WASECA -- Ever try pulling a 23,000 pound semi truck?

Of course not.

Ask someone like Ben Hanson and he'll say 'of course'.

In fact, Hanson, a 32-year-old weight lifter from Waseca, will perform that unorthodox method of mass movement Saturday as a competitor of the North American Strong Man Contest, which will be held at 10:30 a.m. at the Waseca County Free Fair.

"It's the contest I most look forward to each year," said Hanson, who competes in roughly half a dozen contests each year.]]> And pulling semis is just scratching the surface of the Strongman.

Lifters such as Hanson will also man the tasks of dead-lifting weight, pressing kegs overhead, hauling oxen yoke and loading concrete stones.

Naturally, all these events incorporate an astounding amount of weight.

The semi truck is 23,000 pounds worth of pulling. Following that event is the dead-lift, which starts at 405 pounds and continues to climb until the last man standing succeeds. Next in line is the keg press, requiring men to lift four kegs (ranging from 160-240 pounds) of increasing weight overhead as quickly as they can. Following is the Super Yoke, where lifters burden 750 pounds (650 for lightweights) over a 75 foot course, one Hanson called "spine-wrenching." Capping of the contest is the Atlas Stones, calling for competitors to pick up spherical stones (240-370 pounds) off of the ground and load them onto a four-inch platform.

"The Atlas Stones have become a mainstay at the fair," Hanson noted, "and will again put an exclamation point on what's sure to be a very close race."

And if you ever wondered what one thinks about when all of the weight is being controlled by muscles and exoskeletons, Hanson can probably answer for everybody.

"Not screwing up," he said. "One mistake can negate the gains of weeks of hard training. One bad event can mean the difference between going home a winner and just going home."

When those initial 'don't-screw-up' thoughts subside, Hanson, however, says that he thinks about "Absolutely nothing," adding, "my mind is blank."

That kind of focus enabled Hanson to take second place behind Atilla Gabrielli last year at the fair in the lightweight division, just like he had two years ago. This summer, Gabrielli bowed out of the contest due to a broken ankle.

"I only have on goal in mind," Hanson said.

Whether Hanson wins or not, as long as he places in the top three he, among others, will earn an invitation in September to the North American Strongman national championship in Salt Lake City, Utah.
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But first and foremost he is looking forward to Waseca County Free Fair's Strongman.

"It's special for me," Hanson said. "My dad does so much to make this contest possible and I want to make him proud. The county fair gives us a great stage and it's definitely a boost so see so many fans each year."

"Where are you right now?" he said.
"About half hour north of Cheyenne. Why?"
"I just heard that Windsor, Colorado was hit hard by a tornado. Wasn't that where you were supposed to be competing this weekend?"

I thanked my dad and hung up to concentrate on driving As we approached the northern outskirts of Cheyenne, my girlfriend turned on the radio. The first clear station the seek button found informed us that a tornado had just touched down on the southern edge of Cheyenne. Cheyenne isn't a very large city and I took the next exit to seek refuge in a convenience store.

The next hour was spent staring out a plate glass window and listening to weather report after weather report while waiting for the storms to pass so we could finish the last five miles of our journey.

When we finally made it into Chyenne, my first call was to North American Strongman, Inc president, Willie Wessels. Not only hadn't he heard if the contest was still a go, he hadn't even heard there was a tornado! He thanked me for calling him and let me know that he'd try contacting the contest promoter and let me know what he found out. Around 8:00 pm, the power went out, so we went outside to enjoy the view from the wrap-around deck on our cabin and this is what we saw.

When we awoke the next morning, we turned on the news to find that another tornado had hit Cheyenne just about the time the power went out. Still unsure of whether or not the contest was going to be held, we checked out of our cabin and headed to Rocky Mountain National Park en route to our hotel near the contest site. I was worried about making weight and I was starving, so I called a few friends to see if they knew anything about the status of the contest. The bathroom scale I'd brought weighed me in at 230 lbs on the nuts, which is much too close for comfort. If the contest was going to be canceled, I wanted to partake in the bounty of ham sandwiches, summer sausage, and wine that we packed while viewing the majesty of the Rocky Mountains.

