THE BIG SQUEEZE
BY FRANK ROBERSON

A workout, for me, is a terrible thought.When I know that one is coming up, my palms sweat, my skin crawls and my heart pounds. When I walk into the gym, I’m heading into the belly of the beast. Nothing short of physical torture and mental agony awaits, and it’s all self-inflicted.

My workouts aren’t limited by gutless rationality. When it comes to bio-mechanical research and studies proving that this angle or this proper movement is the best way to stimulate certain muscle fibres, you can put them where the sun don’t shine. They sure won’t be used by me. I want to see how far beyond sanity I can take myself. I want to reach the dark side. I want to see the demons.
My fiancee and training partner, Mary Alcorn, and I have had to invent some pretty nutty rep schemes to make that journey, but I love it when I get there. Through five-second squeeze reps, my muscles are fried, my whole body is pressurised skintight from the pump, and my vascularity threatens to burst its pipes. In fact, during precontest, beginning four weeks out, I use five-second squeeze reps for every muscle group.


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