I have now been bodybuilding for ten years, seriously for almost five years. During the past few years, I have been trying to write about bodybuilding. Having failed time and time again, upon being offered the opportunity to write this essay, I made the following plan: I would attend the gym as usual. Immediately after each workout, I would describe all I had just experienced, thought and done. Such diary descriptions would provide the raw material.
After each workout, I forgot to write. Repeatedly. I... some part of me... the part of the ‘Tl’ who body builds... was rejecting language, any verbal description of the processes of bodybuilding.
I shall begin describing, writing about bodybuilding in the only way that I can: I shall begin by analyzing this rejection of ordinary or verbal language. What is the picture of the antagonism between bodybuilding and verbal language?
Imagine that you are in a foreign country. Since you are going to be in this place for some time, you are trying to learn the language. At the point of commencing to learn the new language, just before having started to understand anything, you begin forgetting your own. Within strangeness, you find yourself without a language.
It is here, in this geography of no language, this negative space, that I can start to describe bodybuilding. For I am describing that which rejects language.
Elias Canetti, who grew up within a multitude of spoken languages, began his autobiography by recounting a memory. In this, his earliest remembrance, the loss of language is threatened: “My earliest memory is dipped in red. I come out of a door on the arm of a maid, the door in front of me is ted, and to the left a staircase goes down, equally red...” A smiling man walks up to the child; the child, upon request, sticks out his tongue whereupon the man flips open a jackknife and holds the sharp blade against the red tongue.
“...-He says: ‘Now we'll cut off his tongue.”
At the last moment, the man pulls the knife back.
According to memory, this sequence happens every day. “That's how the day starts,” Canetti adds, “and it happens very often.”
I am in the gym every three out of four days. What happens there? What does language in that place look like?
According to cliché, athletes are stupid. Meaning: they are inarticulate. The spoken language of bodybuilders makes this cliché real. The verbal language in the gym is minimal and almost senseless, reduced to numbers and a few nouns. “Sets”, “squats”, “reps”,... The only verbs are “do” or “fail” adjectives and adverbs no longer exist; sentences, if they are at all, are simple.
This spoken language is kin to the “language games” Wittgenstein proposes in his The Brown Book.
In a gym, verbal language or language whose purpose is meaning occurs, if at all, only at the edge of its becoming lost. But when I am in the gym, my experience is that | am immersed in a complex and rich world.
What actually takes place when I body build?
The crossing of the threshold from the world defined by verbal language into the gym in which the outside world is not allowed (and all of its languages) (in this sense, the gym is sacred) takes several minutes. What happens during these minutes is that I forget. Masses of swirling thought, verbalized insofar as lam conscious of them, disappear as mind or thought begins to focus.
In order to analyze this focusing, I must first describe bodybuilding in terms of intentionality.
Bodybuilding is a process, perhaps a sport, by which a person shapes her or his own body. This shaping is always related to the growth of muscular mass.
During aerobic and circuit training, the heart and lungs are exercised. But muscles will grow only if they are, not exercised or moved, but actually broken down. The general law behind bodybuilding is that muscle, if broken down in a controlled fashion and then provided with the proper growth factors such as nutrients and rest, will grow back larger than before.
In order to break down specific areas of muscles, whatever areas one wants to enlarge, it is necessary to work these areas in isolation up to failure.
Bodybuilding can be seen to be about nothing but failure. A bodybuilder is always working around failure. Either I work an isolated muscle mass, for instance one of the tricep heads, up to failure. In order to do this, I exert the muscle group almost until the point that it can no longer move.
But if I work the same muscle group to the point that it can no longer move, I must move it through failure. I am then doing what are named “negative reps”, working the muscle group beyond its power to move. Here is the second method of working with failure.
Whatever way I chose, I always want to work my muscle, muscular group, until it can no longer move: I want to fail. As soon as I can accomplish a certain task, so much weight for so many reps during a certain time span, I must always increase one aspect of this equation, weights reps or intensity, so that I can again come to failure.
I want to break muscle so that it can grow back larger, but I do not want to destroy muscle so that growth is prevented. In order to avoid injury, I first warm up the muscular group, then carefully bring it up to failure. I do this by working the muscular group through a calculated number of sets during a calculated time span. If I tried immediately to bring a muscle group up to failure by lifting the heaviest weight I could handle, I might injure myself.
I want to shock my body into growth; I do not want to hurt it.
Therefore, in bodybuilding, failure is always connected to counting. I calculate which weight to use; I then count off how many times I lift that weight and the seconds between each lift. This is how I control the intensity of my workout.
Intensity times movement of maximum weight equals muscular destruction (muscular growth).
Is the equation between destruction and growth also a formula for art?
Bodybuilding is about failure because bodybuilding, body growth and shaping, occurs in the face of the material, of the body’s inexorable movement toward its final failure, toward death.
To break down a muscle group, I want to make that group work up to, even beyond, capacity. To do this, it helps and even is necessary to visualize the part of the body that is involved. Mind or thought, then, while bodybuilding, is always focused on number or counting and often on precise visualizations.
Certain bodybuilders have said that bodybuilding is a form of meditation.
What do I do when I body build? I visualize and I count. I estimate weight; I count sets; I count repetitions; I count seconds between repetitions; I count time, seconds or minutes, between sets: From the beginning to the end of each workout, in order to maintain intensity, I must continually count.
For this reason, a bodybuilder’s language is reduced to a minimal, even a closed, set of nouns and to numerical repetition, to one of the simplest of language games.
Let us name this language game, the language of the body.
In order to examine such a language, a language game which resists ordinary language, through the lens of ordinary language or language whose tendency is to generate syntax or to make meanings proliferate, I must use an indirect route.
