The great Soviet weightlifter Yuri Vlasov.

[Frimen1917]

“The ashes of Yury Petrovich Vlasov are interred at Novodevichy Cemetery in Moscow, in the family burial plot alongside his parents.
At the base of the monument, an inscription is engraved on a stone plaque, and a photograph of Yury Petrovich has been installed.”

 

[Frimen1917]

“There is no such thing as a great or a small cause — there is only the fulfillment of the law of life.
Service to this law of life makes every person truly interesting, necessary, and important; it adorns life and strengthens the life of all.”
(Yury Vlasov, “The Justice of Strength”)

 

[Frimen1917]

On the ninth day I began to master climbing stairs, step by step…
Everything might have been tolerable, if not for the fact that all this training — for it truly was training — took place while I was running a severe fever. I owed my life solely to my heart: it pulled, it ached terribly, I was gasping for air, yet it kept pulling. In its acute form this suffocation lasted for another six months — I could not eat, could not brush my teeth, I had to force myself to gulp air with my mouth… (whether it was a strain from the surgery and all the pain, or the anesthesia, or a complication from that “typhoid-like” flu — God only knows).
And yet I trained. Incidentally, thanks to walking, a collection of fluid finally broke through — it had formed as a result of a “dirty” operation (this was the conclusion of Dr. Baumgartl — precisely “dirty”). It was this fluid that had been driving the fever. During walking, the sutures cut into the skin, and the fluid found an outlet. For two weeks I drained profusely. By morning the blanket and mattress would be soaked through… And the fever, the fever — during the night Natasha changed up to five shirts on me. From that day the temperature slowly began to fall — first to a lesser fever, then lower still — until a newcomer was placed in the ward… with influenza.
An inspection of the department by some high-ranking officials was approaching. The ward was scrubbed and cleaned, and patients and new arrivals were rearranged according to a scheme that looked more scientific and presentable.
I had never dared to imagine that influenza could have such power. Exhausted by two weeks of waiting for surgery (sleep and life sustained only by pantopon), then by the operation and the accumulation of fluid in my body afterward — my organism had lost its defenses. The influenza resembled typhus more than flu. The fever revived the pain and brought even more brutal suffocation. And yet I walked. To lie down meant to die. Walk!
At the height of the illness I decided… to run. I had to run — no matter what. From that day I began to bring the fever down. On the fourth day I was discharged (in my view, with great eagerness — why on earth would they need me, especially one so stubborn). I could not climb into the medical bus and entered it on my knees; I exited the same way and returned home on my knees as well — this kept the pain from movement within tolerable limits.
(Yury Vlasov, “The Price of Life”)

 

[Frimen1917]

“Never think that you are better than another — never. For this, too, is poison: from that very moment you become open to what is base, and from that moment you are worse.
Happy is the one who does not speak ill of others, but knows only how to love and to forgive; whose soul is like the sun — tenderness and understanding. No — not forgiveness, but understanding.”
(Yury Vlasov, “The Fiery Cross”)

 

[Frimen1917]

“Strains in the wrists and shoulders follow one after another, and many of them bind freedom of movement for weeks. The body feels like paper. No exaggeration: if a child were to tug at my arm, I would immediately suffer a painful strain. Some foolish, incomprehensible condition. Bleeding gums astonish even doctors. Pain in the eyes becomes habitual, as do digestive disorders. Trying to move a bookcase, I break a rib — in the very place where barely ten years earlier I had lowered a barbell weighing 240 kilograms.
Now I speak with shortness of breath; it is difficult for me to talk, I pause often. My breathing is wheezing, strained. More and more frequently I catch myself thinking: perhaps I am simply worn out, and this is the end.
A vague realization comes to me that I am suffering not from some undiagnosed illness, but chiefly from the exhaustion of the nervous system and the loss of energy — vital force. That is why even the most modern medications are unable to cure me. And even if there is some determining disease that cannot be found, it is not the main thing in my condition.”**
(Yury Vlasov, “A Confluence of Difficult Circumstances”)

 

[Frimen1917]

“No, no — today is not the finish!
My finish is eternal — until my final breath!
Away with rest!
I cannot live otherwise. I do not know how to live otherwise.
I do not want to live sluggishly, dully, blindly, and mindlessly!”
(Yury Vlasov, “The Eternal Finish”)

 

[Frimen1917]