On the way from the mountains to our hotel, I got the message that I'd been waiting for: The contest was still on. Instead of being held at the original location in Windsor, however, it was being held in nearby Loveland. After checking into the hotel, we decided to drive by the address we were given to see if it was the right place. After all, the address we were given looked to be residential. When we arrived at 1702 W. 8th Street, all we saw was an older home with a gravel driveway and a pair of RVs in their rather small back yard. Double and triple checking the address (at least the one I'd written down) confirmed that we were at the right house.

My first thought was that they were going to have to change some of the events. There was no way we could have a keg toss on the street, and truck pull on the upward sloping gravel driveway would be impossible for even the great Bill Kazmaier. I honestly had no idea what to expect. Was it going to resemble an old school training day in someone's front yard or was the street going to be blocked off with bleachers full of hungry fans? I didn't even know how many competitors to expect.

The next morning, we left early in case we had the wrong address but there was no need to worry.There was a sheet of plywood with "N.A.S., Inc" painted boldly across the top and "1702" spray painted just below it. The little girl standing near the sign directed us to "drive down the driveway, cross the homemade bridge, and park anywhere."

And after all that worry about making weight, I weighed in at a scant 223 lbs. I brought my cooler full of cheese, ham sandwiches, beer, and pedialyte over to the contest site and made camp with my girlfriend under the awning of one of the RVs. I surveyed the patch of dry dirt encircling an island of tall grass, cut logs, dirt piles, and trees that we were going to be using for the events. It was ghetto. It was hard-fucking core. I instantly loved it. And because of the flying dust, all of the events would be much harder. All of my practice had been on dry pavement under ideal conditions but one of the traits of a great athlete is the ability to adapt and this day's circumstances were certainly going to highlight the best all-around athletes in the group.

After an understandably delayed start while everyone got their bearings, we got underway with the first event: The tire flip and stone load medley. We lightweights were charged with flipping a 600 lb tire for three flips, then loading a 245 lb stone onto an oil barrel. This would repeat three times.

If any event was going to be particularly difficult due to the dusty conditions, this would be it. Getting a decent grip on a tire is tough enough under ideal conditions, but the inevitable dust cloud would make the second and third flips a nightmare. To even think about getting a decent grip on the stone is asinine.

As I watched the first two competitors fail to complete all 9 flips and 3 stone loads, I noticed a common problem. They weren't able to load the stone after the dust had accumulated on their arms. I figured that I could get around this though. Just before being called out to lift, I took off my shirt and dabbed a tacky cloth (the same kind you use for staining woodwork) all over my chest and arms. When I was finished with that, I stuck the sticky rag in my pocket in case I needed it again.

I stepped onto the dusty expanse and took my grip on the tire in preparation. When the judge gave me the signal, I flipped the tire the first three times quick enough to pace the field. On those three flips alone, the dust had already covered my arms. I didn't have any trouble getting a good grip on the tire because there were some good treads on the bottom, but loading that stone was going to be a bitch. Jogging over to the stone, I reached into my pocket and grabbed my tacky towel, not so much to make my hands and forearms sticky, but more to try and capture the dirt had collected on them during the tire flip. The stone went up to the platform without issue and I headed back to the tire I left behind to continue the grueling medley without my tacky rag.

It was during the 5th flip of the tire that something hit me. Like someone walked up and socked me in the gut. My legs were turning to rubber and I was suddenly out of gas and I was only half way through the event! I finished the 5th and 6th flips of the tire my lungs and legs burning and painfully loaded the stone for the second time.

By the time I got to the final set of tire flips, my body was screaming at me to quit. I couldn't breath, my knees were on the verge of buckling, and my ears were anticipating the imminent blowing of the final whistle. I managed to finish all nine flips of the tire before I heard the judge say "You're done. Good job." I hadn't gotten the chance to try the final stone load and I could only guess that I'd run out of time.

Still, my performance was good enough to place me in the lead. But that was short-lived as I watched all five of the remaining competitors complete the course in the allotted time while I struggled to regain my breath.

The second event was the farmers walk for maximum distance. Normally, farmers walk is a pretty good event for me because I'm fast and athletic. However, when a farmer's walk is for max distance, it's as much of a test of grip strength as it is of speed. A fast guy with poor grip will usually under perform against a slow guy with a great grip. It's no secret that my grip strength is suspect, so my strategy was to be the fastest dude out there and hope that a few others had a bad day.

When I went to pick up the implements, I noticed something alarming: While the handles were heavily and freshly knurled, they were also a lot fatter than most farmers handles. Most of the time, they're about the diameter of a standard lifting bar, but these bastards were just plain fat. I'd have to go fast and hope for the best.

