Arnold

by Arnold Schwarzenegger

  The year 1968 was intense. I worked out two and three hours at a stretch twice a day. I had enrolled in business school, trying to supplement the courses I’d had in high school. If I wasn’t training or taking care of the gym, I was in class or studying. The energy and momentum around me was unbelievable. I was insatiable, unstoppable. My friends were shaking their heads. “Arnold,” they’d say, “you’re crazy. You’re going to burn yourself out. Slow down.” I laughed at them and pushed myself that much harder.

  I arrived at the contest in London in that same spirit. I was every inch the winner. I knew that. I walked as though I already had the title won, as though there was no question that I would win and that the second-place man would be trailing points behind me. I was so huge and confident. And naturally I won. It could not have been otherwise.

  Winning my second Mr. Universe title, the Mr. Universe Professional (NABBA), opened up a whole new world for me. Joe Weider, publisher of Muscle Builder and Mr. America magazines and owner of the various Weider Enterprises, which serve the bodybuilding world, got in touch with me. He asked if I’d come to America to compete in the IFBB Mr. Universe contest in Miami, Florida, because I’d told him over the phone that I was interested. He said that then we could discuss the possibility of my remaining in America for a few months, training in California.

  Everything seemed to be happening right. My biggest dream had always been to go to America and train with the American bodybuilders. I wanted to learn from them, to get more information and—ultimately—to beat them. One thing I knew very little about at the time was the nutrition and drugs involved in bodybuilding. Americans had been the experts in scientific bodybuilding for a long time. It was a fact that up until then America had produced most of the best bodybuilders in the world. Since the percentage had been so high, I thought there must be a reason. Perhaps it was knowledge, or better food, or better drugs. If not these things, maybe it was just being surrounded by the best bodybuilders—as in Gold’s Gym. Positive thinking can be contagious. Being surrounded by winners helps you develop into a winner. Whatever it was, I was convinced that the answers were in America.

  I arrived in Florida still totally confident. I felt I was ready. I’d just won in London and the heat of victory was in my blood. At the contest, people immediately crowded around to have a look at my body. The Americans had never seen me and they were amazed by my size.

  Mr. Universe for the second time, at twenty-one, 1968

  When I went out to pose there was a strange silence, which puzzled me; I realized people were studying me. I gave them the biceps. Someone gasped. I could feel the crowd on the edges of their seats. It hit me then that this was America. I rose up and expanded every muscle fiber in my body. The crowd sensed it and cheered. I heard Americans shouting “Arnold!” I felt fantastic.

  It wasn’t until the pose-off that I realized how close a contest it was. There were guys here I’d never seen before. Frank Zane, in the medium class, had unbelievable cuts and an elegant posing routine. He posed gracefully, like a matador, like a dancer. His body seemed to have been tooled down with the chisels and gouges a sculptor would use on mahogany. The announcer called out my name for second place. I was stunned. Frank Zane had won the IFBB Mr. Universe.

  I came in second, on grounds that I was not defined enough, not perfectly developed. I was just the biggest, not the best.

  That did a little number on my mind. I went away from the auditorium overwhelmed, crushed. I remember the words that kept going through my head: “I’m away from home, in this strange city, in America, and I’m a loser. . . .” I cried all night because of it. I had disappointed all my friends, everybody, especially myself. It was awful. I felt it was the end of the world.

  But I’ve always been resilient. A day later I had gotten myself together. I’m going to pay them back, I thought. I’m going to show them who is really the best.

  I would train in America. I would use their food and their knowledge and work it against them. I would make it in America too.

  Chapter Seven

  I worked out an agreement with Joe Weider to spend one year in America. I would keep the gymnasium in Munich, have someone run it, and decide later if I wanted to stay or not. My desire, which I knew I could accomplish, was to train one whole year and beat everybody in America. My part of the agreement was to make available to Weider information about how I trained. He agreed to provide an apartment, a car, and to pay me a weekly salary in exchange for my information and being able to use photographs of me in his magazine. But the main thing I had was time, the freedom to stay and train four or five hours a day and compete in next year’s IFBB Mr. Universe contest in New York.

  Weider was seriously interested in me. I had come up extremely fast. At twenty-one, I weighed 250 pounds and had bigger measurements than any bodybuilder in the business. He knew I wanted to be the best and he saw the potential in me. It was good for both of us.

  I was excited. For as long as I had been involved in bodybuilding, I’d been aware of Joe Weider. I had read Muscle Builder and Mr. America magazines. I knew about his barbells, food supplements and the various other products he sold for the sport. He had contacted me because I could be useful to him. I accepted that. But I knew he could be useful to me. There were still a number of important goals before me, and this man could help me realize them.

  I found out right away that Joe had two personalities. The warm, beautiful, human Joe Weider in his private life, and the shrewd businessman at the office.

