elitefts™ Sunday edition
Kill the Shepherds
I can pinpoint the exact moment that the bizarre and sometimes corrupt nature of the musclehead magazine first revealed itself to me. It was the weekend of October 13, 1990, and I was on my second muscle pilgrimage to southern California. Before there was the fitness super-event we call the Arnold Classic, a promoter named David Zelon began organizing elaborate fitness expos in conjunction with top national NPC events.
The headlining event was the NPC Nationals, but most of the action was taking place outside the auditorium in the expo hall. Every major sports nutrition and lifting-related company had a booth there. In addition, a number of exciting secondary events gave fans new access to the top personalities in fitness.
Senseless Sheep
From one end of the convention hall, I noticed a sudden stirring of the crowd. Like a flock of senseless sheep, we poured around the western corridor of the hall, anxious to learn what was at the locus of attention. There he stood, having just stepped out of a shining white stretch limo. He was a man of unremarkable build; short, despite the lifts in his expensive shoes. His $1,500 suit was sharply tailored, even if it looked inconspicuously out-of-place in this jeans and sweatpants environment. His teeth, whitened beyond the point of looking natural, sparkled under the onslaught of flashbulbs with each gum-showing grin. By way of entourage, he arrived with three babes, a tan blonde, a sculpted redhead and a raven-haired goddess, each of whom was equally over-dressed for the occasion, even if they were under-dressed as far as the acceptable skin-to-cloth ratio. The women were all fit and beautiful, each jockeying for a position of proximity to their male companion.
We had all seen him in a variety of articles. He ran a supplement company based in the Midwest, was a national physique judge, and had radical theories on training, nutrition and contest prep. Before diet coaches were a common thing, he trained a couple of top athletes who endorsed his products. Articles and gossip columns kept us apprised of his every move. According to the articles, he was the guru of training gurus and his followers, if they could withstand his hellish training sessions, were rewarded with unheard of progress.
He strutted into the expo with an air of confidence that led me to believe he planned to walk on water next. The crowd moved with him, the boldest among them inching forward to request a quickly-scrawled autograph. Each of his movements was captured by the swarm of photographers; their flashes firing away like machine guns.
Then it dawned on me.
All a Show
I went to a handful of national-level and pro events. I read the bodybuilding magazines religiously since grade school. In other parts of the expo hall, I witnessed the well-known industry professionals of the time like Ralph Dehann, Jim Amentler, and Garry Bartlett snapping away photos of events like “the Battle of the Biceps” and “the Great Steroid Debate.” None of the usual lens men were a part of this crowd. In fact, I didn’t recognize a single one of these photographers. The camera-jockeys following “Mr. Hollywood” were hired; most likely with only one or two of them shooting actual film — rented as surely as the limo.
I watched his insincere Hollywood grin from a new perspective. This charlatan was merely a walking “photo op” who probably got a second mortgage on his house in hopes of recouping his investment in free advertising. The girls, with their “Price is Right” smiles were rented as well; their staged affection paid for with a combination of cash and false promises of fame. It was all a show.
Leaving the Flock
The man who worked so hard to inspire admiration and awe now only filled me with pity and a laughable contempt. I saw propaganda in action and was disgusted by the deception. It was then that I realized that each of my monthly muscle scriptures was a willing co-conspirator in this hoax. I paused to reexamine the rest of my sport, pondering which icons were built on substance and which were based on bullshit when the movement of the crowd flowing past me drew me back to reality. As they followed their false messiah, I knew I would never be a sheep again.
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After two decades working in the fitness industry as a freelance author and consultant for some of the biggest sports nutrition companies, Steve Colescott has finally found his home as Senior Content Manager at elitefts™, quite possibly the coolest job on the planet. 
That’s how I feel when I see a Washington Post or NYT article. Anyway, don’t confuse the shepherds with the wolves.
This is another reason why I left bodybuilding.
I am glad you stopped buying into Marxist style popular sentiment. Kudos! Nothing wrong with Capitalism, this is just part of it. Hype creates a buzz and money tends to follow. Give the guy credit for knowing how to milk a situation. He may be a wolf, but a nation of sheep breeds brilliant wolves. Sellout or not, the fellow has brought in some serious cash flow.
9 out 10 people are sheep and will follow the crowd. The skill to see between what’s real, what’s fake, who’s substance, who’s hype and who’s a wolf will take you far in life if you don’t fall into the promise of security provided by an employer of some kind!
Both bodybuilding and powerlifting are very noble endeavors, just as strength training just to get stronger, more muscular and/or leaner in your own garage gym is usually a very positive aspect of people’s lives.
The bodybuilding mags tend to have more crap in them that has absolutely nothing to do with anything remotely useful and propagate tons of training and cultural myths (many based on making those in charge tons of money). Powerlifters definitely seem (in general) to be more of the self-directed, independent thinking type and would never buy into that. Maybe its the objective nature of a sport in which you either make a lift or you don’t (judging debates aside) or the fact that they routinely risk serious injury for next to zero financial reward, but they seem to have a refreshing, “Yeah… whatever” response to those type of flashy spectacles..
The bodybuilders I know that I have chosen to befriend tend to all be the ones that have normal jobs, family and social responsibilities, and use lifting as something to enhance an already rich life. The fact that powerlifters are not under and illusion of living as a sponsored pro without a real job seems to have kept them more grounded… and a lot more interesting crowd to hang with.