I picked up each 230 lb implement quickly and began to sprint toward the tire 50 feet down course. (If you don't believe me, check out the dust cloud I kicked up). About 10 feet from the tire, I slowed my step to prepare for the turn and I headed back the other way. As I made the turn around the tire in the starting position, I knew that I had to make it at least half way to the next tire to place respectably. The turn around the second tire was smooth, but as I approached the ¼ way mark, I began to lose the grip in my left hand. I quickened my step to make sure every inch counted and ended up dropping the load at 113 feet, 4 inches. Normally, I'd be hopping mad about a performance that poor, but with handles that fat and the encompassing dust cloud, I was somewhat happy with a 4th place finish.

Going into the third event, I really had no idea what to expect. Originally, we were supposed to be carrying heavy plastic barrels (just like in the 2007 World's Strongest Man) and loading them onto a platform. That is the event I'd trained for, and had we done that at the advertised weights, no one would have even come close to me. In training, I was sprinting with water-filled barrels 50 lbs heavier than the contest weights. Alas, the "Events are subject to change without notice" Gods, as well as the tornado Gods were in full effect. Instead of having to pick barrels of challenging weights off the ground and carry them to a waiting flat bed truck, we had to pick light plastic barrels off a flatbed truck, carry them around a tire 20 feet away, and replace them on the trailer.

After finishing half way through the pack on the farmers walk, I had the dubious pleasure of going behind some guys who were kind enough to drop the water-filled barrels in the dust. After watching some of the other guys go, I can confidently say that technique had very little to do with the outcome of the event. For the guys in contention for the lightweight title, the best course of action was to grab it and run. While I knew that I was faster than all but one or two of the guys in the lightweights, I chose to stick with the method I'd trained with on the heavy barrels back in Minnesota. Instead of putting one hand on the bottom lip and one hand on the top lip like most of the competitors before me, I stuck with my training and stuck a firm hand on the bottom rim of the barrel while cradling the top with my other arm.

For the first three barrels, it worked. The fourth, 125 lb barrel (50 lbs less than what I trained with back home) fell victim to the failings of the competitor before me. Had he not dropped the last barrel during his run and rolled it back and forth through the loose dirt, I'd have had a clean barrel to grab. Instead, I grabbed the final barrel of my run and immediately felt it slipping out of my grasp. If I didn't slow down, this barrel would meet the same fate as on the previous carrier. As I crossed the finish line, I heard the score keeper tell me my time of about 45 seconds. For the moment, it was good enough for the lead in the event, but it wouldn't stand. As I walked over to bust on heavyweight pro and 2008 World's Strongest Man qualifier, Brian Shaw for tearing up his finger earlier that morning, I saw only two other competitors complete the course faster than me.

Heading into the fourth event, the seated truck pull, I was a little worried. I knew I needed a good finish or I could kiss my chances of finishing on the podium goodbye. Unfortunately, seated truck pull has been one of my worst events.

When I saw them setting up for the truck pull, I was a bit confused. All of the previous seated truck pulls that I've done have been on a plywood platform with a sturdy foot rest. This setup, however, was much different; we were given a tire to sit in and pull from. Though seated truck pull was perhaps my worst event yet, I'd never pulled a vehicle from a tire before. I looked at the apparatus and made the quick decision that this was going to be all about arms and upper back, rather than the standard deep, low back row with leg assist. A few of the competitors ahead of me finished the pull in well under the allotted 60 seconds, so if I wanted to finish high, I was going to have to concentrate on pulling fast and keeping the slack out of the line.

As I stood in the tire, grasping tightly to the rope and staring down the lifted Duramax diesel truck, I made a pact with myself that I wouldn't let the rope touch the ground, no matter how much the altitude made me want to stop. By the time the truck had crossed the line, my grip had been reduced to shreds as the 10,000 lb truck covered 80' across the barren terrain. While I felt like chopping my hands off and donating them to handless children to relieve the pain, I'd achieved my goal of not letting the rope touch the ground and took 5th place in an event I usually bomb.

Going into the final event, I honestly had no clue where I stood. Due to the remote location and lack of computers, the scoring wasn't exactly up-to-date and all previous event standings were up to interpretation. All I knew was that the upcoming keg toss event was my forte.

