Scientific principles of strength training with applications to powerlifting

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SCIENTIFIC PRINCIPLES OF STRENGTH TRAINING MIKE ISRAETEL, PHD JAMES HOFFMANN, PHD, CSCS CHAD WESLEY SMITH

PREFACE You’ve been searching for information on how to train for a while. We have all surfed the web for articles, being mostly disappointed but for a few gems. There are some great books that cover particular powerlifting programs, which is absolutely awesome if you’re going to run those programs. But what about the theories that built those programs, that govern how the body responds to training, that predict whether or not a certain program will work poorly, well, or exceptionally? After all, the human body is not a random assortment of cells… it is constructed in nearly the same way from individual to individual, and responds to training in very similar ways as well. Hypothetically, would it be possible to derive a system of rules or principles that governed strength training and could be applied to powerlifting?

Well, it’s been done before for general sports training, that’s for sure.

The works of Issurin, Bompa and Haff, Stone, Sands, Verkoshansky and others have shined a great deal of light on the very foundational principles that govern sport training and adaptation. Specificity, overload, variation, phase potentiation and the other underlying rules that govern training program design have been well explain in their application to sport training and have given birth to the concept of periodization, the principle-based, logical construction of training for maximum results.

Periodized programming has been in use by nearly every single Olympic training center the world over since the 1970s, and has produced a

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uniformity of incredible sport performances that is undeniable in its scope, from weightlifting to swimming to gymnastics.

To our knowledge, this book is the first attempt at a unified discussion of the principles that govern strength training in general and powerlifting training in particular. There are seven of these foundational principles, and they’re all very important to the design of effective powerlifting programming.

Learning all of them will allow you do enhance your abilities in several areas: • Understanding the process of training out of curiosity and a desire to learn • Being able to critique other programs and alter them maximize their benefit • Being able to select an effective coach based on his/her understanding of training • Designing your own effective general strength or powerlifting programming • Designing programming as simple or as complicated as you’d like, depending on the degree of your goals.

The last ability is particularly powered by the revelation that the training principles are not just principles, but priorities as well. They’re not all equally powerful in their effect on training, so using the most powerful ones as your first tools in program design can all but guarantee both effective programming and preclude spending time on details that may not be worth it for your level of investment.

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In simple terms, this book is going to cover seven foundational principles of programming/periodization design for strength training, with particular focus and application to powerlifting training. It’s also going to rank order these principles based on their importance, so that you can make sure your programming is always maximally effective for its level of design, no matter if it’s calibrated perfectly or a very rough guide to training.

This book will delve deeply into what the principles of training are, the scientific underpinnings of why they are, and the practical ways in which they can be properly applied, as well as the ways in which to avoid common mistakes in their application. This book was not written for everyone. It was written for intelligent lifters who want to think deeply about training as a process, for those who want to understand the “why’s” and not just the “how’s,” and for those that don’t want to take a coach or guru’s advice on training just at its word. Science is the best path to the truth, and it’s a long path… in this case, several hundred pages of pure scientific training fun.

On the other hand, here’s a list of things this book will not be: • “Keep it simple, stupid.” The quest for optimal results is not overly complicated, but it’s not open-and-shut either.

Strength and powerlifting periodization is eloquent but not simplistic. Concepts which produce results rarely are.

• “Minimalist.” If you’re looking to get some results with the least possible effort, this book is probably not for you.

Training to become as strong as possible requires serious work, both within each session and in sessions per week. You can tailor your training for minimal investment, but that will have to be something you do on your own… all of the training

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advice here assumes you want the most out of your training and are ready to put in the needed effort.

• “Cookie Cutter” This won’t be a book filled with pre-made routines or exact percentages. The rules are straightforward but will require thought and personalization on your part for the best results for your lifting. This book is also designed more as a tool with which to learn principles and understand training than a “method.” There is no “Renaissance Method” to powerlifting. All of the principles here are derived from those of Modern Periodization, literature about which abounds and is referenced throughout.

This book was written for those who really want to understand the “why” of training for powerlifting. The “why” of some programs being effective and some others not and sometimes both for different people. It was written in a mostly casual tone, but will occasionally delve into deeper scientific language. Because of the forays into technical discussion, the first chapter of this book is actually a list of technical terms with their definitions. Without further ado, the rest of the book awaits!

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CHAPTER ONE

IMPORTANT TERMS Before we really dive into the meat and potatoes of powerlifting training theory, it’s a very good idea to become familiar or re-familiarize ourselves with basic terms. This will lay down the ability to make the most sense of the rest of this book. Most of us have seen and used many of the terms to follow, but there is still some confusion in the industry about some of these, and it seems like a good idea to clear them up.

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BASIC DEFINITIONS Intensity: Also known as “absolute intensity,” it is the amount of resistance presented during a movement. Measured as force, and usually expressed in pounds or kilograms. Thus the intensity of a 335lb squat for one easy rep is higher than the intensity of a 315lb squat for 11.5 reps to absolute muscular failure. When most people use this term, they really mean the next term on our list.

Relative Intensity: Proximity to concentric muscular failure of any given set. This means that a set of 405 for 3, where you could have done 6, is less relatively intense than a set of 275 for 8, where you could have only got 9 with a gun to your head.

Volume: The amount of total mechanical work done during a rep, set, exercise session, week, or any other measurement of training time.

Technically measured as the sum total force x distance executed. It can be measured precisely by multiplying the sets, reps, and weight as well as the distance of bar path. However, in most cases volume is compared between the same lifts (bench vs. bench, squat vs. squat) of the same lifter, and thus distance can be obviated. For this reason a reasonable proxy of sets x reps x weight can be used to estimate volume.

Frequency: The number of training sessions performed within a certain unit of time, usually measured within the week.

Exercise Selection: The actual name of the exercise, or exercises, used in a training session. For example, it is a true statement to say that you just trained legs, but a more precise statement would explain that you did squats and stiff legged deadlifts.

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Training Session: A single bout of training which can be done multiple times per week or even multiple times per day. Each training session generally has a warm up, a working phase, and a distinct end which may or may not involve a cool down.

