Review: “A Physical Education”

What do you think of when you think of a deadlift?

To some—including myself for quite some time—deadlifts are terrifying challenges for strongmen and bodybuilders to handle. To others, deadlifts are a routine part of working out. To author Casey Johnston, a deadlift is symbolic of a lifetime–of many lifetimes–of work, struggle, and triumph.

“A Physical Education” is a memoir with what initially seems like a laser focus: to highlight Johnston’s experiences with the world of strength training. But she challenges the idea of exercise as a simplistic or isolated action. Johnston works the biological, societal, historical, and personal context of this kind of exercise into a tight 200 or so pages. In doing so, she presents a compelling viewpoint on two key aspects of gym culture: its image, and its physicality.

In contemporary society, strength training is inextricable from the way it’s presented on social media, something Johnston repeatedly touches on while explaining how her own relationship with it evolved. A recurring theme is the author’s fear of her figure changing by massive proportions, of becoming over-muscled or much larger than society would expect of her. Yet what she finds is that her idea of the effects of weightlifting has been severely distorted by the extreme content often pushed by social media algorithms, which are intent on influencing instead of informing.

Nonetheless, Johnston finds inspiration in accounts dedicated to sharing the joy of becoming healthier and stronger. She revels in finding a community unbound by restrictive social expectations, describing the fellow deadlifting competitors as “gorgeous grotesques.” These women are not beholden to arbitrary external standards; they are honing their bodies in pursuit of their own goals. “The algorithm couldn’t understand the pricelessness of their unpolished, unpureed enthusiasm,” Johnston writes. It is in connecting to the world hidden beyond said algorithm that she truly blossoms.

There is something to be said for how Johnston tackles the darker aspects of strength training’s image, especially the idea of pain. It is common for the quality of exercise to be determined by how much strain someone’s body can take. It comes as a welcome surprise that Johnston takes a balanced approach to the idea: pain is often inevitable and sometimes beneficial, but it is not everything. In her words, “There is no valid strength training program in the world that measures progress in terms of pain.”

Learning what it means to be fragile is key to her journey–be it for pain, for accepting rest, or even coming up against failure on her weightlifting journey–she discovers that the things she feared are far less terrible than she imagined.

The current strength training culture didn’t spontaneously form, and Johnston seeks to unravel its roots. She defines the modern image of weightlifting through a true ‘physical education’ for the reader: exploring the German initiative of the Turner Movement, the development of fascist associations with weightlifting, the influence of the Industrial Revolution, and American cultural values. Any reader can appreciate her commentary on the divide of aestheticism and militarism, or her keen sociopolitical eye on class and gender-based conflict. In highlighting the remarkable depth of exercise that often goes ignored, Johnston redefines its image. Plato was a wrestler too, after all.

Through it all, the author does not ignore the fundamental factor at hand: the body itself. She cleverly blends biological theories with her journey, underscoring the significance of exercise for all. When she addresses the Valsalva Manoeuvre, a breathing exercise where one forcefully exhales while blocking their nose and mouth, she highlights how everyone already incorporates it into their daily lives. (Read the book to find out exactly how.)

From the influence of the brain and hippocampal volume to discussing how literally one can interpret ‘muscle memory’ in the context of epigenetics, Johnston offers plenty of insights for scientifically minded readers. Her explanation of the biological purpose of rest in strength training is especially interesting. She highlights how, when considering the various metabolic reactions in the body, even just sitting during a break is an active part of working out, rather than a disruption.

The book seeks to address the difficult subject of nutrition by diving deeper into health beyond merely accepting generally cited conventional wisdom, choosing to explore the author’s complicated relationship with food through a scientific lens. By discussing diets like Gentle Nutrition or Intuitive Eating and analyzing their implications on one’s body, Johnston uncovers some remarkable ideas about how diet culture may feed into itself at the biological level. Her evolving understanding of how substances like fats or processes like bulking could be integrated into her life is a worthwhile case study for anyone interested in the nutritional sciences.

Of special interest is how Johnston highlights the divides created between body, soul, and even machine. While she deliberates over the argument separating the ‘animal’ body and the ‘holy’ soul, the satisfaction she finds in making her flesh feel like home makes her perspective clear. Grappling with the lack of machinelike efficiency in humans is also essential to Johnston’s story, discussing historical attempts to achieve it, such as William Weichardt’s anti-fatigue vaccine and the modern involvement of technology in strength training. Ultimately, she concludes that there is “no hacking or manipulating the biological fact.” Instead she gains a stronger connection to her own biology. “Which breath feels like it won’t undo me? There, that one,” she describes as she navigates a challenging deadlift, displaying the control she has gained by embracing her physical form, highlighting the culmination of undergoing a tough but rewarding journey.

A deadlift is expected to be a fight against gravity. Yet, the memoir ends with Johnston choosing to embrace gravity as she contemplates the climb down a canyon after trekking up it. This strangely fitting sentiment concludes a story that was both universal and deeply personal.

Editor’s note: If “A Physical Education” makes you interested in giving weightlifting a try, there are Hopkins resources available to help you get started.

At the Cooley Center in East Baltimore, members have access to in-person group exercise classes, as well as live and recorded virtual classes through the Elevation Fitness portal. Cooley also offers 1:1 personal training with nationally certified personal trainers for an additional fee.

At the O’Connor Center on the Homewood campus, you can also access 1:1 personal training (or 2:1 if you and a friend want to train together). O’Connor’s F45 classes are good for both beginners and seasons lifters because you receive a demo of the exercise and can pick your level of difficulty.