A few weeks before this contest, I'd trained specifically for the keg toss with Dave Ostlund and Brian Shaw. The difference between training with Dave and Brian and competing in Colorado was huge. In Minnesota, Dave, Brian, and I were all throwing kegs over a 16' bar. After a few throws, I became comfortable with hurling the 40 lb chunks of steel over a 5 meter bar while Dave and Brian made it look like a slow-moving jump rope. In Colorado, I had to throw 5 kegs over a 10 foot bar.

Earlier in the week, I practiced my keg toss to see exactly how high and how far I could whip them. According to the ten foot fence at the tennis court in my HOA, I could comfortably toss an empty keg from twelve steps away. When I finally got the go-ahead to toss the kegs, I walked my 12 steps from the crossbar and drew a line in the dirt with my shoe. I knew that if I pulled each keg back to that line and tossed it, I'd have no trouble.

My first three keg tosses were flawless and overly powerful. Had I been listening, I'd have heard the guys in the crowd telling me to throw the kegs from the original marking spot. Had I heard them and followed their advice, I may have saved myself 3 or 4 seconds from the final tally, but I wasn't going to beat the guy who won it. I ended up taking second in the event, but the dude who won it already had the big trophy locked up. Nothing I could have done in the keg toss could have put a bigger trophy on my mantle.

At the end of the day, I walked away with a third place trophy and the anticipation of a 14 hour drive through Nebraska and Iowa on the way home.

Much has changed though at how we look at training and nutrition and I hoped that if I did things correctly, my progress lost would be minimal. I also felt that the trade off of less bodyweight would also lead to increased health. Even though I was lean and my blood pressure, cholesterol and other health indicators seemed to be good being that heavy was talking a toll on my body.

I was eating about 6,000 calories a day to keep my weight up. I was constantly full and my stomach was regularly distended. The arthritis in had gotten worse since adding the weight. I'm on my feet 12-14 hours a day at the gym and the additional stress of 50lbs was adding up. Health wise, cutting seemed like a smart move.

As far as competing goes, I was holding my own as a heavy. I had won or placed second at a number of regional contests and regularly beat guys much larger than me. But after 2 years of local contests I went to nationals and had a poor showing. I didn't put in the effort necessary to be ready like I should have. Perhaps more important however, was for the first time I had a look into where my weaknesses lay and where I needed improvement. I felt that if I wanted to turn pro as a heavy, I would need another two years of serious strength, endurance and speed training. I'll be 36 this November and not getting my card until I was 38 was not appealing.

On Saturdays I train with two lightweight professionals; Glenn Kaifas and Kevin Nowak. At 280lbs my ability ran close to theirs. I was slower than them on some of the medleys and equal on stones and tire flipping. But on pressing events I had an advantage. I knew that I was holding 10-15lbs of bloat that would not affect my strength if I dropped it and I was also carrying some "extra muscle" that was not doing me much good either.

I knew some of my muscle was, in scientific terms, caused by sarcoplasmic hypertrophy. What this means is the muscle has gotten bigger by increasing the amount of fluild they hold without increasing my strength. This useless muscle could be shed and not impact my lifts. I estimated that between those two factors I could lose about 30lbs and maintain most of my current strength while getting faster. This would put me at 245-250lbs; 15-20lbs over the weight class limit. If necessary I could cut water the last few days of the contest and make weight.

My training and business partner Glenn is also a Certified Strength and Conditioning specialist. We talked about my approach and he gave me a few ideas. After a week, I asked him to take over my training and he agreed; as long as I promised to follow his every direction. I did and we revamped my plan. His vision for me was to lose some additional muscle and get faster. Nutritionally he cut my protein from about 400 grams a day of mostly red meat and eggs to about 250 grams a day from turkey, fish, and egg whites (lean protein sources). This switch alone would cut my fat intake drastically from about 150-200 grams a day to about 60 grams a day. I needed an energy source to burn then so we added carbohydrates to the mix. Brown rice, light whole wheat bread and oats became my sources for 250-300 grams of carbohydrates a day.

Next, Glenn outlined a training protocol for me that included plenty of conditioning work and sprinting. By increasing my cardiovascular capacity we would decrease the toll each event took on me. The only traditional weight lifting I would do would be Olympic lifts, squats and deadlifts. Nothing was performed for more than 5 repetitions. This would hold my strength by causing my body to shed the muscle that was not needed to perform those basic lifts. I would also perform the events during the week as well. I would do the medleys for two to three sets with minimal rest. After just a few weeks I began to feel excellent. More like an athlete and less like a guy trying to force weight to do what I wanted. I was losing a steady two pounds a week.

