It was 1974. Jack Lemon won the award for best actor, the Oakland A's won the World Series, bread was only twenty four cents a loaf, and little 16 year old Johnny DeFendis was learning the most masochistic style of training in his quest to become Mr. America.
You see, I was that young kid who had trained for 6 years and competed on nine separate occasions without ever taking home a trophy.
In my determination to excel I happened to make a decision that would greatly affect the next 14 years of my life. I decided to train with Mr. America, Steve Michalik. It all started one day when I took a trip to the gym where all the so called "champions" trained, Mr. America's Gym. This was not your ordinary family fitness center. The walls were painted jet black and the equipment was red, reminiscent of an old gothic torture chamber.
There was a two foot sign on the wall over the front desk mounted on a plaque that read MESSAGE OF DAY:
"Train Beyond the pain and Death is your only release!"
I walked in and asked to speak to Mr. America himself. This was my first mistake! Steve Michalik was not your typical gym owner. He didn't care about the money, nor did he care about hurting anyone's feelings. As a matter of fact, Steve Michalik really didn't care about much of anything except training.
I don't mean training as it is referred to by mere mortals.
No this type of training had a whole new meaning.
It was brutal and it was Intense!
The gym attendant pointed towards an area of equipment that was roped off and said "Steve is over there training but I wouldn't bother him if I were you!"
Well, Mr. Gym attendant, you're not me, I thought to myself. After all I was an aspiring champion who had placed fifth in the recent local teenage contest and I figured that Steve would be happy to talk to me.
Boy, was I mistaken!
It went something like this... "Hi Steve, I'm John DeFendis, and I wondered if"..., I didn't even get to finish my sentence when this hulk of a man transformed into something monstrous.
Something scary enough to warrant a silver bullet or some holy water!
I wished that I had brought along a cross or a wooden stake to drive through his heart because that would have been the only way to prevent what was about to happen next. He threw the dumbells he was curling, at my feet and started screaming hysterically "I'm going to kill you if you don't get the hell out of here, I'll kick your ass. Get the hell out, and don't ever come near me while I'm training!"
At this point, I kind of got the impression that I might not be welcome here and figured that I should probably make myself scarce. So I left. My enthusiasm to excel in bodybuilding far outweighed my will to live, so later the same evening I journeyed back to the gym for some more abuse. This time I was sneaking around outside and looking in the window when a large hand grabbed me by the back of my neck.
As I turned around and stood face to face with my worst nightmare, I noticed deltoids that looked like cantaloupes, and biceps that resembled large grapefruits. It was him...Mr. America.
As I stood there waiting to get blasted, he looked straight in my eyes and said, "what is it that you want kid? And make it fast because I have to catch a meal!"
I replied, "I want to become a champion, just like you. I want to be Mr. America. I thought that maybe you would train me to make my goal a reality." Steve replied "Oh you want to become a champion? Is that right?What makes you think that you possess the qualities that it takes to become a champion?" Before I could reply, Michalik continued, "Okay hotshot, Mr. Champion, you meet me here tomorrow at 5:00 a.m. and we'll see if you have the balls to train like a champion. Don't be late Mr. Champion...don't be late!"
The following day I was like a little kid going to the candy store. I was so excited to be able to train with Mr. America. This was my chance. I came rushing in the gym expecting to see Steve waiting there to explain the fundamentals of his training to me, but instead of waiting for me he was engrossed in an intense workout. Beads of sweat poured off his brow, and he had this look in his eye that was hypnotic, almost frightening. When he finished his set he dropped the weight and slowly turned my way. "It's 5:05 and you're late. Get the hell out of my gym and don't waste my time, he said, get the hell out of here! Be here tomorrow at 5:00 sharp and I'll give you another chance."
The next day I was there at 5:00. There was only one problem. No sign of Steve Michalik. I sat on the curb waiting. It was 6:00, then 7:00 and finally 8:00. Steve ultimately showed up to open the gym at 9:00. As he got out of his car, I said "This is bullshit, where the hell have you been?"
Well, that's not exactly what I said, but it was something on the lines of, "I'm sorry Mr. Michalik for showing up 4 hours early for the workout. Are we going to train now?"