Light Session: A session of training that is intentionally non-overloading (overload defined in detail in Chapter 4) and relatively easy to accomplish. The purpose of a light session is to enhance the process of recovery/adaptation while mitigating the loss of technique, muscle size, and strength. Light sessions are typically characterized by a reduction in volume and/or intensity.

Off Day: A day during which no training sessions occur.

Microcycle: A unit of training time measured between the repetition of a single training session type. In other words if you train bench and accessories on Monday, next Monday (when you train it for the first time again) is the start of the second microcycle. This of course includes all training sessions and off days within that time frame. An example would be training bench and accessories Monday, squatting and lower body accessories Tuesday, overhead pressing and accessories Thursday, and training deadlifts and lower body accessories Friday. Those four workouts and three off days construct our first microcycle and when they are repeated next week, with planned alterations in weight set and rep amounts, that will construct the second microcycle, and so on.

Microcycles are typically (but not always) a week in length.

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Accumulation Phase: A series of sequential microcycles during which training gets progressively harder, which occurs through an increase in either volume, intensity, or both.

Deload Phase: Most commonly referred to just as a “deload,” it is an entire microcycle composed of light sessions of various sorts, the purpose of which is to reduce fatigue while preserving adaptations. For a deload to be effective in meaningfully brining down fatigue, its reduction of volume and intensity from normal accumulation training must be marked and non-trivial.

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Mesocycle: An organized sequence of microcycles ordered to elicit a set of distinct training adaptations. The typical mesocycle is composed of two distinct phases, an accumulation phase, which usually lasts for three to five weeks and a deload phase, which usually lasts for about a week. The typical mesocycle usually lasts for about a month. Sometimes defined elsewhere as “summated microcycles.”

Accumulation: Deload Paradigm: The ratio of time spent in an accumulation phase vs. a deload phase during any particular mesocycle.

Typical paradigms include the classic 3:1 paradigm, but other common uses include the 4:1 paradigm (common to hypertrophy training) and the 3:2 paradigm (common to peaking and tapering).

Training Block: Known elsewhere as “summated mesocycles” a training block typically consists of one to three mesocycles. All of the mesocycles within one training block have a unified or similar purpose.

For example, three sequential mesocycles where muscle growth is the dominant training priority form a hypertrophy training block.

Macrocycle: A sequence of training blocks arranged in a particular order to accomplish high level improvement in sport performance.

Macrocycles often culminate in a competitive performance. For example, a powerlifting macrocycle is typically composed of a hypertrophy block followed by a strength block and then a peaking block before a powerlifting competition. Most properly designed macrocycles will also include an active rest phase after the competition. When the next hypertrophy block begins, that is considered the start of the next meet macrocycle.

Mass: A concordant block of both training and nutrition designed to Chapte r N o. 1

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increase the muscle mass of the lifter. Mass phases are characterized by high volume training and hypercaloric dieting, and generally last between one and three months.

Maintenance: A nutritional block during which no attempt to lose or gain bodyweight is made, and a stable training bodyweight is held. Training during this time may consist of any of the possible phases, but is mostly characterized by basic strength and peaking training. Maintenance phases usually last at least a month, but have no top end limit in length so long as significant alterations in body composition are not the goal.

Cut: A concordant block of both training and nutrition designed to decrease the fat mass of the lifter while maintaining his/her muscle mass. Cut phases are characterized by high volume training, hypocaloric diets, and generally last between one and three months.

Strength: The maximal ability to produce force. Measured in the laboratory in Newtons and in the gym/platform in pounds and kilos.

Task-Specific Strength: The maximal ability to produce force in a specific movement. For example, deadlifting strength is the amount of force you can produce in the deadlift. In task specific strength the maximal force at the weakest point of the lift is the actual task specific strength of that movement. For example, if you can lock out 800lbs from the knees, but you can only break 600lbs off of the floor; your deadlifting strength is only 600lbs.

Hypertrophy Block: A block of training, the goal of which is to add muscle mass (during a mass phase) or prevent its loss (during a cutting phase). Generally characterized by higher training volumes and minimum Chapte r N o. 1

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intensities of 60% 1RM, which translates roughly to reps in the 6-10 range for most powerlifting applications.

General Strength Block: A block of training, the goal of which is to increase force production abilities. Such training is generally categorized by intensities of 75% 1RM and higher and sets in the three to six repetition range.

Peaking Block: A block of training designed to allow the powerlifter to express his/her basic strength in the task-specific act of one repetition maximums in the competition lifts. This phase is characterized by an accumulation phase of around 90% 1RM lifting, and an elongated deload called a taper during which strength is maintained while fatigue is reduced to enhance meet performance.

Active Rest: A dedicated block of training, which is almost always one mesocycle in length, the purpose of which is to reduce fatigue and prepare the lifter for another productive macrocycle of training. This block is usually characterized by, essentially, a sequence of specialized deload phases. An active rest block is unique in that it does not have an accumulation phase.

Homeostasis: The process of maintaining a stable internal environment within a system with respect to fluctuations in the state of the environment external to the system. All life is characterized in large part by the ability to maintain homeostasis, including the human body when exposed to the external fluctuations of powerlifting training stress. This concept is very important because adaptations are almost exclusive stimulated by a disruption of homeostasis within the lifter’s body (usually with hard training).

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Periodization: The logical sequencing of training variables for the purpose of eliciting maximal adaptations, reducing injury rates, and peaking the athlete for best performance at a particular time of his/ her choosing. The final product of applied periodization is a properly constructed macrocycle of training that leads to beneficial results.

Flexibility: The range of motion possible in a joint, muscle action, or a series of joints involved in a specific task.

Technique: The execution of a lift in the proper sequence and form of movement (positions and motions of the trunk and all limbs) to move the weight with both maximal effect and reasonable safety. All lifters are built differently and thus no one will have identical technique and there is no such thing as ideal technique, but large commonalities of basic execution will apply to all body types.

Mobility: The intersection of technique, strength, and flexibility. A lifter can be said to be properly mobile in the squat if they have the flexibility and strength to hit all of the necessary positions with good

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technique. It is possible that someone is perfectly strong and flexible but lacks the technical ability (usually knowledge of correct technique or lack of practice with the correct technique) to execute a lift properly.

