“Iron and The Soul” – by Henry Rollins

So, it’s been almost 17 years since Henry Rollins first got his famous essay Iron and The Soul published (in Details Magazine -94), and I thought it would be something of a crime not to share it with as many people as possible.

Even though this essay is about the “way” of strength training, I’d like to think that its innumerable golden nuggets can be applied to the “way” of the empty hand too (Karate-do). And it fits especially well if you’re a Kobudo practitioner (change the word “Iron” to “Bo”, or “Sai”!).

That’s the beauty of good art – it is timeless.

But I digest.

Here’s Iron and The Soul – by Henry Rollins [slightly edited]:

Iron and the Soul – By Henry Rollins

“I believe that the definition of definition is reinvention. To not be like your parents. To not be like your friends.

To be yourself.


When I was young I had no sense of myself. All I was, was a product of all the fear and humiliation I suffered. Fear of my parents. The humiliation of teachers calling me “garbage can” and telling me I’d be mowing lawns for a living. And the very real terror of my fellow students. I was threatened and beaten up for the color of my skin and my size. I was skinny and clumsy, and when others would tease me I didn’t run home crying, wondering why. I knew all too well. I was there to be antagonized.

In sports I was laughed at. A spaz. I was pretty good at boxing but only because the rage that filled my every waking moment made me wild and unpredictable. I fought with some strange fury. The other boys thought I was crazy.

I hated myself all the time.

As stupid at it seems now, I wanted to talk like them, dress like them, carry myself with the ease of knowing that I wasn’t going to get pounded in the hallway between classes. Years passed and I learned to keep it all inside. I only talked to a few boys in my grade. Other losers. Some of them are to this day the greatest people I have ever known. Hang out with a guy who has had his head flushed down a toilet a few times, treat him with respect, and you’ll find a faithful friend forever. But even with friends, school sucked.

Teachers gave me hard time.

I didn’t think much of them either.

Then came Mr. Pepperman, my advisor. He was a powerfully built Vietnam veteran, and he was scary. No one ever talked out of turn in his class. Once one kid did and Mr. P. lifted him off the ground and pinned him to the blackboard.

Mr. P. could see that I was in bad shape, and one Friday in October he asked me if I had ever worked out with weights. I told him no. He told me that I was going to take some of the money that I had saved and buy a hundred-pound set of weights at Sears. As I left his office, I started to think of things I would say to him on Monday when he asked about the weights that I was not going to buy. Still, it made me feel special. My father never really got that close to caring. On Saturday I bought the weights, but I couldn’t even drag them to my mom’s car. An attendant laughed at me as he put them on a dolly.

Monday came and I was called into Mr. P.’s office after school. He said that he was going to show me how to work out. He was going to put me on a program and start hitting me in the solar plexus in the hallway when I wasn’t looking. When I could take the punch we would know that we were getting somewhere. At no time was I to look at myself in the mirror or tell anyone at school what I was doing. In the gym he showed me ten basic exercises. I paid more attention than I ever did in any of my classes.

I didn’t want to blow it.

I went home that night and started right in.

Weeks passed, and every once in a while Mr. P. would give me a shot and drop me in the hallway, sending my books flying. The other students didn’t know what to think. More weeks passed, and I was steadily adding new weights to the bar. I could sense the power inside my body growing. I could feel it.

Right before Christmas break I was walking to class, and from out of nowhere Mr. Pepperman appeared and gave me a shot in the chest. I laughed and kept going. He said I could look at myself now. I got home and ran to the bathroom and pulled off my shirt. I saw a body, not just the shell that housed my stomach and my heart. My biceps bulged. My chest had definition. I felt strong. It was the first time I can remember having a sense of myself. I had done something and no one could ever take it away.

You couldn’t say shit to me.

It took me years to fully appreciate the value of the lessons I have learned from the Iron. I used to think that it was my adversary, that I was trying to lift that which does not want to be lifted. I was wrong. When the Iron doesn’t want to come off the mat, it’s the kindest thing it can do for you. If it flew up and went through the ceiling, it wouldn’t teach you anything. That’s the way the Iron talks to you. It tells you that the material you work with is that which you will come to resemble. That which you work against will always work against you.

It wasn’t until my late twenties that I learned that by working out I had given myself a great gift. I learned that nothing good comes without work and a certain amount of pain. When I finish a set that leaves me shaking, I know more about myself. When something gets bad, I know it can’t be as bad as that workout.

I used to fight the pain, but recently this became clear to me: pain is not my enemy; it is my call to greatness.

But when dealing with the Iron, one must be careful to interpret the pain correctly. Most injuries involving the Iron come from ego. I once spent a few weeks lifting weight that my body wasn’t ready for and spent a few months not picking up anything heavier than a fork. Try to lift what you’re not prepared to and the Iron will teach you a little lesson in restraint and self-control.

I have never met a truly strong person who didn’t have self-respect.

I think a lot of inwardly and outwardly directed contempt passes itself off as self-respect: the idea of raising yourself by stepping on someone’s shoulders instead of doing it yourself. When I see guys working out for cosmetic reasons, I see vanity exposing them in the worst way, as cartoon characters, billboards for imbalance and insecurity. Strength reveals itself through character. It is the difference between bouncers who get off strong-arming people and Mr. Pepperman.

Muscle mass does not always equal strength. Strength is kindness and sensitivity. Strength is understanding that your power is both physical and emotional. That it comes from the body and the mind.

And the heart.

