The Sculptor’s Dream: My Weightlifting Journey
- Alexander Lang
- Aug 30
- 9 min read
Updated: Aug 31
An important facet of my life I rarely share is my love of exercise. For the last 30 years, I’ve been working out consistently four days a week for an average of 1.5-2 hours per session doing cardio, core work and weightlifting. I began serious weight training when I was 16 years old. Conservatively, I’ve spent more than 12,000 hours in the gym.
I keep this part of my life hidden for fear of judgment. The amount of time I dedicate to fitness can easily be perceived as a form of narcissism. In a society where standards of beauty are oppressively distorted to the point of encouraging eating disorders, plastic surgery and drug addiction, I’ve never wanted to be associated with promoting negative self-image. I kept quiet and sought to be an example with my actions rather than my words.
However, recently I’ve been reflecting on my three-decade journey as a weightlifter. What I think many people don’t realize is that lifting is more than physical exercise; it’s a spiritual endeavor. For me, the gym is a sanctuary, akin to worshipping in a church. My workout routine is both meditative and soul nourishing. These reflections inspired me to create a short film The Sculptor’s Dream as a meditation on the spiritual and artistic elements of weight training.
The remainder of this article will be dedicated to unpacking this film by exploring my history with weight training, how it became a spiritual practice, and why I believe fitness is one of the purest forms of artistic expression.
My First Weights
When I was six years old, I made an unusual request of my mother: The next time she was at the mall, would she mind picking me up some weights? Within a few weeks, my mom handed me a plastic bag with two five-pound metal dumbbells. I immediately did a series of bicep curls. After about a dozen repetitions, my arms fatigued. I set the weights down and flexed my bicep. To my great surprise, a small round muscle protruded out of my skinny arm.
I’m not exactly sure where this idea originated. Perhaps I gleaned it from television? In the 1980s, aerobics classes were extremely popular, often preceding my morning cartoons, where heroes such as He-Man or Lion-O were depicted with broad chests, enormous arms, and shredded six packs. During commercials, trailers for movies starring Arnold Schwarzenegger, Sylvester Stallone, and Jean-Claude Van Damme constantly flittered across the screen.
These muscular domineering heroes were ubiquitous in the culture of the time, and their physiques became buried in my psyche. I wanted to be like them and, even though my father never exercised, I asked him to train me. I have memories of my dad holding my feet as I did sit-ups in our living room. These workout phases as a child were always short-lived, but the seed had been firmly planted.
The Home Gym Phase
It wasn’t until I was 14 that I really became serious about weight training. In the mid-90s, all-in-one home gyms were extremely popular. My friend’s family had bought one and I felt like owning this massive piece of equipment could take me to the next level. I saved all summer from lawn mowing and convinced my dad to pay for half. I remember my dad saying, “If we buy this, are you actually going to use it?” I assured him I would.
Looking back on it now, I’m shocked that I had the self-discipline to follow through. Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday during the school year, I woke up at 5:30am, popped a CD in my boombox and, over the course of an hour, worked my way through all the various exercise options—chest, legs, back, shoulders, arms and abs.
This was the first time that I became aware of how I loved the solitude of being with my own thoughts while lifting. The movement combined with the endorphins helped to unravel the menagerie of thoughts swarming my mind. By the time I was 16, I was pushing the full weight stack (150lbs) for multiple reps on most of the exercises. I had outgrown the home gym and decided it was time to pay for a gym membership.
Gym Culture
In the mid-90s, there were few gym options in my hometown of Fredericksburg, Virginia. Perhaps the best was Highlander, founded by Carl Braun (yes, that’s his real name), the former American record holder for the 16lb and 22lb Scottish hammer toss. Highlander boasted brand new, high-end Icarian equipment. Not only did they have every conceivable machine isolating muscles I didn’t know existed, but, for the first time, I was introduced to gym culture.
For those unfamiliar, every gym has its own culture. Not unlike churches, where you walk in and instantly assess whether or not you belong, every gym is trying to corner a niche from hardcore bodybuilders and powerlifters, to family-friendly rec centers, to low-cost chains designed for casual exercisers, to luxury fitness clubs for the affluent.
Whenever I’m searching for a gym, I spend a lot of time assessing the culture to determine if I’m going to fit in. I like spaces where I see a variety of body types. I’m turned off by gyms where everyone is super fit. For me, if there are numerous heavyset people working out, this indicates a welcoming environment. Gyms make people feel extremely vulnerable, so when I see members at the beginning of their fitness journey, it tells me the gym culture is inclusive.
Highlander was very welcoming to teenagers (which isn’t always the case) and, by my senior year, I had become such a fixture that I knew every employee by name and had a personal rapport with the owner and trainers. During my senior summer, while many of my peers were looking forward to endless partying, I looked forward to spending copious amounts of time in the gym. On an average day, I would train in the pool for two hours and weight lift for four hours Monday-Friday. By the end of the summer, I looked like a monster.
The Psychology of Size
When I was young, my goal was to get as big as possible. Bullies could sense my weakness and enjoyed torturing me. I determined the only way I could guarantee they would leave me alone is if I was so muscular they would think twice about confronting me. The psychology undergirding my approach to exercise was simple: size=safety.