Steve just unlocked the gym door and mumbled something about today being his rest day and that we could resume training at 5:00 sharp tomorrow if I had the guts to show up. Once again I left disappointed. That night I didn't get much sleep because I was determined to show Michalik that I was tough and indestructible.
The next morning I was at the gym at 4:45 and Steve showed up shortly thereafter. He asked me if I thought that I trained hard. I chuckled and with a cocky attitude replied
"I train harder than anybody!" Steve chuckled alittle himself and said, "Well good Mr. Champion, then lets get started.
Steve began with a set of Flat Dumbell Flyes with 60 pound dumbells.
In perfect form he completed 12 smooth reps. I walked up to the old metal rack and began lifting the 40 pound dumbells and was immediately interrupted by Steve. He shouted,
"What the hell are you doing? If you train with me then you use my weights or you get the hell out!" Steve pointed towards the front door.
With a slight bit of uneasiness I walked over and slowly lifted the 60 pound dumbells off of the rack. I'd only used this weight once in my life but I was determined to show Mr. America that I could do it. It was hard but somehow my determination to succeed paid off and I hammered out the mandatory 12 reps!
YES!
I was ecstatic and I felt accomplished and proud!
Standing there with a teenagers cocky, shit eating grin on, I turned around and shockingly watched Mr. America grasp the 100 pound dumbells and bang out another 12 rep set.
As he finished his last rep I looked at the front door and contemplated what seemed to be the only decision I could make at this time.
Before I could take a step in that direction though, Steve yelled, "Let's go! Grab the weight and do it!" My heart was racing, sweat pouring from my brow, the gym seemed to get much darker as if the lights were dimmed and then Steve said,
"Grab the dumbells, I got you, just grab them and let's go!"
The words that resonated the most to me were
"I got you!"
For sone reason I believed him and I somehow dragged those dumbells off of that rack and managed to kick them up into position with my knees in an effort to do a fly. It wasn't happening that day but Steve managed to help me get 2 forced but assisted reps.
(Note: 8 months later I was doing the 100's for 12 reps.)
By the end of the workout I was both mentally and physically exhausted but content because Steve knew that I gave it all that I had. He asked for 100% and I gave him 100%!
Day one completed! I would know get another chance to come back and train with him again tomorrow! Yeah me!
The next day wasn't any easier.
This time we were training while the gym was open so he had a different protocol.
Steve started to set up several different exercise stations. After strategically placing dumbells on a number of benches and machines, he roped off the area with a large thick rope. The kind of rope that they have in movie theaters. I later named the roped off areas in our workout, "Hell on earth!" This was where all the action took place.
The area was roped off so no other gym member could interrupt our workout or minimize our focus. Michalik made me believe that we were gladiators who were going to battle. The roped off area represented the battleground and you would only emerge a successful warrior if you could withstand the pain and survive the battle. On my way to victory I made several journeys to visit the porcelain throne. In other words, I puked my guts up. I was forced to do a series of exercises without any rest, until I had to make a pitstop at the toilet. Instead of doing forced reps, I found myself doing forced sets! I was forced to do them. After a week of these tortuous workouts I found myself laying in a hospital bed trying to recover from a depleted broken down body. I obviously wasn't ready for this intensity yet. I learned my first lesson. Do not try to keep up with Michalik...He is bionic! As I lay there trying to figure out what went wrong, Michalik was telling all the members of the gym that I was mentally and physically weak and that I should try my hand at badminton or croquet. This infuriated me and I was even more determined to show this cyborg that I had what it would take to become a champion. So the day after I got out of the hospital I was back at the gym and right in Michaliks face. I boldly said, "What will not kill me will only make me stronger!"
We then became a team. We fueled each other to reach for the sky and settle for nothing less than the stars. My ship had come in and I was rocketing towards my goal. I won the Teenage Mr. Metropolitan New York title and the Mr. New York title the same night, then Mr. Eastern America, Mr. Western America and finally the Mr. U.S.A. title. But in my quest I made every sacrifice along the way. The workouts were brutal and our names became synonymous with the saying "INTENSITY OR INSANITY?"