In another of his books, Elias Canetti begins talking from and about that geography that is without verbal language:
A marvelously luminous, viscid substance is left behind in me, defying words...
A dream: a man who unlearns the world’s languages until nowhere on earth does he understand what people are saying.
Being in Marrakesh is Canetti’s dream made actual. There are languages here, he says, but I understand none of them. The closer I am moving toward foreignness, into strangeness, toward understanding foreignness and strangeness, the more I am losing my own language. The small loss of language occurs when I journey to and into my own body. Is my body a foreign land to me? What is this picture of “my body” and “I”? For years, I said in the beginning of this essay, I have wanted to describe bodybuilding; whenever I tried to do so, ordinary language fled from me.
“Man,” Heidegger says, “is the strangest.” Why? Because everywhere he or she belongs to being or to strangeness or chaos, and yet everywhere he or she attempts to carve a path through chaos:
Everywhere man makes himself a path; he ventures into all realms of the essent, of the overpowering power, and in so doing he is flung out of all paths.
The physical or material, that which is, is constantly and unpredictably changing: it is chaotic. This chaos twines around death. For it is death that rejects all of our paths, all of our meanings.
Whenever anyone body builds, he or she is always trying to understand and control the physical in the face of this death. No wonder bodybuilding is centered around failure.
The antithesis between meaning and essence has often been noted. Wittgenstein at the end of the Tractatus:
The sense of the world must lie outside the world. In the world everything is as it is, and everything happens as it does happen—in it no values exist, and if they did, they’d have no value. For all that happens and is the case is accidental.
If ordinary language or meanings lie outside essence, what is the position of that language game which I have named the language of the body? For bodybuilding (a language of the body) rejects ordinary language and yet itself constitutes a language, a method for understanding and controlling the physical which in this case is also the self.
I can now directly talk about bodybuilding. (As if speech is ever direct.)
The language game named the language of the body is not arbitrary. When a bodybuilder is counting, he or she is counting his or her own breath.
Canetti speaks of the beggars of Marrakesh who possess a similar and even simpler language game: they repeat the name of God.
In ordinary language, meaning is contextual. Whereas the cry of the beggar means nothing other than what it is; in the cry of the beggar, the impossible (as the Wittgenstein of the Tractatus and Heidegger see it) occurs in that meaning and breath become one.
Here is the language of the body; here, perhaps, is the reason why bodybuilders experience bodybuilding as a form of meditation.
“I understood the seduction there is in a life that reduces everything to the simplest kind of repetition,” Canetti says. A life in which meaning and essence no longer oppose each other. A life of meditation.
“I understood what those blind beggars really are: the saints of repetition...”
I am in the gym. I am beginning to work out. I either say the name “bench press”, then walk over to it, or simply walk over to it. Then, I might picture the number of my first weight; I probably, since I usually begin with the same warm-up weight, just place the appropriate weights on the bar. Lifting this bar off its rests, then down to my lower chest, I count “1”. I am visualizing this bar, making sure it touches my chest at the right spot, placing it back on its rests. “2”. I repeat the same exact motions. “3” ... After twelve repetitions, I count off thirty seconds while increasing my weights. “1” ... The identical process begins again only this time I finish at “10” ... All these repetitions end only when I finish my work-out.
On counting: Each number equals one inhalation and one exhalation. If I stop my counting or in any other way lose focus, I risk dropping or otherwise mishandling a weight and so damaging my body.
In this world of the continual repetition of a minimal number of elements, in this aural labyrinth, it is easy to lose one’s way. When all is repetition rather than the production of meaning, every path resembles every other path.
Every day, in the gym, I repeat the same controlled gestures with the same weights, the same reps, ... The same breath patterns. But now and then, wandering within the labyrinths of my body, I come upon some- thing. Something I can know because knowledge depends on difference. An unexpected event. For though I am only repeating certain gestures during certain time spans, my body, being material, is never the same; my body is controlled by change and by chance.
For instance, yesterday, I worked chest. Usually, I easily bench press the bar plus sixty pounds for six reps. Yesterday, unexpectedly, I barely managed to lift this weight at the sixth rep. I looked for a reason. Sleep? Diet? Both were usual. Emotional or work stress? No more than usual. The weather? Not good enough. My unexpected failure at the sixth rep was allowing me to see, as if through a window, not to any outside, but inside my own body, to its workings. I was being permitted to glimpse the laws that control my body, those of change or chance, laws that are barely, if at all, knowable.
By trying to control, to shape, my body through the calculated tools and methods of bodybuilding, and time and again, in following these methods, failing to do so, I am able to meet that which cannot be finally controlled and known: the body.
In this meeting lies the fascination, if not the purpose, of bodybuilding. To come face to face with chaos, with my own failure or a form of death.
Canetti describes the architecture of a typical house in the geographical labyrinth. of Marrakesh. The house’s insides are cool, dark. Few, if any, windows look out into the street. For the entire construction of this house, windows, etc., is directed inward, to the central courtyard where only openness to the sun exists.
Such an architecture is a mirror of the body: When I reduce verbal language to minimal meaning, to repetition, I close the body’s outer windows. Meaning approaches breath as I body build, as I begin to move through the body’s labyrinths, to meet, if only fora second, that which my consciousness ordinarily cannot see. Heidegger: “The being-there of historical man means: to be posited as the breach into which the preponderant power of being bursts in its appearing, in order that this breach itself should shatter against being.”
In our culture, we simultaneously fetishize and disdain the athlete, a worker in the body. For we still live under the sign of Descartes. This sign is also the sign of patriarchy. As long as we continue to regard the body, that which is subject to change, chance, and death, as disgusting and inimical, so long shall we continue to regard our own selves as dangerous others.