  I admire both sides of the man. Business fascinates me. I get caught up in the whole idea that it’s a game to make money and to make money make more money. Joe Weider is a wizard at it, and I liked being able to watch him operate. But I especially liked the humanistic side of Weider. When he comes to my parties or when we go out to dinner, he loosens up and has fun. He’s great to travel with or to be around when he shows off his home or his collection of antiques and paintings. We’ve spent some beautiful times together. On the other hand, we’ve also had some times when we were in strict business dealings that were not so pleasant. I’d seen that from the start, though; and I was always firm, always forceful. I knew I couldn’t rely on him to put my welfare above his own, for which I couldn’t blame him. It’s always foolish in business to say, “Oh, he’s my friend, he’s going to take care of me.” I’d been burned a few times in business before; I’d been taken advantage of in Munich, and I was determined not to let it happen again. Consequently I had to be as tough as Joe was when we did our dealing. A number of bodybuilders have not been as cautious and have found themselves backed into a corner because they thought, “Joe was really nice yesterday. He bought me a steak dinner. So he’ll give me a fair shake when we sign the contract.” But that’s not so. Business and friendship are two different things for Joe, as they should be.

  I think Joe is just naturally suspicious. He sometimes even feels his best friends are out to take advantage of him. Consequently, it’s almost impossible to get him to trust you in business. It was always frustrating for me because he would seem to forget a lot of things he promised and I would be forced to remind him of them. We had seven years of ups and downs. But I’m proud of that fact that I remained with him and that, because of my tenacity, it was a good experience. There is nobody who’s had a longer relationship with Joe Weider than I’ve had. And I don’t believe anyone’s come out better.

  The reason it worked was honesty. That was my policy with Joe from the beginning—and my policy with anything, bodybuilding, business, anything. Instead of just talking behind his back, I said what I felt right to his face. Which he didn’t always like, but which worked to solidify our relationship in the long run. If I didn’t like something he did I told him point-blank. And he was the same with me.

  Joe has played a big part in my life. He’s partially responsible for my business mind and my success in business. I learned a lot from him, and I appreciate that. He helped make it possible for me to remain in Ame
rica and work my way on to the top.

  The first year people said I was really in shape was 1969. Muscle Builder magazine for May had my photograph on the cover: “Arnold Schwarzenegger—New Muscular Phenomenon.” I trimmed down from 250 pounds to 230 pounds, which was a mind-blower for me because I was always pushing for gains, to be big. I couldn’t maintain that mass any more; I was in heavy, heavy competition with the best bodybuilders in the world. This time I had to turn toward perfection. I had to reprogram my thinking: the best is not the biggest but the most perfectly developed. I had realized this painfully with my defeat by Frank Zane, and had started chiseling down. However, I knew that I had an advantage over most bodybuilders: when you have the size, the whole rough cut, you can sculpt it into a masterpiece—which was the major thrust of my work this whole year. I cut down and cut down and cut down; I chiseled and polished, rendering that animal mass I’d brought from Europe down to the work of art I wanted. I had jewel-like abdominals for the first time; it was the first time I knew there was such a thing as a low-carbohydrate diet. I’d never heard of special diets in Germany. There you ate and worked and grew.

  One year in California had converted me to the cult that held it was the bodybuilder’s paradise. The sunshine, the sea air and the moderate climate made it ideal for maintaining a body like mine. I loved Gold’s Gym and the long, open stretches of beach, where I could run and then plunge into the sea for a swim.

  Gold’s Gym attracted the absolute best bodybuilders. It was almost an inspiration to work out there. A few weeks before any prestigious contest the noise level in the place would rise markedly. There would be less talk and more stone concentration. Cables would burn and sing through pulleys; steel plates would clank and ring; the weights lifted and dropped endlessly in the machines. It was like the background music for some ritual chant.

  When I got to New York City that fall for the IFBB Mr. Universe contest I was cut and chiseled and tanned and could feel myself glowing. I reviewed the lineup. One guy wasn’t there. This was Sergio Oliva, the Cuban bodybuilder, known as “the Myth,” who had won the Mr. Olympia for two years in a row. He was considered the top man, the best in the business. But he was competing in the Mr. Olympia contest, which was being held that same night. All this cat-and-mouse stuff made me furious. I went to the officials and asked if there was still time for me to enter the Mr. Olympia competition. They agreed to let me in. I said to myself, Tonight I’m going to wipe him off too, because it’s monkey business to keep going around in circles.

  I won the IFBB Mr. Universe contest easily. Seven out of seven judges gave me first place. All during the judging I had the feeling it was all merely preparation for the Mr. Olympia contest. Now, as far as I was concerned, I had beat almost everybody in the world—except this black guy, Sergio Oliva.