People often wondered, if our workouts were incredibly intense or were they considered insane? We never did less than 40 sets for each bodypart and sometimes as much as 100 sets for a single area!
Stay tuned for the next chapter.

Flashback to 1982. I'm sitting in my backyard at my new home in Phoenix reading a Muscle & Fitness magazine. I'm married now, alittle more mellow, and my situation has transported me from New York to sunny Arizona. The article that I'm focusing on is about the upcoming U.S.A. Championships and includes two of my photos. The caption next to one of my photos reads, " John DeFendis, a terror from the east, is now living in Phoenix, Arizona, and is rocketing like a meteor toward the 1982 U.S.A. Championships with mass built by means of incredible 40, 50, even 75 set-per-bodypartworkouts!"
I'm excited about the flattering press but I must admit, I didn't know if the sweat dripping from my brow was from the hot Sun or from the stress and pressure caused from the fear of possible failure.
I immediately ran into the house and phoned Mr. America Steve Michalik and expressed my concern. Once again I realized that I made a mistake by calling him.
He barks through the telephone, "You feel pressure? You're afraid that you might fail and lose the contest? You gutless bastard! You have two choices. You can either quit bodybuilding and take up badminton, or you can fly back to New York and pick up your balls where you left them and train for the show with me!" Michalik has once again spoken and I can feel a knot of nausea well up in my stomach. At this point I proceed to explain to my good friend Mr. America that my wife and I could not afford to pay for a plane ticket to New York, and at the same time I couldn't miss 6 weeks of work. His voice gets even louder and he starts to sound like a psychopath that has completely lost control.
"John, do you really want to win? Must you insist on being a failure or are you going to do what it takes to capture the title?"
He hesitates for a second and then asks,"Do you own a television?" I reply with a yes, not knowing where this is going to lead to. Then Steve asks,"Do you own a nice stereo system? "By this time I feel like a defendant on trial that is being led down a bad path through a series of questioning, but I again said yes. I told Steve, "I do own a stereo, but what does that have to do with winning a contest?" At this point Steve screams into the telephone, "Sell your damn television and sell your damn stereo and do what you have to do to accomplish your goals! Anyone can own a television but only a small handful of people have the genetics and potential to win a major bodybuilding title. Material objects don't mean shit!
Now...you have to make a decision, do you want to be a champion or would you rather sit at home and watch the real champions on your nice big color t.v?"
At this point I really didn't need to reply because Steve and I both knew where this was going. He had too much of an influence on me, so I hung up the phone and I borrowed the money for the trip.
Delta Flight 228 was scheduled to leave Phoenix Airport at 7:30 A.M. It would be a long flight and would not arrive at Kennedy Airport until 4:45. At least I would be able to get some rest between the time that I left Phoenix and tommorows workout. As I sat in my uncomfortably narrow seat on the plane I fearfully anticipated what would lie ahead. Fortunately, the plane arrived in New York on time. That was good.
At the same time Steve was waiting for me at the terminal. That was real good.
Unfortunately, his dress attire was not appropriate for the occasion. This was real bad. He sported a torn up old sweatshirt with a raggy tanktop underneath and some ancient sweatpants with a giant hole in the knee.
For some strange reason I had the feeling that this was going to be a very long day for me. Steve didn't waste any time. His warm greeting went something like this; "Lets go, get your ass in gear, we have to train our Chest, Back & Shoulders and still be able to get 2 more meals in today." But, Steve, I replied, "I just got off the plane and I feel like I have major jet lag. Can we start tommorow?" His face took on a transformation and his eyes started to bug out, so before he spoke I reluctantly committed to my post flight, nightmare workout. At the same time I came to the sick realization that I had wished that my flight had missed the runway altogether. The car ride from Kennedy airport to the gym took approximately 45 minutes. In that time span only 4 words were spoken. Steve said, " I hope you're ready!" I just nodded and realized that he was on a mission. I knew that he wanted to once again prove to himself that he was indestructable and that he had the capabilities of annihilating anyone in his path. This was his M.O.