It is possible that a very strong and technical lifter can be considered improperly mobile because he is not sufficiently flexible enough to execute the proper range of motion of the lift with good technique. It can also be just as true that a very flexible and technical person who lacks the necessary strength to maintain proper technique during some parts of the range of motion is also not properly mobile. Of course, any combination of deficiencies in the technique, strength, or flexibility needed to execute the lift with proper technique through its full range of motion can also contribute to improper mobility.

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C H A P T E R T WO

THE TRAINING PRINCIPLES & WHAT THEY MEAN Training for powerlifting is not simply a matter of moving the body around randomly and expecting to get stronger. Every single powerlifting program depends on certain training principles to guide its design, and every powerlifting training session is constructed to exploit those principles to be effective in improving performance. Principles are only effective when they are derived from reality. The way we train must be based on the way the body best responds to training, otherwise we wouldn’t get very far.

For example, let’s say that we invite over a space alien programmer to design routines for our human powerlifters. Back on his home planet, his species is genetically designed to get stronger from just resting, and any deviation from rest taxes their systems away from such improvements.

Thus, the very act of working out would harm their performance, and thus the perfect powerlifting program on that world would begin by making sure the lifters only rest when they are not actually competing, in full concordance with their physiology. Humans, of course, just get weaker if all they do is rest, and the stimulus for training must be something that disrupts homeostasis, giving it the stimulus to adapt Chapte r N o. 2

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physiology and improve strength. Thus, for human lifters, the Overload Principle is super important, as it’s virtually impossible to improve in strength without constantly challenging the physiology of the lifter by pushing it past old boundaries of exertion. Perhaps on another planet, their powerlifters have very poor recovery abilities in relation to ours.

They require a full two weeks to recover even baseline performance between training sessions, and the best improvements occur with every three weeks training or so.

Could that program simply be applied to humans and expected to work? Of course not. Because humans have a particular physiology that responds in particular ways to training and rest, the principles used to guide human powerlifter training must be based on that physiology.

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It turns out that there are seven primary training principles for human (last time we mention alien training, promise) powerlifters. By following these 7 principles of training, programs will be well-tailored for the best possible results. And this is not by accident… these principles are all based exactly and only on the actual physiological and performances responses of lifters. They were not made up, invented, or manufactured; they were discovered. These principles are the simplified version of how the human body responds to training, and getting them right means better progress, period. Ignoring them will almost every time lead to poorer and less predictable performance.

The following is a rank ordered list of each of the training principles, with some of their sub-principles included: (less important but noteworthy details of the main principle)

1.) Specificity a.) Sub-Principle: Training Modality Compatibility b.) Sub-Principle: Directed Adaptation 2.) Overload 3.) Fatigue Management 4.) Stimulus-Recovery-Adaptation (SRA) 5.) Variation 6.) Phase Potentiation a.) Sub-Principle: Adaptive Decay 7.) Individual Difference

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Because these principles are based in physiology and govern the training process, employing them will increase powerlifting performance in any program in which they are implemented. But the principles do not all affect performance to the same degree. The first several are much more impactful on performance than the latter ones. While all programs that get at least specificity and overload correct will work well, the best programs get even more of the principles right. The more principles a program gets right, the better it is, with the best programs using all of the principles properly in their designs.

Below is a visual graphic to illustrate the relative importance of each principle. Those at the bottom of the chart and with the largest areas are the most important, and those with smaller slivers at the top are the least. Notice that Specificity bounds the entire graphic, which hints at the fact that it is by far the most important training principle and should be the highest priority in all powerlifting training. The next question is why, and the answer is described in great detail in Chapter 3!

Each training principle will be thoroughly analyzed in its own dedicated book chapter.

Each chapter including this one will be structured as follows 1.) The definition of the principle in sport science terms.

2.) The definition of the principle as it applies to powerlifting, with expansive implications.

3.) Justification of why the principle is ranked as it is in the priority structure of training as compared to the other principles.

4.) Instructions and examples on how to properly apply the principle.

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5.) Examples of typical mistakes in under-applying the principle.

6.) Examples of typical mistakes in over-applying the principle.

7.) Summary of the principle in basic terms as it relates to powerlifting training.

8.) Sources and further reading links.

THE PRIORITIES VISUALIZED

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CHAPTER THREE

SPECIFICITY SCIENTIFIC DEFINITION The principle of specificity is both the most important principle in powerlifting training as well as one of the most scientifically straightforward. Technically, specificity means that training should tax and stimulate the underlying systems of the sport task. That is, specific training trains the systems responsible for generating movement for that sport move in question. This can mean training the muscles involved in the movement, training the nervous system to improve in the direction it would be used in a movement, or even training the direct movement itself. Specificity lies on a spectrum from being quite broad to being extremely narrow, which is described in greater detail in the next section.

P OW E R L I F T I N G D E F I N I T I O N In powerlifting, specificity is defined as ‘training that improves the underlying systems of powerlifting performance.’ Specificity ranges from broad to narrow. This roughly means that any training that seeks to enhance the size of the muscles is important in producing forces in powerlifting and is thus broadly specific to powerlifting training. Training to improve the general strength of those muscles is more narrowly specific, and training to improve the execution of actual competitive, Chapte r N o. 3

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heavy powerlifts is the most narrowly specific form of training for powerlifting.

F i g u re 1 : T h e S p e c i f i c i t y S p e c t r u m Tre e

DESCRIPTION The big branches of muscle size can lead to smaller branches of powerlifting success or different branches of bodybuilding success, but size is still specific to powerlifting and bodybuilding, just more broadly than the narrow acts of practicing the powerlifts or working the upper chest more than the lower chest. However, endurance training would be on another branch, that only shares the base of the tree (health of the body, for example) with powerlifting and bodybuilding, and the further you get into endurance training specificity the further you get away from what makes you good at powerlifting and bodybuilding.

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As illustrated in the diagram above, the fact that both powerlifters and bodybuilders benefit from size training does not make size training nonspecific to powerlifters, it just makes it more broad, or just a bit less specific. But because specificity is a spectrum, there are other forms of training that are MUCH less specific to powerlifting, and as such can only help just a little or don’t really help at all. Training for extreme flexibility only several times per week is likely neither detrimental nor helpful to powerlifting, just mostly tangential. Further back, there are countless modalities of training which are so non-specific to powerlifting as to be counterproductive, one of the best examples of which is endurance training.

