Like many others, I started weight training in high school. I found out I liked the lift when a new neighbor moved in and showed us the sand-filled weight set of his older brother. So long was the high school for me.
I kept it up during college and made my training the focus of my day. I loved it so much that I switched my major from mathematics to exercise science, and over 40 years and several degrees later, I've maintained it.
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But five years ago I met a rut. "Oh, shit, it's Beintag, what do you want to do," I say. "I do not know what you want to do," my training partner replied. We needed a change.
Luckily, I met a trainer named Art Boss at a NSCA state hospital in New Jersey, where he lectured on Strongman training. Art was quiet but captivating, inviting his audience to try out some of the maneuvers he'd described with a huge tractor tire, among other things.
After attending a walk with farmers, retooling the hoop, and lifting an Atlas Stone ̵
A friend of mine and another participant of the clinic agreed to try it with Art. We tried to squeeze an axle loaded with large truck tires, to pull a sledge over the asphalt driveway and much more. The training was tiring and intoxicating at the same time. I was addicted.