“To be strong means to act;
it means to possess such strength of spirit that struggle never gives rise to a groan of weakness or complaint;
it means to have direction in life, rather than to drift through it mindlessly;
it means, to some extent, to shape the very course of life itself.”
(Yury Vlasov, “The Justice of Strength”)

 

[Frimen1917]

“Athletic gymnastics (also known as athleticism or bodybuilding) is a universal means of restoring damaged joints and sustaining the vital functions of the body. This is no revelation. There is no need to seek out special gyms. Muscular energy can be developed in any nook or shed, even in basements. And if a person is endowed with sufficient willpower, home training alone will suffice. Machines are not essential for training. A set of dumbbells (from five to thirty kilograms, depending on age and strength), a pull-up bar (mine is mounted across the corridor, near the ceiling), and parallel bars (in my room they are replaced by two portable welded stands—not very stable, but workable) are entirely adequate.
For performing dumbbell flyes—which, in my view, is one of the finest exercises in athleticism—I had an incline bench made at a forty-degree angle. Working dumbbells on it, saturating the chest muscles with a blissful fatigue, is true pleasure. These implements alone provide effective and comprehensive development of the muscular system.
And one must never forget about running. The endurance gained from running—the general preparedness of the cardiovascular system—carries over into specialized endurance, expanding the possibilities of strength training. In addition, running burns excess body weight. After all, one of the goals of athleticism is not only a developed muscular system, but also the reduction of subcutaneous fat to a minimum.”**
(Yury Vlasov, “The Price of Life”)

 

[Frimen1917]

“In Lviv I sustained one of those vicious injuries that make themselves felt throughout an entire athletic career. I strained my spine. Fear of a recurrence was constantly present in the drive of the barbell from the chest. That fear insured itself through incorrect movement at maximal weights, forcing premature release of the bar. It encoded itself into my motions. I believed I had suppressed it, but it lived within me. The power and the fear of that pain passed through all my records and acts of overcoming.
And in Tokyo, when I weakened my volitional control, when I considered my opponent broken and the record on the bar merely a record, that distant pain—already overlapped by other injuries and other pains, seemingly overcome by victories—led to a breakdown. It was this injury, above all, that brought me to a severe operation in 1983.
I pushed the weight from the chest uncertainly precisely because of this injury. I did not always dare to place myself under the weight; I did not dare to lock myself beneath record-breaking heaviness—and the drive came out awkward and distorted.”
(Yury Vlasov, “The Justice of Strength”)

 

[Frimen1917]

“The touch of iron threw me into another world. With pleasure—almost with a kind of rapture—I gripped the bar with my hands. Tighter and tighter. It was a beautiful world of instantaneous movements, the humming of muscles, and happiness. In that world, there were no doubts…”
(Yury Vlasov, “The Clown’s Room”)

 

[Frimen1917]

“In my dreams I was absorbed by a titanic struggle. The fates of peoples occupied my mind. Struggle raised me above the baseness of the weak and above my own defeats. I reject defeat. It can always be replayed through struggle. One can always attack the dream and life again and again.
I revere eternal movement—the ability to see this movement and to embody it in reality. And I will prove to all what can be done if one dares, if one fights, if one is not afraid to lose oneself in collisions and does not count the days of one’s life, if one tramples comfort, prudence, and flattery. I will tame all chance and misfortune.
I imagined myself as a sword that cannot be bent.
A sword may be broken, but it cannot be kept bent. My life, like a sword, has but one purpose—to fight for justice.”**
(Yury Vlasov, “The White Whirlpool”)

 

[Frimen1917]