We can envision a system of categorizing training by specificity which is composed of 4 layers: 1.) Training that specifically supports performance (training the lifts themselves, heavy) 2.) Training that generally supports performance (training for muscle size and strength in the muscles needed for sport) 3.) Training that is mostly tangential to performance (advanced flexibility training) 4.) Training that is so non-specific as to significantly harm performance (endurance training)

The idea that specificity ranges from narrow specificity (practicing bench press technique) to broad specificity (putting on chest muscle size) and even to negative specificity (reducing strength by training too much in endurance sport) lays the foundation for one of the two subprinciples of the specificity principle: training modality compatibility.

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T R A I N I N G M O D A L I T Y C O M PAT I B I L I T Y One of the two sub-principles of specificity, this idea describes a very important observation in powerlifting training; some forms of training help performance a lot, some less so, some not at all, and some actually hurt performance. Knowing which ones are which is critical to designing a program that seeks to optimize success. Stated another way, some training modalities are just more compatible with each other. Training in one modality contributes to lots of success in several goals. For example, getting more powerful in weightlifting can give you more power to be a sprint swimmer. On the opposite end of the spectrum, training with certain modalities can down right hinder performance in some sports while helping it in others, such as gaining so much muscle in marathon training that repeated power/weight ratio falls and running times get worse.

While the general discussion of training modality compatibility across all sports is quite interesting, it is also quite expansive and a bit outside the scope of this book. In powerlifting training, the most common modality compatibility issues are between the following variables.

Presented below in order of the least modality compatibility to the most: • Strength and Endurance • Strength and Flexibility • Strength and Power • Strength and Size • General Strength and Specific Strength

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Let’s go through each modality conflict and tease out the magnitudes and implications to training design.

1.) STRENGTH AND ENDURANCE In large part, strength training is seriously hampered by endurance training. Very light cardio sessions aside, serious attempts to improve endurance interfere with a variety of physiological systems that underlie powerlifting performance:

Muscle Loss: Endurance training is catabolic towards muscle tissue, and high levels of such training will risk muscle loss if chronically executed.

Less muscle means less contractile tissue to produce force and thus less strength is almost sure to follow.

Fatigue: While all training is fatiguing, training that does not improve performance but adds fatigue will be a net negative, as fatigue interferes with both recovery and hard training. If you train for bodybuilding and powerlift at the same time, you can at least have big muscles that can produce more force and help you lift more, albeit in an indirect and not most efficient way. However, the fatigue that endurance training incurs does not make you stronger or better at powerlifting in any meaningful way (unless you’re terribly out of shape, in which case just doing more volume and higher reps is usually a better choice than endurance training). And endurance training is very fatiguing due to the high volumes of training involved, so this is a worse problem than training to play chess while training for powerlifting... at least chess is nowhere near that fatiguing!

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Fiber Type Alterations: Skeletal muscle fiber types in humans range on a spectrum from fast-twitch to slow-twitch types. Fast twitch fibers produce force rapidly when activated by the nervous system, but more importantly for powerlifting, they produce more force per cross-sectional area. Not only this, they are much bigger than slower twitch fibers to begin with, and also respond to heavy training by growing faster and more in total than slower-twitch fibers. Thus, having your muscles be predominantly fast twitch (or rather as fast twitch as your genetics will allow) is a very good thing for both acute powerlifting performance (picking up heavy weights NOW) and for later improvements in performance (getting bigger and stronger with time).

On the other hand, slower twitch fibers contract more slowly when stimulated, produce less force per cross sectional area, are smaller than faster twitch fibers, and have less hypertrophy potential. From the perspective of the powerlifter, a greater percentage of fast twitch fibers are almost always a net benefit.

Problematically, endurance training has a greater tendency to shift existing muscle fiber characteristics from the fast to the slow end of the spectrum than most other forms of training. The fiber types themselves don’t change through training, but the intermediate fibers (ones of an even mix of fast and slow twitch properties) start to behave more like slow twitch fibers and less like fast twitch fibers. This change in characteristics seems largely (likely wholly) reversible, but both the initial change to slow twitch and reversion to faster twitch can take on the order of months to occur. In a meaningful sense, endurance training will reduce the pool of fast-acting fibers in at any one point and over time, and is thus largely harmful to powerlifting results.

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Nervous System Alterations A motor unit is the motor nerve (emanating from the spine and innervating the muscles) that controls a certain number of muscle cells (fibers), as well as the fibers themselves. When muscles change from faster to slower, the motor unit on the whole does, which means the motor nerve optimizes to slower-twitch activity. Endurance training not only affects local motor nerves, but likely alters nervous system activity at the spinal and even brain level. This altered action makes the athlete better at low-intensity sustained activity, but likely worse at explosive and high force activity. Even at the level of the brain, nervous system changes brought on by endurance training tend to reduce powerlifting performance.

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Because of fatigue, muscle function and nerve function issues, endurance training is usually a net negative for powerlifting training and performance, and for that reason should likely be minimized if powerlifting results are of utmost importance. Of course a tradeoff in training commitments can be made as such that endurance training is still included for its own sake or the sake of another sport, but this has to be understood as a tradeoff and an inherent part of most sports aside from weightlifting and powerlifting, not a powerlifting-specific optimization.

2.) STRENGTH AND FLEXIBILITY Flexibility is defined as the total range of motion a joint or series of joints is capable of operating through. This means that a single joint’s flexibility can be described (range of motion of a bicep curl at the elbow) or a set of multiple joints’ flexibility can be described (range of motion of a deadlift including all pertinent joints). Flexibility is derived from 4 basic factors:

Muscle flexibility: The length of the actual muscle belly and its degree of safe operating and maximal stretching length. Muscle flexibility is influenced both by tissue and nervous system limitations.