Yukio Mishima said that he could not entertain the idea of romance if he was not strong. Romance is such a strong and overwhelming passion, a weakened body cannot sustain it for long. I have some of my most romantic thoughts when I am with the Iron. Once I was in love with a woman. I thought about her the most when the pain from a workout was racing through my body.

I prefer to work out alone. It enables me to concentrate on the lessons that the Iron has for me. Learning about what you’re made of is always time well spent, and I have found no better teacher. The Iron had taught me how to live. Life is capable of driving you out of your mind. The way it all comes down these days, it’s some kind of miracle if you’re not insane. People have become separated from their bodies. They are no longer whole.

I see them move from their offices to their cars and on to their suburban homes. They stress out constantly, they lose sleep, they eat badly. And they behave badly. Their egos run wild; they become motivated by that which will eventually give them a massive stroke.

They need the Iron Mind.

Through the years, I have combined meditation, action, and the Iron into a single strength. I believe that when the body is strong, the mind thinks strong thoughts. Time spent away from the Iron makes my mind degenerate. I wallow in a thick depression. My body shuts down my mind.

The Iron is the best antidepressant I have ever found. There is no better way to fight weakness than with strength. Once the mind and body have been awakened to their true potential, it’s impossible to turn back.

The Iron never lies to you.

You can walk outside and listen to all kinds of talk, get told that you’re a god or a total bastard. The Iron will always kick you the real deal. The Iron is the great reference point, the all-knowing perspective giver. Always there like a beacon in the pitch black. I have found the Iron to be my greatest friend. It never freaks out on me, never runs.

Friends may come and go.

But two hundred pounds is always two hundred pounds.”


  • Szilard
    Something bothers me about the article. I have several sai, and each of them has a special quirk, I have to practice all the kata with each of them, or they will start giving me surprises at advanced moves. They might not lie to me, but they are deceptive dogs for sure, or maybe I am just cheap, and maybe I should spend more than $20 on a sai for once. But then again I love them as they are, so I have my excuse too.
    • lionel
      Oh, you have several sai sets? Lucky you. I only have one set, but they're custom made (lucky me). If the "quirk" is a flaw in design/construction, I'd suggest you'll enjoy more, and practice better, if you stick with sai that are "the least quirky." Depending on the quirks, you might also be reducing the risk of injury. For me, the main flaws in commercial sai are... too heavy, wings too wide, bad balance.... and chrome.
  • Bill
    I wouldn't feel to bad about your sai. You've obviously formed a relationship with them, and like the people we love, you appreciate their quirks. Awesome! I think Rollins is focusing more on the relationship to the self, however. Iron doesn't lie. If you can lift the weight, you lift it--no deceiving yourself allowed. That's why training with weights is revelatory; it's not a performance allowing for expression, it's an absolute statement of what's true or false. The Iron is a tyrannical teacher that forces you to learn your strengths and weaknesses and to accept--or change--yourself as you are.
  • lionel
    Pain is a mirror.
  • Boban Alempijevic
    Damit Jesse! it has been years, I meen literally years since I remembered those years in school. 10 years of being bullies mentally and physically. I can hardly see my keyboard writing this. Damit. I whish I had a teacher like Mr P. it took me years of on my own getting out of thoose thoughts that I did not matter, that I was of no use and only garbage. It took me even longer to stop trying to be like "they". But the fury.... the anger inside... That is what drives me forward now in my karate, That is what makes me go faster and harder then most other in the club, that is what makes most not want to spar with me when we get to sparr with full power, That is what makes me smile when I finally get to use full fury on some of the ones in the club that are the same as me, small scared boys that found there way out, that found a way to be themselves and never walk with bend heads again, always straight and proud of who they are now a days. you made me cry and I thank you for that, one should never forget that our martial arts means as well: use your skills to protect those that can not protect them selves!
  • warrioress
    I was bullied in school too and this article made my eyes shine. No, not with tears. It was because I felt so proud of this guy. It was beautifully written and wise and showed a strength of character. It can definitely be applied to karate as well as anything else. THANK YOU Jesse!
  • dave
    karate was my iron in my 20's after a similar childhood. my greatest mistake was to stop training! the decade that followed was like my teens again, unbalanced, unfocussed and uncentred. for example, a wiley oder boxer once picked me as a karateka or similar because of how i carried myself. the greatest thing i have done is to start training again 6 months ago. OSU.
    • Welcome back! :)
  • Amalio
    Hi! I am guessing how you have found this essay of Henry Rollins; I mean: He was the singer of Hardcore-punk band black flag, -whose influence in the metal music world is pretty big-, and singer of Rollins Band as well; he is known for his career as an actor too, but I couldn't imagine connect him with karate... so it's curious how you have put a bridge between hardcore and karate, two things that mark my way of life... Thank you so much for sharing this.
  • Mary
    Hello, I'm Mary. I've known the karate world for a while, but I'm more enchanted every day. I could see that karate is more than a martial art is a way of life. As you say Jesse, there really is no way to separate the individual from karate and with time they become one. Style and personality are completing and creating a better human being. Very cool the way you practice the martial arts, you can see that it comes out in your daily life. I accompany you on facebook and instagram and I confess: this getting addicted to Karate Nerd, and even more so in Jesse Enkamp. I know that one day I will meet you in person, because people like you can not help but pass through my life only in the imaginary. Jesse congratulations to the athlete, to the professional, but especially to the wonderful human being that you are. Excuse me for the invasion in your life, but you're irresistible. Until any day Jesse !!! With affection and admiration, Mary from Brazil
  • Jim
    Doesn't matter how big someone is one good kick to the gonads is all it takes.

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