand proud, your moves should be full of pride. You can pose as a loser and you can pose as a winner. It’s very hard to explain, but I always recognize the look when I see it. A typical loser will do a double biceps pose, for instance, and hide in it; he’ll just hide behind his biceps. A winner will do a double biceps pose and really open up. With his motions, he says to the judges, “Look at these muscles!” That makes the difference. If he changes from one pose to another with a big sweeping motion, you know he’s confident; and if he smiles, then you know he has it.
I had noticed one thing wrong with almost every one of my competitors. On the day of the competition they were concerned only about their own bodies—that they looked good. I always felt that was a mistake. If you have to worry about your body on the day of competition you’re worrying about it a little bit too late. You should worry about your body during the year of training, and on the day of the competition you should worry about the other guys’ bodies. Which means that you should think about them, analyze them, and act according to how they look and what they do. I prepared myself for it. If someone came up with one pose, I knew I could come back with another. I knew when to put my energy into serious posing in front of the judges; this is when you win or lose. Posing in front of the audience is less critical; it’s a kind of ballet, where you basically go through the poses as a performer and there is no competition. Both times are serious—except that
before the judges is when you’d better be making every move count.
One point in my favor was that my body has always been dramatic and spectacular, more than the average bodybuilder’s. The main reason for this is a trait I share with Reg Park. I look very symmetrical when I stand relaxed, without the too-wide, squared shoulders and the arms that appear propped away from the ribs by a surplus of muscle that characterize most bodybuilders. I’ve never minded that my body doesn’t look massive when I’m standing relaxed. It has always had a nice muscular look, but nothing freaky or unusual. I never tried to tense it up, to get musclebound. However, when I posed my whole physique would change radically. My body would open up like an accordion and my muscles would appear. Even in terms of measurements the difference was phenomenal. Hanging, my arm would measure 19 inches; when I flexed, it would balloon to 22 inches. The same thing was true of my chest. I could make my chest expand so dramatically it shocked people; they didn’t know where it came from. My thighs always looked thin, too, but when I flexed they exploded. It was a direct result of working with more repetitions and less weight. Because if you always train with heavy weights you get to look like Franco Columbu; your muscles are always there. Then when you pose there’s no real surprise. I don’t want to knock that look. For myself, I prefer the more dramatic body, the showman’s body.
I had won the Mr. Universe title in my mind. My imagination was primed, my body ready. I was working to create the greatest, most perfect body anybody had ever seen.
I had lists and charts of the things I needed to concentrate on pasted all over. I looked at them every day before I began working out. It became a twenty-four-hour-a-day job; I had to think about it all the time. I had to make it clear to my mind that now my calves were equally as important as my biceps. It took a while to get this idea firmly planted because for years my mind had been focused on biceps training as the most important element in bodybuilding.
Arnold Page 6