“On September 10, 1975, I received an invitation to the World Weightlifting Championships — for the first time they were being held in Moscow. I did not dare to go on the first day, nor on the second, nor on the third… I could not endure it and went to the Sports Palace on the eighth day of the championship.
Luzhniki! I shrank as I entered. From under my brows, cautiously, I surveyed the hall. Here, in 1958, I had competed internationally for the first time. Poorly, admittedly… Here, too, in 1961, I competed in the USSR–USA national teams match. Here I set a record…
Everything in the hall was the same: the motley flags of the participating countries, the lilac-white trembling light of the spotlights greeting the athlete on the platform, even the voice from the loudspeakers. The competition was conducted by the secretary of the International Weightlifting Federation, the Englishman Stait. For more than a decade and a half athletes had performed to his slightly nasal, imperturbable recitative.
I was instantly drenched with sweat, as if I myself were competing. My heart hurried to flood my muscles with blood. The ringing of the iron on the platform echoed in my own muscles.
I was choking with anxiety. They’re about to call me now! A kind of obsession! Even my coach’s voice — he sat down beside me.
The former vice-president of the International Weightlifting Federation, Nazarov, approached and asked me to present the medals to the champions. I had always avoided the role of an honorary general, but to award medals to athletes… Am I not an athlete myself? Have I not tasted all those “salty joys of iron”?
I went backstage with him. The athletes were preparing for their call. Immediately after the awards, the struggle resumed. I heard the rapid-fire speech of coaches, the clatter of plates, flashes of feverish faces. They explained how I should step out and what I was to do.
The announcer invited the prize winners onto the stage. After them, we came out.
The announcer listed the participants of the ceremonial presentation.
I did not expect it: the hall answered my name with a roar. I tensed, trying to conceal my agitation. My hands began to tremble, then my whole body shook. The black, heaving hall in motion — and that mighty cry: “A-a-a!”… As if for the first time I saw the hall from the stage and heard the shouts addressed to me. No, now everything was different. Everything was brighter, more significant. I had returned to the hall! I had returned to this life! I had freed myself from everything that obscures life.
“And yet joy is still familiar to me. A joy with a thousand faces…”
The hall would not calm down. Moments containing years — containing past and future…
Suddenly the past opened before me.
I heard the wondrous, pure ringing of the bells of the past.
I was going blind, sinking into memory.
Bring the iron to life!
Training — day and night you hear only yourself and the weight; you are in a great unity with that weight…
The meaning of training, beyond the development of strength — the quality and quantity of muscle tissue — is to tune yourself into a single harmony with the weight that must be lifted with absolute precision; then it weighs the least and seems to enter your physical order, you grow into it, it becomes alive!..
The time of pure and noble strength.
No, I am an athlete! An athlete until the last hour of my life. I belong to these people. To people who have named trial their destiny, and struggle their life…
My world! Mine!”
(Yury Vlasov, “The Justice of Strength”)

 

[Frimen1917]

“I remember the words of the Chairman of the Committee for Physical Culture and Sport, Nikolai Nikolaevich Romanov, addressed to the coaches of our national team:
‘Don’t jostle him, don’t pull him about!’ — he nodded toward me. — ‘Let him prepare according to plan. His task is the Olympic Games in Rome!’
Ah, how I wish I had not heard anything after those words! Instead, everyone kept repeating ‘Come on!’ And there was also the unspoken — sometimes spoken — thing that was neither advice nor warning: ‘Know your place.’
I kept my independence, did not allow myself or my teammates to be pushed around without proof or grounds, and I instinctively could not stand idlers.
For some officials, all of sport is reduced to points scored. Their advancement depends on those points. Everything else somehow fails to interest them. I recall with irony the story of “commitments.” An order was sent down to the club: from every athlete and coach a written pledge was demanded, promising through shock labor to achieve within a year a certain number of all-Union and world records (the exact figures of those records were to be specified) and to win such-and-such competitions.
I waved off this nonsense. They pressed harder. Invited me for talks. I explained: ‘How can one promise unconditionally? What if I fail? What if training doesn’t come together? This isn’t a mechanical process, not an assembly line! The path to records is made entirely of the unknown. And no one is immune to injury.’
For about a week I held out against the siege by masters of ‘putting enormous dots over tiny i’s.’ But I did not withstand the siege. And so I filled the page with fervent assurances to mark the next anniversary with such-and-such records and victories at such-and-such competitions. As if I had not already been exhausting myself in training! As if training had not served the single purpose — a breakthrough forward. As if I had not counted every day and been stingy with every hour of rest.
A scholastically interpreted undertaking, contrary to the very nature of sport, whose meaning is competition — competition of the highest kind: solely for victory, the selection of the most steadfast in struggle, training for the sake of the first result.”
(Yury Vlasov, “The Justice of Strength”)

 

[Frimen1917]

In the photo on the right is Yuri Vlasov against the backdrop of the Bolshoi Theatre in Moscow.

 

[Frimen1917]

Yuri Vlasov with his first wife Natalia and daughter Alena.

 

[Frimen1917]

Pictured: Yuri Vlasov at his desk. 2019.

 

[Frimen1917]

Pictured: Yuri Vlasov at his desk. 2019.

 

[Frimen1917]

Pictured: Yuri Vlasov at his desk. 2019.

 

[Frimen1917]

Yuri Vlasov on a walk. 2019.

 

[Frimen1917]

Yuri Vlasov on a walk. 2019.