Michalik had sent more people to the hospital than Hurracaine Andrew and the California Earthquake combined! Upon arriving at "MR. AMERICA'S GYM" I noticed that nothing had changed since I had left 3 years earlier. A member was still forced to sign in with a pen syringe and the atmosphere was still hardcore. No businessmen or ladies here. Just masochistic lunatics. As I entered the front door I was pleased to see that Michalik had a full size wall mural of me doing my trademark vacuum pose. Immediately several of my old friends approached me with their arms out. They reflected on the old days and expressed their congratulations on my accomplishments and articles in all of the magazines. For a second I almost felt important and proud. But before I began to bask in my glory, it all ended ubruptly. Michalik shouted across the gym,
"Hey primadonna, don't listen to their ass kissing bullshit, Get the hell over here and lets see if you have what it takes to be a champion. From looking at your pathetic condition I'm starting to get the impression that you've been spending most of your time rearranging cactus out there in the desert."
At this time I knew that I was getting ready to face the greatest challenge of my life, and more than anything, I loved challenges. I figured that I would make my situation more interesting so I said to Steve, "I'm not a kid anymore, so don't think that your attitude is going to intimidate me. I came 3000 miles to show you what I am made of, and I intend to do just that. So stop wasting my time and lets get rock'in and roll'in!" Michalik looked at me in disbelief. As he finished setting up the roped off battlezone, he sternly said...
"You my friend, are going to die!"

PAIN!
PAIN!
PAIN!!!
Why is it that...In a lifetime
full of Suffering, Pain, and Hardships, some of us will
take it upon ourselves to
inflict even more pain?
As I sit here and look back to the Michalik era, it is not difficult to understand why I would subject myself to such torture.
My perseverance stemmed from wanting to win.
My desire to become the best built man in the country.
I wanted to be Mr. America and nothing was going to stop me!
My will to conquer that goal and become a Champion was unfathomable to my friends and family.
We all have it buried somewhere within our souls though.
We all have the desire to accomplish goals, but often times we make excuses or just give up.
But, there are no excuses and we should never give up!
Giving up only causes regret and depression.
A Champion is a Champion and will never succumb to the obstacles that are thrown in their path.
Circa 1982:
Mr. America's Gym, Farmingdale, Long Island, New York.
Michalik struts across the gym floor with a set of 60 pounders for Incline Flys.
I know the routine.
Three Benches,
Three exercises, all sets till failure, nonstop ass kicking supersets with full blown INTENSITY!
Steve begins with almost 300 pounds on the Incline Smith machine. He then proceeds to the second bench to complete
a set of Incline Flys, and finally Pullovers across the the half moon bench with a 100 pound dumbell.
He moves methodically like a cyborg on a mission.
I can see him out of the corner of my eye on my way to the fly bench. He is indestuctable, but
I cannot slow down or miss a beat because within minutes he will circle behind me and humiliate me.
I realize now that I have not been training at this level since I left Steve years earlier.
On the third cycle of exercises
I feel exhausted and I begin to panic.
Just as Fear starts to overtake me, Michalik screams,
"Come On, Look at you!
You look like a skeleton with a wig! You have no muscles!"
Damn! He said it again!
The old "skeleton with a wig" comment!
I haven't heard that one since
I'd left New York 2 years earlier.
Michalik continues taunting me:
What the hell have you been doing these last couple of years? Sitting on your ass watching your dreams fade away into the Arizona sunset?
Oh, man, I'm pissed off now and I manage to find the energy and guts to shift my body into high gear. Steve knew exactly how to press my buttons and that the insults wouldn't crush my spirit, but rather fuel me to train harder!
At this point I must have totally lost my mind because I remember yelling,
"Come on! Bury me if you think you can...Just try to put me in the hospital again.
You'll be the one driving off in the ambulance Mr. Champion!"
Oh, shit.
I couldn't believe that those words actually came out of my mouth.
I started to sound like a Michalik clone. As I sit here and look back and remember that moment,
I wonder how many brain cells were missing from my cranium when I was born.
Too many to count I guess.
mas·och·ism: (noun)
condition in which the subject delights in being hurt or humiliated.
Masochist - (noun)
John DeFendis!!!
Michalik was right.
I was a very brash, cocky kid.
But at this point in time, I was a brash, cocky kid that was about to get the beating of a lifetime! My pathetic statements fueled the madman.