Connective tissue flexibility: The degree of safe stretching possible by muscle fascia, connective tissue that runs through the muscle belly, tendons, and ligaments

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Adjacent tissue interference: At some point, limbs will just run into adjacent limbs or other parts of the body and that will limit their range of motion. No matter how deep you squat, you can’t pass your hamstrings through your calves, and for very muscular lifters, this can be a limiting factor

Training for flexibility in powerlifting can be accomplished in 3 ways: • Going through the normal range of motion (ROM) of the competition lifts (deep squatting, tight back deadlifting, etc) • Training in supra-normal ROM lifts (high bar good mornings, cambered bar bench presses, deficit deadlifts, etc) • Dedicated stretching programs to enhance flexibility

While the first two methods of enhancing flexibility have no negative effects on training, there is some good evidence to suggest that dedicated stretching training (especially a serious commitment to it) can contribute to fatigue and interfere with strength adaptations. If flexibility is limiting actual, safe, or optimal performance in a lift, then it might be justified to use dedicated flexibility training as a tradeoff that is positive on the net balance, especially if the first two flexibility-enhancing modalities have failed to provide the needed improvements. However, becoming more flexible beyond the needs of powerlifting ROM is likely to interfere with best adaptations speeds.

There are two other problems with “more than needed” flexibility.

The first is that extreme flexibility can compromise joint safety and movement strength. Hyper-flexible joints have been shown to be more susceptible to injury (as have hypo-flexible ones). As well, super

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flexibility can reduce tissue tightness at the bottom of a lift (such as the rebound in the bottom of the squat) and thus depreciate the effect of the stretch-shortening cycle (SSC) and slightly decrease strength performance. The second issue with flexibility training is that is has been shown to reliably cause temporary decreases in strength and power expression (short term, from minutes to hours in duration). Thus, flexibility training is most interfering with powerlifting if done right after training, and is likely the least if done later or much earlier in the day on its own time.

Thus, the verdict on flexibility is tentatively as follows: • Practice the full ROM powerlifts with good technique • Utilize supra-normal ROM lifts regularly in training, especially when flexibility is a looming issue • Use dedicated stretching only when the latter two options have failed to produce the powerlifting-specific flexibility needed, and do such work at a time furthest away in the day from the lifts themselves • Only get as flexible as needed. There is not reward in powerlifting for yoga-esque flexibility.

3 . ) ST R E N GT H & P OW E R Strength is the ability to produce force. Power is the ability to combine a high force output with a high velocity of movement. The training for strength and power are almost completely compatible, but there are some compatibility issues nonetheless:

Chapte r N o. 3

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DANCE ON STILTS AT THE GIRLS’ UNYAGO, NIUCHI

Newala, too, suffers from the distance of its water-supply—at least the Newala of to-day does; there was once another Newala in a lovely valley at the foot of the plateau. I visited it and found scarcely a trace of houses, only a Christian cemetery, with the graves of several missionaries and their converts, remaining as a monument of its former glories. But the surroundings are wonderfully beautiful. A thick grove of splendid mango-trees closes in the weather-worn crosses and headstones; behind them, combining the useful and the agreeable, is a whole plantation of lemon-trees covered with ripe fruit; not the small African kind, but a much larger and also juicier imported variety, which drops into the hands of the passing traveller, without calling for any exertion on his part. Old Newala is now under the jurisdiction of the native pastor, Daudi, at Chingulungulu, who, as I am on very friendly terms with him, allows me, as a matter of course, the use of this lemon-grove during my stay at Newala.

FEET MUTILATED BY THE RAVAGES OF THE “JIGGER” (Sarcopsylla penetrans)

The water-supply of New Newala is in the bottom of the valley, some 1,600 feet lower down. The way is not only long and fatiguing, but the water, when we get it, is thoroughly bad. We are suffering not only from this, but from the fact that the arrangements at Newala are nothing short of luxurious. We have a separate kitchen—a hut built against the boma palisade on the right of the baraza, the interior of which is not visible from our usual position. Our two cooks were not long in finding this out, and they consequently do—or rather neglect to do—what they please. In any case they do not seem to be very particular about the boiling of our drinking-water—at least I can attribute to no other cause certain attacks of a dysenteric nature, from which both Knudsen and I have suffered for some time. If a man like Omari has to be left unwatched for a moment, he is capable of anything. Besides this complaint, we are inconvenienced by the state of our nails, which have become as hard as glass, and crack on the slightest provocation, and I have the additional infliction of pimples all over me. As if all this were not enough, we have also, for the last week been waging war against the jigger, who has found his Eldorado in the hot sand of the Makonde plateau. Our men are seen all day long—whenever their chronic colds and the dysentery likewise raging among them permit—occupied in removing this scourge of Africa from their feet and trying to prevent the disastrous consequences of its presence. It is quite common to see natives of this place with one or two toes missing; many have lost all their toes,

or even the whole front part of the foot, so that a well-formed leg ends in a shapeless stump. These ravages are caused by the female of Sarcopsylla penetrans, which bores its way under the skin and there develops an egg-sac the size of a pea. In all books on the subject, it is stated that one’s attention is called to the presence of this parasite by an intolerable itching. This agrees very well with my experience, so far as the softer parts of the sole, the spaces between and under the toes, and the side of the foot are concerned, but if the creature penetrates through the harder parts of the heel or ball of the foot, it may escape even the most careful search till it has reached maturity.

Then there is no time to be lost, if the horrible ulceration, of which we see cases by the dozen every day, is to be prevented. It is much easier, by the way, to discover the insect on the white skin of a European than on that of a native, on which the dark speck scarcely shows. The four or five jiggers which, in spite of the fact that I constantly wore high laced boots, chose my feet to settle in, were taken out for me by the all-accomplished Knudsen, after which I thought it advisable to wash out the cavities with corrosive sublimate. The natives have a different sort of disinfectant—they fill the hole with scraped roots. In a tiny Makua village on the slope of the plateau south of Newala, we saw an old woman who had filled all the spaces under her toe-nails with powdered roots by way of prophylactic treatment. What will be the result, if any, who can say?

The rest of the many trifling ills which trouble our existence are really more comic than serious. In the absence of anything else to smoke, Knudsen and I at last opened a box of cigars procured from the Indian store-keeper at Lindi, and tried them, with the most distressing results. Whether they contain opium or some other narcotic, neither of us can say, but after the tenth puff we were both “off,” three-quarters stupefied and unspeakably wretched. Slowly we recovered—and what happened next? Half-an-hour later we were once more smoking these poisonous concoctions—so insatiable is the craving for tobacco in the tropics.