With two weeks left before the contest I was 240lbs at 7% bodyfat. I had only dropped 4% during the entire process but 40lbs of of water, food mass, useless muscle and some fat. The amazing thing was besides getting faster I had gotten stronger in every event and every lift. When we started the process I could clean and press a 270 lb log 4 times in one minute. By the contest I was hitting 6 reps. I could do 25-30 tire flips in a row where before I was cooked at 10. Loading a heavy keg for reps would kill me, now I was doing multiple sets with just 3 minutes rest between sets. My times were dropping on everything and this helped me mentally accepting the weight loss.

This process helped me to understand that for athletes we all have an optimal weight. There is a certain point where your body is going to function it's best and no additional size is going to help it. I think many guys struggle with this. There is more glory in being a heavyweight. The big guys look more impressive and "put more butts in the seats" so many athletes are attracted to competing in this class. Unfortunately it maybe holding them back. And while I had fallen into that mentality as well, ultimately I realized that I'm going to perform better and be more successful at a lighter weight. Once I realized that, there was no other choice.

When the members of the St Paul Pigs rugby club first met Mike, he was a scrappy, 190 lb ball of fire fresh out of college. He didn't know shit about rugby, but he was a gamer, and we knew that by the time he finished his first practice. As long as I've been playing rugby, there have very few rookies I,ve felt comfortable playing aside. Mikey was one of the guys I never worried about. In his first match, we told him to go out there and bust some heads. Despite being behind by a sizeable margin, he'd busted more heads than the rest of us and he was the one who gave the halftime pep talk, and he was a rookie!

From that day on, we knew we had a Piggie for life. Through the good times and bad, and believe me, there were a lot more bad than good, Mikey was the one who kept it all together. As much as most athletes will deny it, it's really easy to play half-assed when you're down by 30 points in the second half, but Mike was the one who never let us give up. No matter how many points we trailed by, Mikey was the one always going balls-out, forcing us to keep up. No matter how much the coach yelled at us, Mikey led by example (and obnoxious words at half-time). We had no choice but to follow his example or look bad.

At the end of the 2003 fall season, we said our goodbyes and made our plans to come back as a better Pigs team in 2004, only there was one major hurdle: On Christmas Eve, 2003, Mike was diagnosed with Leukemia. While we all knew it was some sort of cancer, most of us didn't realize it's severity until the first time we went to visit him in the hospital.

The first night we all went to see him, we all knew he was going to recover and be back with us by the fall. He was too much of a badass not to. We all met at Hubert's Bar a few blocks from the hospital because we'd never had any friends with cancer before. When we worked up the courage to walk up to the hospital room to see him, he was just like he always was, except he was wearing a mask over his mouth and lying on a bed. He said he might miss the spring season because chemo is a bitch, but he promised us he'd be back out for the league season in the fall of 2004.

In the fall of 2004, Mike was there as promised and just as badass as ever. The status quo had been resumed and the Pigs had improved with new recruits and experience. If that's not a kick in the balls to cancer, I don't know what is. If I'm not mistaken, I think we also won the division.

However, 2005 was different. Mike was back battling leukemia again. While his absence hurt us, we learned to cope though we never retained the same vigor as when he was on the pitch. Despite his impending bone marrow transplant, Mikey was on the sidelines of every match yelling at the top of his lungs. Even if he couldn't play, he was going to kick our asses into shape!

About a year later, I remember Mike coming out to practice after his bone marrow transplant. He was more ambitious than ever and we all thought we'd not only snatched our friend from the grips of death, but also snatched out star player out of the pile of ash, just like the Phoenix.

For the first few matches, we'd revived our Lazarus. Mikey was a monster against arch rivals, St Cloud, destroying every man who came near him. He had a new lease on life and he took full advantage of it.

It was in 2006 that we found out that the bone marrow transplant was only a band-aid. As much as Mike tried to be strong and be a player, it was only temporary. He played a few matches since then and they were a true testament to the human spirit. I remember a match two years ago in Des Moines against their top notch side and Mike assured us that he was ok to play. Toward the end of the first half, he was on his knees trying to catch his breath while the cancer robbed his red blood cells of oxygen. He'd have taken his place on the sidelines if we'd had a 16th player, but he insisted on staying out there. Despite his condition, Mikey insisted on being with us on the pitch until the final whistle blew.