His face distorted and was overcome with a rage of fury that could have sent chills down Freddy Kruegers back.
He grabbed me and shoved me towards the Nautilus Pec dec.
Get up there!
We're doing Pin Pulls!
Then he frantically started running around pulling pins out of the various pieces of equipment in the gym.
It didn't take me long to figure out what was about to take place next.
I predicted Pain and Suffering ahead. He strategically placed the pins in the weight stack,
all 5 of them.
The first set would be the entire stack, and as I completely failed with each weight, Steve would make me do a couple of forced reps before he extracted the pin. The pain was unbearable.
I wanted to quit after the third drop set, but I knew, I just knew that was not an option.
To quit was to DIE!
It felt like hours had gone by when I finally completed the series but it had only been minutes.
Now, it was the masters turn.
I would thoroughly enjoy the moments that lie ahead.
His pain was now my relief and joy!
Sadism - (noun) deriving pleasure from inflicting pain on another.
Sadist - (noun) John DeFendis and Steve Michalik.
Michalik churned out rep after rep. He made it look easy at first but started to grimace after he completed the second set.
After his final reps on each set
I rapidly yanked the pin out so that he wouldn't get a second to rest. I couldn't pull it out fast enough.
I wanted him to pass out, so that I could go home a winner.
Okay, maybe I would have been happy just being able to leave alive and in one piece.
Before too long I found myself back up on the machine. "Second round coming up," Michalik shouted. I knew that there would be Five rounds.
This was one of Steves favorites. He wouldn't be content until I could no longer move.
He wanted to teach me a lesson by annihilating me.
Finally, I completed my last set in the series. I remember whispering to myself,
"Get me the F#%k away from this machine!"
As usual, there was a crowd of wannabe Michalik trainees standing around waiting to see if I would fail or quit.
In all of the years that Michalik trained with aspiring champions, there were only a select few that kept up, and most of them are in isolated, padded rooms at the Mental Hospital now.
If you get close enough, you can even hear them screaming,
"No more, I can't do another rep, let me go home now!"

"INTENSITY or INSANITY Training" was not only a method of training that enabled me to become a champion, but it was a time that cannot and will not be duplicated. It was an era when most bodybuilders relied on ballistic and animalistic training to Get Big and Grow Strong!
It was an EPIC time.
Stay tuned for Part 4 in the coming days.

When Mr. America Steve Michalik trained, the fires of hell burned in his eyes.
The man was an animal!
I lived each waking moment anticipating the ass kickin' workouts that lie ahead that
day and I wondered, how in
hell would I be able to overcome them?
I embraced and exemplified the quote by Friedrich Nietzsche... "That which will not kill you...will only only make you stronger."
The key was to figure out how
to survive, thrive, grow and become a champion on these workouts.
It wasn't easy at first, but I was determined not to quit.
I wanted to win the USA and claim a spot in the record books. I was not looking to be fit.
I wanted to be the best.
If you want to be a champion you have to make sacrifices. Michalik was not only a champion but he was the Vince Lombardi of Bodybuilding.
Winning meant everything.
You had to make sacrifices.
You had to endure the pain of the extreme and intense workouts.
I could hear his voice in my sleep...
"Train beyond the pain...and Death is your only release!"
I kept telling myself that his quote was in jest, but I often times questioned that.
It was a hot sunny day in the summer of 1979 and we just finished a brutal 55 set leg workout.
Yes, that's right...55 sets!
It may sound crazy and you may think it's overtraining, but at
20 years old I was sporting
28 1/2 inch ripped to the bone quads from these workouts.
Big, thick, muscular thighs at a time when Bill Phillips probably couldn't even pronounce the word "Creatine" and way before I ever heard the words
"Growth Hormone!"
Makes you think about training harder in the present era of Tren, IGF-1, Insulin, Growth Hormone, and 16 quart jugs of Whey Protein.
Anyway...the freak (Michalik) invited me to catch some rays at the beach in preparation for the upcoming USA.
On the way to the beach I kept asking Michalik what it was going to take for me to win the USA Championships.
What would I have to do and what sacrifices had to be made beyond the ones that I was already making?