Even my present attacks of fever scarcely deserve to be taken seriously. I have had no less than three here at Newala, all of which have run their course in an incredibly short time. In the early afternoon, I am busy with my old natives, asking questions and making notes. The strong midday coffee has stimulated my spirits to

an extraordinary degree, the brain is active and vigorous, and work progresses rapidly, while a pleasant warmth pervades the whole body. Suddenly this gives place to a violent chill, forcing me to put on my overcoat, though it is only half-past three and the afternoon sun is at its hottest. Now the brain no longer works with such acuteness and logical precision; more especially does it fail me in trying to establish the syntax of the difficult Makua language on which I have ventured, as if I had not enough to do without it. Under the circumstances it seems advisable to take my temperature, and I do so, to save trouble, without leaving my seat, and while going on with my work. On examination, I find it to be 101·48°. My tutors are abruptly dismissed and my bed set up in the baraza; a few minutes later I am in it and treating myself internally with hot water and lemon-juice.

Three hours later, the thermometer marks nearly 104°, and I make them carry me back into the tent, bed and all, as I am now perspiring heavily, and exposure to the cold wind just beginning to blow might mean a fatal chill. I lie still for a little while, and then find, to my great relief, that the temperature is not rising, but rather falling. This is about 7.30 p.m. At 8 p.m. I find, to my unbounded astonishment, that it has fallen below 98·6°, and I feel perfectly well. I read for an hour or two, and could very well enjoy a smoke, if I had the wherewithal—Indian cigars being out of the question.

Having no medical training, I am at a loss to account for this state of things. It is impossible that these transitory attacks of high fever should be malarial; it seems more probable that they are due to a kind of sunstroke. On consulting my note-book, I become more and more inclined to think this is the case, for these attacks regularly follow extreme fatigue and long exposure to strong sunshine. They at least have the advantage of being only short interruptions to my work, as on the following morning I am always quite fresh and fit.

My treasure of a cook is suffering from an enormous hydrocele which makes it difficult for him to get up, and Moritz is obliged to keep in the dark on account of his inflamed eyes. Knudsen’s cook, a raw boy from somewhere in the bush, knows still less of cooking than Omari; consequently Nils Knudsen himself has been promoted to the vacant post. Finding that we had come to the end of our supplies, he began by sending to Chingulungulu for the four sucking-pigs which we had

bought from Matola and temporarily left in his charge; and when they came up, neatly packed in a large crate, he callously slaughtered the biggest of them. The first joint we were thoughtless enough to entrust for roasting to Knudsen’s mshenzi cook, and it was consequently uneatable; but we made the rest of the animal into a jelly which we ate with great relish after weeks of underfeeding, consuming incredible helpings of it at both midday and evening meals. The only drawback is a certain want of variety in the tinned vegetables. Dr. Jäger, to whom the Geographical Commission entrusted the provisioning of the expeditions—mine as well as his own—because he had more time on his hands than the rest of us, seems to have laid in a huge stock of Teltow turnips,[46] an article of food which is all very well for occasional use, but which quickly palls when set before one every day; and we seem to have no other tins left. There is no help for it—we must put up with the turnips; but I am certain that, once I am home again, I shall not touch them for ten years to come.

Amid all these minor evils, which, after all, go to make up the genuine flavour of Africa, there is at least one cheering touch: Knudsen has, with the dexterity of a skilled mechanic, repaired my 9 × 12 cm. camera, at least so far that I can use it with a little care.

How, in the absence of finger-nails, he was able to accomplish such a ticklish piece of work, having no tool but a clumsy screw-driver for taking to pieces and putting together again the complicated mechanism of the instantaneous shutter, is still a mystery to me; but he did it successfully. The loss of his finger-nails shows him in a light contrasting curiously enough with the intelligence evinced by the above operation; though, after all, it is scarcely surprising after his ten years’ residence in the bush. One day, at Lindi, he had occasion to wash a dog, which must have been in need of very thorough cleansing, for the bottle handed to our friend for the purpose had an extremely strong smell. Having performed his task in the most conscientious manner, he perceived with some surprise that the dog did not appear much the better for it, and was further surprised by finding his own nails ulcerating away in the course of the next few days. “How was I to know that carbolic acid has to be diluted?” he mutters indignantly, from time to time, with a troubled gaze at his mutilated finger-tips.

Since we came to Newala we have been making excursions in all directions through the surrounding country, in accordance with old habit, and also because the akida Sefu did not get together the tribal elders from whom I wanted information so speedily as he had promised. There is, however, no harm done, as, even if seen only from the outside, the country and people are interesting enough.

The Makonde plateau is like a large rectangular table rounded off at the corners. Measured from the Indian Ocean to Newala, it is about seventy-five miles long, and between the Rovuma and the Lukuledi it averages fifty miles in breadth, so that its superficial area is about two-thirds of that of the kingdom of Saxony. The surface, however, is not level, but uniformly inclined from its south-western edge to the ocean. From the upper edge, on which Newala lies, the eye ranges for many miles east and north-east, without encountering any obstacle, over the Makonde bush. It is a green sea, from which here and there thick clouds of smoke rise, to show that it, too, is inhabited by men who carry on their tillage like so many other primitive peoples, by cutting down and burning the bush, and manuring with the ashes. Even in the radiant light of a tropical day such a fire is a grand sight.

Much less effective is the impression produced just now by the great western plain as seen from the edge of the plateau. As often as time permits, I stroll along this edge, sometimes in one direction, sometimes in another, in the hope of finding the air clear enough to let me enjoy the view; but I have always been disappointed.

Wherever one looks, clouds of smoke rise from the burning bush, and the air is full of smoke and vapour. It is a pity, for under more favourable circumstances the panorama of the whole country up to the distant Majeje hills must be truly magnificent. It is of little use taking photographs now, and an outline sketch gives a very poor idea of the scenery. In one of these excursions I went out of my way to make a personal attempt on the Makonde bush. The present edge of the plateau is the result of a far-reaching process of destruction through erosion and denudation. The Makonde strata are everywhere cut into by ravines, which, though short, are hundreds of yards in depth. In consequence of the loose stratification of these beds, not only are the walls of these ravines nearly vertical, but their upper end is closed by an equally steep escarpment, so that the

western edge of the Makonde plateau is hemmed in by a series of deep, basin-like valleys. In order to get from one side of such a ravine to the other, I cut my way through the bush with a dozen of my men.