Last fall, we were in the first round of the Midwest D3 playoffs against the Green Bay Celtics. At the end of the first half, we were down 26-6 on the wet Wisconsin soil and it looked grim. Instead of bitching at us about what we were doing wrong, Coach Z came out and just looked at us. He made a few comments about our play, but in the end, he just said we were playing uninspired. Before walking back to the sidelines for the second half, he told us that Mike ("Buca" as he was affectionately known to us) was back in the hospital for chemotherapy and that if we had any pride, we'd win this one for him. "FOR BUCA!" was our cheer before we left the huddle to begin the second half.

Green Bay took the opening kickoff back for a try, but from that point until the final whistle 39 minutes later, we'd mounted one of the greatest comebacks in the history of amateur rugby. The last 10 minutes of the match consisted of us trying to bash our noses into the try zone against an impenetrable defense. Though we lost 31-26, it was one of our crowning achievements. We came back because we played the way Mike would have wanted us to play. In life, as on the field, Mike battled relentlessly until the final whistle.

One of my brother's favorite sayings is "How would you play today if you knew you couldn't play tomorrow?" For most people, it's just motivational mumbo jumbo: For Mike, it was reality. He never knew which match would be his last, and in Green Bay that October day, we all played as if we'd never play again.

When I learned of Mike's death Friday, I was destroyed. At first, I didn't quite believe it. We all believed that Mike was going to overcome leukemia. He had to. If anyone would ever do it, it would undoubtedly be him. Despite all of his suffering, he never complained. He just went to his treatments and went on with his life, making the most of every day and every person he met. When he could, he'd even make it out to practice to get a run-around with us.

Shortly after word of Mike's passing spread through the team grapevine, plans were made to get together at the bar to celebrate his life. I left the office early because my simply couldn't concentrate and I certainly wasn't of the proper mindset to have a productive training session. After taking care of a few errands, I got dressed and prepared to meet my teammates at the bar to drown my sorrows. While heading to the garage, I thought back to the times that Mikey would come to practice after chemo treatments. He never complained and he certainly wasn't in any condition to be at rugby practice. Had Mike been around, he would have wanted me to train. I immediately turned around and changed back into my gym clothes and proceeded to kick my ass running hills.

After running hills, I headed to the liquor store, bought a case of beer, and began writing this piece.

Professional athletes are often described as "tough" guys who give "inspirational" performances, yet the toughest professional athlete in most inspirational moment doesn't hold a candle how tough and inspirational Mike Lundberg was to those who knew him. Mike didn't play for glory and he certainly didn't play for money. He played for the love of the game, and more importantly for the love of his teammates. Mike lived because he loved life.

Rest In Peace, beloved friend and teammate.

First up was a six keg loading medley. We typically know the events in advance of the contest and I had been practicing all of them for the last 8 weeks. The kegs are placed in groups of two, twenty feet away from a five foot tall loading platform. The object is to get them all loaded in the shortest amount of time possible. Out of the six strongmen ahead of me only one had successfully loaded all of the kegs in the allotted time. I felt good going in to this event and I was going to do my best to make a statement.

Willie the head judge told me to place my hands on the keg and wait for his go. I took my position and when he blew his whistle my day was underway. The first keg of 180 lbs felt light as air. I ripped it off the ground with one arm, cradled it and ran to the platform. I loaded it with ease. The second keg at 200lbs felt just as light. I ripped though the series knowing I was setting a very good pace. I never slowed on any of the kegs. The final keg of 290 lbs went up just as quickly as the others with just a slight extra push needed for the final load. I finished in 53 seconds about twenty seconds faster than the other competitor who had loaded all six. Now I just had to sit back and wait. And waiting it out in first place is much easier than knowing I have points to make up.

Only one other athlete completed the keg load and I bested his time as well, putting me in first for the event. I felt great after and had plenty of time to hydrate and get a granola bar in me. By now it was after 1pm and 90 degrees outside. The humidity was unbearable and everyone was working hard to stay cool. I iced myself down and warmed up for the log press which was the second event.