As my size increased, so did my confidence. By my late 20s, I was so large that, when I walked into a room, people would stare. In restaurants, if I was wearing a tight shirt, I could hear people whispering both in admiration and disgust. At the age of 27, I met a guy at the Princeton University gym who competed in bodybuilding competitions. He had placed well and thought I could do the same at an all-natural competition (i.e. no steroids).
Convinced, I changed my diet, cutting down my fat in preparation. Given how much I loved bodybuilding, I could not have anticipated how much I would hate the competition. I was one of the biggest guys in my weight class, but nothing about the competition appealed to me. I felt like garbage from the diet. I was doused in tanning goo that was so toxic it caused my wife to have an allergic reaction. Most importantly, I didn’t fit in with the culture. What I witnessed among many participants was a degree of self-absorption that almost felt pathological.
I had discovered my limit. Training for fitness was one thing, but training to compete in bodybuilding was not for me. I vowed never to return to another competition.
The Spirituality of Lifting
As I aged into my 30s, my motivation for lifting shifted dramatically. After assuming the head of staff position at a very large church, I found myself under a great deal of stress. Lifting quickly became my lifeline. Not only did my routine relieve anxiety, but it had the effect of clearing my mind. I became more efficient with my workload and more capable of managing the negative emotions of the job (e.g. deaths, divorce, disease, etc.).
I’ve struggled with depression since I was a teenager. Feelings of inadequacy and self-loathing are always lurking beneath the surface. Eventually, I realized my level of depression was directly correlated with my physical exertion. The more intense my workouts, the more I could keep the depression at bay. Whereas without exercise, my depression would quickly become a dominant force.
Many people view exercise as a utilitarian activity. Because it’s something they don’t particularly enjoy, they want their routine to be as quick and efficient as possible. One study suggests the average workout session for most Americans lasts about 47 minutes. My minimum time is usually 1.5 hours, but more regularly 2 hours. Some might suppose that I’m dawdling, wasting time on my phone or conversing with other members. While I do exchange pleasantries with friends, when I enter the gym, I’m there to work.
I won’t mince words: My workouts are painful. Most of my lifting partners burn out after a few months of training simply because they don’t have the mental fortitude to manage the intensity. I, on the other hand, embrace the pain. It places me in a meditative state where the noise in my mind evaporates into emptiness while the chaos of my thoughts succumbs to beautiful, ordered arrays. In the gym, life becomes clear and manageable.
The act of exercise makes me feel whole. I am present in my body in a way that normally feels elusive because lifting heavy weights requires awareness of every muscle, tendon and ligament. One wrong move and I could badly injure myself. The only other activities that compare to this heightened state of awareness is when I’ve spent time in prayerful contemplation or out in nature.
The combination of all these elements during my workouts converge to create a spiritual experience that nourishes my soul as much as it enhances my physique.
Lifting as Artistic Expression
At 45 years old, I’m not quite as strong as I used to be; I can’t run nearly as fast; and the intensity of my workouts is waning. I’m slowly slipping into the phase of life where the best of my athleticism is behind me. Even though time comes for us all, I also know the loss of an era opens us to new opportunities.
Recently, I have come to see my lifting as an artform. Like a sculptor who wields a chisel and hammer, when you weightlift, you carve every muscle with precision and force. However, unlike when I was young, where sheer size was the end goal, today I look at my body and ask: What is the peak version of your body as it is right now? No additional work, no additional bulking, just cut away the fat to see what’s underneath.
Beginning in May, I spent two months doing a bodybuilder fat cut so that I could take pictures. When I started the cut, I weighed 193lbs with approximately 18 percent body fat. By the day of the shoot, I weighed 174lbs, having reduced my body fat to 9.3 percent. My good friend Steve Drey, who is a remarkable photographer, came to the gym with me and snapped some photos of my favorite poses and exercises.
The goal was to capture a moment in time: The body of man who has spent three decades working out consistently. What does that level of dedication produce? These pictures are the results.
I view this pursuit as being similar to the 100ft painting of “Paradise Lost” by Raqib Shaw at the Art Institute of Chicago. It’s a remarkable piece that he started in 2009 and is still unfinished as he adds panels over the course of his lifetime. This is why I see my workouts as akin to artistry. Like Shaw’s painting, I will continue to lift weights and sculpt my body as long as I am physically able. The difference is my “panel” will be added every five years when I capture the results and assess how the sculpting of my workouts is impacting the machine that is my body.
Final Thoughts
I don’t expect everyone reading this to relate to my perspective on exercise. In fact, I assume many will find my approach extreme. What I hope you will take away from this post is there are benefits to working out beyond positive health outcomes. I believe the spiritual and artistic elements of exercise can greatly enhance our lives. Finding calm in the meditative state of weight training or beauty in the artistry of body sculpting has been life-changing for me. Ultimately, what I do in the gym, I do for myself and no one else. I share this with the hope I will provide a different mindset and possibly some inspiration that, even as we age, we can strive to be the best version of ourselves!
Coda
In case you’re wondering, I’m all natural. I’ve never taken steroids. I'm not on testosterone. I don’t even take supplements. I’m technically pescetarian, but my diet is mostly vegetables (70% veggies/30% fish). I don’t drink alcohol, but my weakness is chocolate, which I eat more than I should. Everything is about focus, consistency and nutrition. And no, I have zero interest in being a fitness influencer.