ZEROING IN ON THE MIND-MUSCLE ISOLATION CONNECTION
1 December 2005If you're new here, you may want to subscribe to my RSS feed. Thanks for visiting!
Part I of a two-part article.
ZEROING IN ON THE MIND-MUSCLE ISOLATION CONNECTION
A muscle parable
James wasnt getting any training traction and couldnt figure out why. It was easy for me to see why immediately. He trained at the same time I did at the local steel house and any old timer who casually observed his training could pin the tail on this donkey in five seconds flat. His sloppy bounced bench presses looked liked belly heaves. His butt came so far off the bench on each heavy rep that you could have driven a mini-van between his glutes and the bench surface. He would load up the weight belt when he did parallel bar dips but his rep stroke was all of about four-inches; he neither went down in his dips nor locked out at the top. His squats were the nose bleed variety, so named because of how high they were. He would load up the squat bar with impossible poundage, wear powerlifting knee wraps cinched so tight they cut off leg circulation and put on a weight belt so gargantuan he needed help buckling it. I doubt he dipped more than six inches on any squat rep. Ditto for his ridiculous leg presses: same lame procedureload about fifteen 45-pound plates on each side, wrap his knees, wear the gigantic belt and press the weight maybe six inches. He got a better back workout loading and unloading the leg press plates then he did leg pressing the weight. His cheat curls looked like reverse cleans and it is no exaggeration to say that his spinal erectors got one hell of a workout though his biceps received zero stimulation. Tricep pushdowns required he use the whole stack but the push traveled maybe three inches. Lateral raises were done with 60-pound dumbbells and he used more momentum to get the bells moving than an Olympic shot putter uses propelling the 16-pound steel ball.
Plus the yelling; oh yes, how could we possibly forget to mention the bloodcurdling screams that accompanied the final reps of every top set? It sounded as if the boy was having his fingers mashed with a 20-pound sledge hammer. The screams were impossible to ignore which was the intended purpose this kid was not only misguided in his training but obviously starved for attention. I thought of each scream as a pathetic cry for help. Eventually, it grew old and the management made him an offer he couldnt refuse: either cease and desist with the screams or find a new place to train. When Tim the night manager told him to shut up or he was going to kick him out on the spot, the boy stumbled backwards like hed been shot in the gut with a rifehis screams, he protested, were a natural expression of his incredible effort. Tim held tough and from that point forward the kid moped around like a castrated steer, without his screams, he was Samson shorn of his locks. I was shocked when later that week the boy approached me and asked if I had a spare moment. I was taken aback; Id never really spoken to him and was mystified as to what he wanted. To make a long story short, James was actually reexamining his training efforts and asked if he could train with me. Essentially he asked if I would I show him the training ropes. I was dubious but he seemed sincere. I told him the only way Id agree to this was if he trained exactly as I did. And no talking the only talking would be by me. I neither wanted nor needed his input so he would play the part of the compliant deaf-mute training partner. I told him to show up the following Monday at the appointed time and wed hit a chest and tricep workout. He agreed.
His problem, in a nutshell, was that hed been so poundage crazy hed shortened his rep strokes to next to nothing. His range-of-motion was nonexistent and his technique was so sloppy that he wasnt coming within a country mile of working the target muscle. When I spoke to him about zeroing in on the muscle and making a mind-muscle connection it was like trying to describe the Space Shuttle to Brazilian rainforest tribe. He scratched his head and scrunched up his face as I described proper bench press technique. Not only would he keep his buns on the bench for each and every rep but he would pause the poundage on his chest before firing it skyward. He started to protest when after a warm up set I loaded the bar to 185. He indicated that he was easily capable of 250 for reps. Not anymore I said. He struggled with 185 for 8-reps using the proper technique. Ditto for incline dumbbell presses which I insisted be done strict and with a pause. His dumbbell flyes, which used to be indistinguishable from dumbbell bench presses, were now done so wide and so deep that the bells touched the floor. We segued into dips and he looked around for the weight belt. I can do 10-dips with 90-pounds strapped on. He proudly proclaimed. Not anymore. I said. I made him drop all the way down and pause before pushing upward to a complete lockout. Hold the lockout for three full seconds. I demanded. He made six full reps using only his bodyweight before collapsing on number seven. By the conclusion of our third set of bodyweight dips he needed help to lock out the forth rep. Lying nose-breakers and overhead dumbbell tricep extensions were done with a full rep stroke and pee-wee poundage since that was all he could properly handle. Tricep pushdown were done going all the way up and all the way down. I stood behind him and pinioned his elbows to his side to prevent him from using his trick of heaving at the start to get the weight moving. At the conclusion of our 70-minute workout he was shaking like he had malaria. I made him drink a triple serving of protein powder in shake form and sent him home.
More tomorrow.
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