Steve was quiet.
He just kept looking out the window but refused to mutter a word.
A short time later we arrived
at Jones Beach, dropped our towels on the sand and proceeded towards the water. When we were out far enough for the water to cover my chest, Steve grabbed me and aggressively shoved me under the surf.
I managed to surface for a moment. I gagged, coughed,
and was shoved under again. Michalik would allow me to come up for a moment so I somehow would be able to catch a breath of air, then proceed to shove me under again and again. I frantically kicked and fought until Michalik finally shoved me away and walked out of the water and sat back up on the beach towel.
As I spit up salt water and tried to catch my breath, he started yelling out to the surf where I was laying like a fish out of water...
"Tell me how it felt to have one breath...How bad did you want that little breath of air Mr. Champion???
I stood there with a plethora of emotions. Dazed, confused, scared and a bit angry, all at the same time.
He spoke again with very clear, loud and powerful words.
"When you want to win as bad as you wanted that one breath of air...then you win.
That's what it will take for you to be the best!"
That day marked a hiatus that lasted for the next three years: Michalik as the demanding mentor, and I as the willing punching bag.
Day after day and week after week I started to grow bigger and better. The workouts were unbelievable. Michalik taught more than training though;
he instilled in me a will to win that was almost supernatural.
I lived to train, eat and sleep and I worked long enough hours to afford all of lifes luxurys, which consisted of a 1972 Chevy Vega with no front end, an endless supply of chicken, a basement apartment with a mattress on the floor and a cupboard full of vitamins.
But looking back now, I realize the meaning of the phrase, "Happier than a pig in shit". Because my lifestyle would have been misery to most, but to me I was on top of the world. I was doing what I wanted to do and I was skyrocketing towards my goal. I was, in essence, happier than a pig in shit! It didn't matter to me that I was waking up at 5:00 in the morning to eat egg whites so that I could be at the gym by 6:30, and it didn't matter that I was dragged through the last half of the workout like the gladiator in the chariot scene from the movie Ben Hur. What did matter was the fact that I was training with Mr. America and that even though he was mentally and physically beating the living shit out of me day after day, I was improving dramatically. My 18 inch biceps were now well over 20 inches and the peak was getting higher by the hour. Dumbells that I had once used for heavy incline presses were now my warm up weights for exercises like dumbell curls and lateral raises. Intensity or Insanity Training was as routine as breakfast in the morning. Every time someone said that we couldn't do something, it inspired us to do it anyway. 50 sets of heavy barbell curls? Been there...done that! 30 sets of squats...500 pound inclines...100 pound dumbell curls...90 pound dumbell laterals...60 set Back workouts. Our lives could have been characterized by the quote made famous by Walter Gagehot, "A great pleasure in life is doing what people say you cannot do." It was about this time that my parents realized that I was possessed by Michalik. They despised him for turning me into a living, eating, breathing, training machine. They tried to keep me away but it was too late.
Once I realized that these long hard training sessions were the key to my progress, there was nothing on earth that could have kept me away from the gym.
Ah, the gym. Michaliks gym. It was different as I had once stated in a previous article. No aerobics classes...no cardio equipment...no sauna, steam, or pool...no raquetball! Just big heavy black steel machines and benches with red padding to remind you of the old torture chambers. When you came to Mr. America's Gym to train, there was only one way, one speed- very hard and very fast!
The facade and grounds to the front door were hosed down several times a day to wash away lost breakfasts and lunches. This was the hardcore mecca of bodybuilding, a shrine to gut wrenching, ball busting workouts.
No Tony Little Gazelle exercise machines or treadmills found on these premises! If you didn't train hard, you were shown, or should I say thrown through the back door!
Medals were won by how many brutal workouts you could endure and you were only as "bad" as your last workout.
You were respected not so much by how you looked but as how hard you could train!
Steve didn't take any bullshit!
If someone trained with us and they ended up in the hospital which was often the case, we passed them off as mentally and physically weak.
And as I sit here and think about the past, I have one thing to add to that Friedrich Nietzsche quote...
"That which will not kill you ...
will only only make you stronger, and if it does kill you...
You shouldn't have been training with us to begin with!"