  I rushed to the Mr. Olympia contest. I entered the dressing room the way I’d been going in everyplace lately, like I was just taking over. Then, for the first time, I saw Sergio Oliva in person. I understood why they called him the Myth. It was as jarring, as if I’d walked into a wall. He destroyed me. He was so huge, he was so fantastic, there was no way I could even think of beating him. I admitted my defeat and felt some of my pump go away. I tried. But I’d been so taken back by my first sight of Sergio Oliva that I think I settled for second place before we walked out on the stage.

  Interestingly enough, Sergio beat me only four to three, and that was a surprise. I thought he should have beat me seven to zero.

  I never like to admit defeat, but I thought Sergio was better. There were no two ways about it. Though maybe he was not that much better. And that thought gave me energy to continue training, to go for another year. Again, I wasn’t going to let up, and I made up my mind to return to the gym without a break. I fixed in my mind the image of Sergio. For a whole year, each time I felt lethargic, each time I felt myself weakening under the weight, I flashed on that image. I was going to destroy the Myth.

  Pose-offs at my third Mr. Universe contest (IFBB), 1969

  A week later was the Mr. Universe contest of the other federation (NABBA), in London. They were always a week apart. I flew to London because there were certain American bodybuilders who had gone to compete in this Mr. Universe. They wanted to get away from me and start competing in other contests—so they could win. I knew I was making my mark.

  I showed up unexpectedly and I beat everybody there, winning my second Mr. Universe title in a single year. I had now won Mr. Universe four times. But there was still Sergio Oliva and the Mr. Olympia title. I had to beat Sergio. I went to Weider and said, “I’m pissed off, Joe. I want to stay another year, train as hard as possible, and beat Sergio.”

  My fourth Mr. Universe victory (NABBA), 1969

  Weider was pleased to have me remain in America. I talked him into bringing over Franco Columbu. It was important for me to be with Franco during a time when I wanted to adhere to a grueling workout schedule. Franco and I had become extremely close friends in Munich, and during my previous year of training in California without him I’d felt something was missing. Franco was largely into power training. I was training mostly for definition and symmetry. The result of our working together was the best possible training combination. Now Franco himself was hungry for winning. Together, we trained harder than ever before, spending long, hard hours in the gym.

  I did everything for refinement, for absolute perfection. I kept my diet strict. I used food supplements to regulate the proper amounts of protein and vitamins and minerals. I spent hours working out. I pushed myself past the limits of pain. I went to a dancer at UCLA and started taking ballet lessons to further improve my posing. This dancer showed me how to move my hands gracefully, when a hand should be opened and when it should be closed. We talked about what a fist represents, what an open hand represents, how you should move for the greatest impact, using your hands as a signal. For instance, if you start a circular movement you should open your hand, and if you come down in a sweeping movement you should close it in a fist. All this helps give grace to your posing routine. And grace is one thing people don’t expect from a big guy like me. That’s why it’s kind of shocking when I’m onstage posing and I move and flow into this smooth, super-graceful catlike routine. It definitely has a positive effect on the judges.

  For some reason in 1970 the order of things was reversed. The NABBA Mr. Universe contest was scheduled in London a week before the IFBB Mr. Universe and Mr. Olympia contests. I went to London first and had the shock of my life. One of my competitors was Reg Park, my idol. Over twenty years after his debut in bodybuilding, he had trained a year and staged a comeback.

  Fun at Venice Beach

  Competing with Reg Park for NABBA Mr. Universe, 1970

  Posing with Frank Zane after winning my fifth Mr. Universe title

  I couldn’t believe it. Here I was competing against my idol, whose pictures I’d hung up all over my bedroom, whose words I’d lived and trained by. Thinking about it left me with this weird, unreal sensation. I said to myself, “There are two possibilities open to you: one is to beat Reg, and you most likely will, and destroy your idol; and the other is to leave London and not compete at all.” I decided that leaving was stupid. It would be good for my ego and good for publicity to compete against Reg, to destroy my idol and win. We were both competitors, sportsmen, and there was a dignity in that. I didn’t look at it as beating Reg Park but as being able to step up beside him, to finally share an equal place with him.

  I entered the competition and I did beat him. He placed second, and Dave Draper third. It was one of the toughest Mr. Universes ever witnessed. It was the hardest year, period. Everybody went to London, Reg Park, Dave Draper, Boyer Coe and Dennis Tinnerino.

  One day later the Mr. World contest was being held in Columbus, Ohio. All the eligible contestants flew immediately to New York. The contest officials picked us up in a private jet to insure our making it to Columbus on time. Another shock: Sergio Oliva was there. I hadn’t expec
ted him yet. I thought Mr. World would be an easy win and then I could go on to the Mr. Olympia contest two weeks later in New York and then face Sergio. At that point I wasn’t sure I was ready for him, mentally. But I was feeling really strong after beating Reg Park and all the other previous Mr. Universe title holders, and I figured I was well on my way. My momentum was up. I had to do it. “Now’s the time, Arnold,” I told myself. “Screw you, Sergio. You can’t bug me any more. This time I’m going to take over.”