It was a very open part, with more grass than scrub, but even so the short stretch of less than two hundred yards was very hard work; at the end of it the men’s calicoes were in rags and they themselves bleeding from hundreds of scratches, while even our strong khaki suits had not escaped scatheless.

NATIVE PATH THROUGH THE MAKONDE BUSH, NEAR MAHUTA

I see increasing reason to believe that the view formed some time back as to the origin of the Makonde bush is the correct one. I have no doubt that it is not a natural product, but the result of human occupation. Those parts of the high country where man—as a very slight amount of practice enables the eye to perceive at once—has not yet penetrated with axe and hoe, are still occupied by a splendid timber forest quite able to sustain a comparison with our mixed forests in Germany. But wherever man has once built his hut or tilled his field, this horrible bush springs up. Every phase of this process

may be seen in the course of a couple of hours’ walk along the main road. From the bush to right or left, one hears the sound of the axe— not from one spot only, but from several directions at once. A few steps further on, we can see what is taking place. The brush has been cut down and piled up in heaps to the height of a yard or more, between which the trunks of the large trees stand up like the last pillars of a magnificent ruined building. These, too, present a melancholy spectacle: the destructive Makonde have ringed them— cut a broad strip of bark all round to ensure their dying off—and also piled up pyramids of brush round them. Father and son, mother and son-in-law, are chopping away perseveringly in the background—too busy, almost, to look round at the white stranger, who usually excites so much interest. If you pass by the same place a week later, the piles of brushwood have disappeared and a thick layer of ashes has taken the place of the green forest. The large trees stretch their smouldering trunks and branches in dumb accusation to heaven—if they have not already fallen and been more or less reduced to ashes, perhaps only showing as a white stripe on the dark ground.

This work of destruction is carried out by the Makonde alike on the virgin forest and on the bush which has sprung up on sites already cultivated and deserted. In the second case they are saved the trouble of burning the large trees, these being entirely absent in the secondary bush.

After burning this piece of forest ground and loosening it with the hoe, the native sows his corn and plants his vegetables. All over the country, he goes in for bed-culture, which requires, and, in fact, receives, the most careful attention. Weeds are nowhere tolerated in the south of German East Africa. The crops may fail on the plains, where droughts are frequent, but never on the plateau with its abundant rains and heavy dews. Its fortunate inhabitants even have the satisfaction of seeing the proud Wayao and Wamakua working for them as labourers, driven by hunger to serve where they were accustomed to rule.

But the light, sandy soil is soon exhausted, and would yield no harvest the second year if cultivated twice running. This fact has been familiar to the native for ages; consequently he provides in time, and, while his crop is growing, prepares the next plot with axe and firebrand. Next year he plants this with his various crops and

lets the first piece lie fallow. For a short time it remains waste and desolate; then nature steps in to repair the destruction wrought by man; a thousand new growths spring out of the exhausted soil, and even the old stumps put forth fresh shoots. Next year the new growth is up to one’s knees, and in a few years more it is that terrible, impenetrable bush, which maintains its position till the black occupier of the land has made the round of all the available sites and come back to his starting point.

The Makonde are, body and soul, so to speak, one with this bush.

According to my Yao informants, indeed, their name means nothing else but “bush people.” Their own tradition says that they have been settled up here for a very long time, but to my surprise they laid great stress on an original immigration. Their old homes were in the south-east, near Mikindani and the mouth of the Rovuma, whence their peaceful forefathers were driven by the continual raids of the Sakalavas from Madagascar and the warlike Shirazis[47] of the coast, to take refuge on the almost inaccessible plateau. I have studied African ethnology for twenty years, but the fact that changes of population in this apparently quiet and peaceable corner of the earth could have been occasioned by outside enterprises taking place on the high seas, was completely new to me. It is, no doubt, however, correct.

The charming tribal legend of the Makonde—besides informing us of other interesting matters—explains why they have to live in the thickest of the bush and a long way from the edge of the plateau, instead of making their permanent homes beside the purling brooks and springs of the low country.

“The place where the tribe originated is Mahuta, on the southern side of the plateau towards the Rovuma, where of old time there was nothing but thick bush. Out of this bush came a man who never washed himself or shaved his head, and who ate and drank but little.

He went out and made a human figure from the wood of a tree growing in the open country, which he took home to his abode in the bush and there set it upright. In the night this image came to life and was a woman. The man and woman went down together to the Rovuma to wash themselves. Here the woman gave birth to a stillborn child. They left that place and passed over the high land into the valley of the Mbemkuru, where the woman had another child, which

was also born dead. Then they returned to the high bush country of Mahuta, where the third child was born, which lived and grew up. In course of time, the couple had many more children, and called themselves Wamatanda. These were the ancestral stock of the Makonde, also called Wamakonde,[48] i.e., aborigines. Their forefather, the man from the bush, gave his children the command to bury their dead upright, in memory of the mother of their race who was cut out of wood and awoke to life when standing upright. He also warned them against settling in the valleys and near large streams, for sickness and death dwelt there. They were to make it a rule to have their huts at least an hour’s walk from the nearest wateringplace; then their children would thrive and escape illness.”

The explanation of the name Makonde given by my informants is somewhat different from that contained in the above legend, which I extract from a little book (small, but packed with information), by Pater Adams, entitled Lindi und sein Hinterland. Otherwise, my results agree exactly with the statements of the legend. Washing?