The judges took a few minutes to calibrate the points and shuffle the order of competitors. I was in first giving me the advantage of going last on the next event. This way I could judge how hard I had to work based on the other athletes' performances. No one was looking forward to our next task: The Death Medley. We had to pick up two 300lb farmers walk cylinders and carry them 50 feet. Next we had to perform 5 flips of an 875lb tire then drag a 500 lb chain fifty feet. I just tried to stay relaxed while I watched everyone else struggle with the event. Many guys couldn't finish the farmers walk or only got one or two flips on tire. Only Dave Beers had managed to get to the chain and give it an all out effort pulling it about 25 feet. It was finally my turn and I put my mind in the right place. Willie blew his whistle and I grabbed the bars and ran to the set down area. I made it forty feet before I dropped the implements. I reset, grabbed them and finished it up. I put some chalk on my hands and started flipping the tire. I purposely went slower and more methodical than I usually do. I got through my five flips and jogged to the chain. Glenn was yelling at me that I needed to hurry it up so I threw myself at the chain. The chain felt like 5,000lbs not 500. I strained and pulled until the time keeper gave me a five second warning. I made one last effort, pulled and fell back. Thirty six feet; enough for another win.

I was elated to know that I was beginning to rack up some serious points and separate myself from the field. Even better, my favorite two events were yet to come. I had gotten my heart rate down to about 100 beats per minute when they started the next event: a Hummer tire deadlift. An extra long bar that has more bend than a traditional bar is used and instead of standard weight plates Hummer tires on rims are loaded on the bar. This event is simple. Pick the bar up from the ground until your hips are fully locked under the body and you are standing completely straight up. The opening weight was 600lbs and you could choose to pass if you wished. I chose to start with the opener to get a feel for it. The weight went up smooth and easy. So did 650, 700, 750, and 800. Next thing I know, most of the field had dropped off or missed their lift and only two other competitors and I were going to attempt 830lbs. Six total tires were on the bar at this point and it looked very cool and intimidating. The first two athletes strapped their hands to the bar, pulled but failed to break the tires from the ground. The score keeper looked at me and indicated I was next. I turned to the crowd and yelled "You want to see this go up?". There was a resounding "Yes!".

I tightened my belt and strapped in to the bar. Josh broke some smelling salts and waived them under my nose. I lifted my head up and began to pull. The bar bent like crazy for a second or two, then the tires came free from the earth. I kept pulling until I was in locked out position, 830lbs held in my hands. I made eye contact with Willie the judge and he yelled "Down! Good Lift!" I set the weight back down and stepped away elated my third event win.

People began congratulating me at this point and I kept reminding them the contest wasn't over yet; the trademark of Strongman remained: The Atlas Stones. This is a centuries old Scottish tradition and is quite possibly the most exciting event to witness. A thousand years ago a man would prove his strength by lifting, carrying and loading the biggest stones that he could. Now athletes pick up and load stones made from concrete to platforms in the fastest time possible. The Northeast Beast featured one of the heaviest stone series for a lightweight contest ever starting at 300 and running 330, 360, 380, and 405. And they all had to be loaded on four foot high platforms. In comparison, the stones for the IFSA world championships run from 308-396 Lbs for their heaviest set and those athletes compete with unlimited body weight. Even though the stones were a formality for me, I wanted to finish on a high note. I went at them with a very steady pace trying to avoid mistakes. Dave Beers was the only lightweight to load all 5 and this told me they would be quite the challenge.

I put pine tar on my hands, took my position and started on the whistle. Before I knew it I was through 4 stones. I moved the the fifth stone, the 405 pound monster and gripped it and pulled hard. My knee was in a weird position and gave out so I immediately dropped it. I had only ten seconds left so without hesitation I reached down, pulled it to my lap, and tossed it to the platform. All five stones! I felt like a monster. The score keeper asked me if I wanted to take a run at the bonus stone and I said "yeah, set it up.".

The bonus stone was worth $50 if I loaded it, but more importantly the last person to put it up was Travis Ortmeyer; the best in the USA at loading stones. I stood over the stone and then jumped down on it. I pulled hard and under my breath I swore. Willie laughed at me and I couldn't help but laugh as well. The bonus stone was not going to budge that day.

Everyone congratulated me and I had a few beers with my new friends. I spoke with Dione (Willies wife and the president of the American Strongman Corporation our professional organization) and told her some details about myself and how I couldn't wait to compete at nationals. All in all, it was the best day of competition I ever had and one of the best days of my life. All the sacrifices for the last few years have been totally worth it and I can't wait to try and qualify for the World Championships.