Iron and the Soul - Henry Rollins

Iron and the Soul - Henry Rollins

It
wasn’t until my late twenties that I learned that by working out I had
given myself a great gift. I learned that nothing good comes without
work and a certain amount of pain. When I finish a set that leaves me
shaking, I know more about myself. When something gets bad, I know it
can’t be as bad as that workout. I used to fight the pain, but
recently this became clear to me: pain is not my enemy; it is my call
to greatness. But when dealing with the Iron, one must be careful to
interpret the pain correctly. Most injuries involving the Iron come
from ego. I once spent a few weeks lifting weight that my body wasn’t
ready for and spent a few months not picking up anything heavier than a
fork. Try to lift what you’re not prepared to and the Iron will teach
you a little lesson in restraint and self-control.
I have never
met a truly strong person who didn’t have self-respect. I think a lot
of inwardly and outwardly directed contempt passes itself off as
self-respect: the idea of raising yourself by stepping on someone’s
shoulders instead of doing it yourself. When I see guys working out for
cosmetic reasons, I see vanity exposing them in the worst way, as
cartoon characters, billboards for imbalance and insecurity. Strength
reveals itself through character. It is the difference between bouncers
who get off strong-arming people and Mr. Pepperman.
Muscle mass
does not always equal strength. Strength is kindness and sensitivity.
Strength is understanding that your power is both physical and
emotional. That it comes from the body and the mind. And the heart.
I
prefer to work out alone. It enables me to concentrate on the lessons
that the Iron has for me. Learning about what you’re made of is always
time well spent, and I have found no better teacher. The Iron had
taught me how to live.
Life is capable of driving you out of
your mind. The way it all comes down these days, it’s some kind of
miracle if you’re not insane. People have become separated from their
bodies. They are no longer whole. I see them move from their offices to
their cars and on to their suburban homes. They stress out constantly,
they lose sleep, they eat badly. And they behave badly. Their egos run
wild; they become motivated by that which will eventually give them a
massive stroke. They need the Iron mind.
Through the years, I
have combined meditation, action, and the Iron into a single strength.
I believe that when the body is strong, the mind thinks strong
thoughts. Time spent away from the Iron makes my mind degenerate. I
wallow in a thick depression. My body shuts down my mind. The Iron is
the best antidepressant I have ever found. There is no better way to
fight weakness than with strength. Once the mind and body have been
awakened to their true potential, it’s impossible to turn back.
The
Iron never lies to you. You can walk outside and listen to all kinds of
talk, get told that you’re a god or a total bastard. The Iron will
always kick you the real deal. The Iron is the great reference point,
the all-knowing perspective giver. Always there like a beacon in the
pitch black. I have found the Iron to be my greatest friend. It never
freaks out on me, never runs. Friends may come and go. But two hundred
pounds is always two hundred pounds.