Hapana—there is no such thing. Why should they do so? As it is, the supply of water scarcely suffices for cooking and drinking; other people do not wash, so why should the Makonde distinguish himself by such needless eccentricity? As for shaving the head, the short, woolly crop scarcely needs it,[49] so the second ancestral precept is likewise easy enough to follow. Beyond this, however, there is nothing ridiculous in the ancestor’s advice. I have obtained from various local artists a fairly large number of figures carved in wood, ranging from fifteen to twenty-three inches in height, and representing women belonging to the great group of the Mavia, Makonde, and Matambwe tribes. The carving is remarkably well done and renders the female type with great accuracy, especially the keloid ornamentation, to be described later on. As to the object and meaning of their works the sculptors either could or (more probably) would tell me nothing, and I was forced to content myself with the scanty information vouchsafed by one man, who said that the figures were merely intended to represent the nembo—the artificial deformations of pelele, ear-discs, and keloids. The legend recorded

by Pater Adams places these figures in a new light. They must surely be more than mere dolls; and we may even venture to assume that they are—though the majority of present-day Makonde are probably unaware of the fact—representations of the tribal ancestress.

The references in the legend to the descent from Mahuta to the Rovuma, and to a journey across the highlands into the Mbekuru valley, undoubtedly indicate the previous history of the tribe, the travels of the ancestral pair typifying the migrations of their descendants. The descent to the neighbouring Rovuma valley, with its extraordinary fertility and great abundance of game, is intelligible at a glance—but the crossing of the Lukuledi depression, the ascent to the Rondo Plateau and the descent to the Mbemkuru, also lie within the bounds of probability, for all these districts have exactly the same character as the extreme south. Now, however, comes a point of especial interest for our bacteriological age. The primitive Makonde did not enjoy their lives in the marshy river-valleys.

Disease raged among them, and many died. It was only after they had returned to their original home near Mahuta, that the health conditions of these people improved. We are very apt to think of the African as a stupid person whose ignorance of nature is only equalled by his fear of it, and who looks on all mishaps as caused by evil spirits and malignant natural powers. It is much more correct to assume in this case that the people very early learnt to distinguish districts infested with malaria from those where it is absent.

This knowledge is crystallized in the ancestral warning against settling in the valleys and near the great waters, the dwelling-places of disease and death. At the same time, for security against the hostile Mavia south of the Rovuma, it was enacted that every settlement must be not less than a certain distance from the southern edge of the plateau. Such in fact is their mode of life at the present day. It is not such a bad one, and certainly they are both safer and more comfortable than the Makua, the recent intruders from the south, who have made USUAL METHOD OF good their footing on the western edge of the CLOSING HUT-DOOR plateau, extending over a fairly wide belt of country. Neither Makua nor Makonde show in their dwellings anything of the size and comeliness of the Yao houses in the plain, especially at Masasi, Chingulungulu and Zuza’s. Jumbe Chauro, a Makonde hamlet not far from Newala, on the road to Mahuta, is the

most important settlement of the tribe I have yet seen, and has fairly spacious huts. But how slovenly is their construction compared with the palatial residences of the elephant-hunters living in the plain.

The roofs are still more untidy than in the general run of huts during the dry season, the walls show here and there the scanty beginnings or the lamentable remains of the mud plastering, and the interior is a veritable dog-kennel; dirt, dust and disorder everywhere. A few huts only show any attempt at division into rooms, and this consists merely of very roughly-made bamboo partitions. In one point alone have I noticed any indication of progress—in the method of fastening the door. Houses all over the south are secured in a simple but ingenious manner. The door consists of a set of stout pieces of wood or bamboo, tied with bark-string to two cross-pieces, and moving in two grooves round one of the door-posts, so as to open inwards. If the owner wishes to leave home, he takes two logs as thick as a man’s upper arm and about a yard long. One of these is placed obliquely against the middle of the door from the inside, so as to form an angle of from 60° to 75° with the ground. He then places the second piece horizontally across the first, pressing it downward with all his might.

It is kept in place by two strong posts planted in the ground a few inches inside the door. This fastening is absolutely safe, but of course cannot be applied to both doors at once, otherwise how could the owner leave or enter his house? I have not yet succeeded in finding out how the back door is fastened.

MAKONDE LOCK AND KEY AT JUMBE CHAURO

This is the general way of closing a house. The Makonde at Jumbe Chauro, however, have a much more complicated, solid and original one. Here, too, the door is as already described, except that there is only one post on the inside, standing by itself about six inches from one side of the doorway. Opposite this post is a hole in the wall just large enough to admit a man’s arm. The door is closed inside by a large wooden bolt passing through a hole in this post and pressing with its free end against the door. The other end has three holes into which fit three pegs running in vertical grooves inside the post. The door is opened with a wooden key about a foot long, somewhat curved and sloped off at the butt; the other end has three pegs corresponding to the holes, in the bolt, so that, when it is thrust through the hole in the wall and inserted into the rectangular opening in the post, the pegs can be lifted and the bolt drawn out.[50]

MODE OF INSERTING THE KEY

With no small pride first one householder and then a second showed me on the spot the action of this greatest invention of the Makonde Highlands. To both with an admiring exclamation of “Vizuri sana!” (“Very fine!”). I expressed the wish to take back these marvels with me to Ulaya, to show the Wazungu what clever fellows the Makonde are. Scarcely five minutes after my return to camp at Newala, the two men came up sweating under the weight of two heavy logs which they laid down at my feet, handing over at the same time the keys of the fallen fortress. Arguing, logically enough, that if the key was wanted, the lock would be wanted with it, they had taken their axes and chopped down the posts—as it never occurred to them to dig them out of the ground and so bring them intact. Thus I have

two badly damaged specimens, and the owners, instead of praise, come in for a blowing-up.

The Makua huts in the environs of Newala are especially miserable; their more than slovenly construction reminds one of the temporary erections of the Makua at Hatia’s, though the people here have not been concerned in a war. It must therefore be due to congenital idleness, or else to the absence of a powerful chief. Even the baraza at Mlipa’s, a short hour’s walk south-east of Newala, shares in this general neglect. While public buildings in this country are usually looked after more or less carefully, this is in evident danger of being blown over by the first strong easterly gale. The only attractive object in this whole district is the grave of the late chief Mlipa. I visited it in the morning, while the sun was still trying with partial success to break through the rolling mists, and the circular grove of tall euphorbias, which, with a broken pot, is all that marks the old king’s resting-place, impressed one with a touch of pathos.

Even my very materially-minded carriers seemed to feel something of the sort, for instead of their usual ribald songs, they chanted solemnly, as we marched on through the dense green of the Makonde bush:—