Old Time Strongman Training
And why I'm obsessed...
If you take a look at my Instagram profile (@modern.bronze), you might expect a page dedicated to writing, philosophy, spirituality - all of the topics I usually write about.
You would be sorely mistaken.
In reality, you’ll find me doing all types of crazy, borderline-dangerous (at least to the uninitiated) feats of strength. It might not make sense at first glace, so it’s about time I explained what was going on…
First, what the hell am I doing? My style of training is called Old Time Strongman Training - it’s popular with a niche crowd online, and it’s growing everyday. It is a renaissance of the Bronze Age of bodybuilding (late 1850’s and early 1900’s), which includes many movements that are foreign to our modern eyes. There are several reasons why I train this way, but the main reason is the variety. There are so many different movements that require insane strength, and often times these movements must be completed in what we’d call “compromised” positions (a bent, rounded back is a good example). While this scares a lot of people, to me it makes sense to use the body in every way imaginable, whether something looks “right” or not. If you take a look at my Instagram, you’ll notice I get some pretty remarkable results from this type of training (the Old Time Strongman also had the most incredible physiques I have ever seen).
Second, how does that have anything to do with my writing? This is a little more convoluted, and I wrestle with this question on a daily basis. I feel a connection, but it’s difficult to put into words. Sure, I could just post snippets of my writing on my social media, but I’ve done that, and it feels…stale. Showing my training gives me much more satisfaction and fulfillment, and here’s the kicker - my goal is the same in both my writing and my training, just in different spheres.
When I break it down to its elements, it all comes down to a quote I read in one of my favorite books, Erich Fromm’s Man For Himself: An Inquiry into the Psychology of Ethics:
There is no meaning to life except the meaning man gives his life by the unfolding of his powers.
“The unfolding of his powers.” That’s it right there. That’s the purpose. That’s why I write and train so diligently every day. I have a burning desire to understand myself and to see what I am capable of, both creatively and physically. In my experience, the mind and the body are intrinsically connected, and there’ s no way for me to explore the potentialities of one without the other. Fromm goes on to suggest that our idea of “happiness” is only achievable through this process of unfolding in which he speaks, and I am inclined to fervently agree. In any given day, I am happiest when I am writing and training - all of worries and fears and traumas of life disappear, and all the while I’m building by strength to wrestle with them.
This “wrestling” is also key. If I’ve learned anything from an intense physical training practice, it’s that pain is the catalyst for growth. It’s the cosmic sacrifice we offer to “taste the elixir,” to “find the Philosopher’s Stone”. It is for this reason I tend toward the heavier, darker subjects in my writing. I need to know what’s underneath, to stare into the abyss long enough that it stares back. Fromm goes on to comment on this:
To spare oneself from grief at all cost can be achieved only at the price of total detachment, which excludes the ability to experience happiness.
In my former life, I sought detachment as the primary human action, the primary purpose. Drugs, alcohol, sex, love - these were my sedatives, and they worked until they didn’t. In the final years of addiction, I was never “happy”. I was wrought with despair, dysfunction and disease. Only now do I realize I did all of these things to avoid the pain and grief I held within myself. Now, with my newfound powers, I choose not to avoid these places, but to seek them out.
I think it all comes down to faith - the faith that everything I am doing will lead me towards something greater. Perhaps that means peace. Perhaps that means strength. Either way, I’m hedging my bets that my process will lead me exactly where I need to go.
I am Denis O’Leary. I am Modern Bronze. I am a writer and an strongman.
This is who I am.
P.S. If you’re interested in poetry, I recently started a nightly newsletter dedicated only to short poems. In these I tackle the darker places of my mind that prose can’t quite reach. You can find that here: