INTRODUCTION
When We Say “Strength,” We Mean “Kettlebell.” When We Say “Kettlebell,” We Mean “Strength.”

If Charles Atlas were Russian, he could have told a different story…

Sergey Mishin was a heavy, slow, decidedly nonathletic kid. He picked up his first kettlebell, a 53-pounder, at 17 and was dismayed when he could not lift it with either arm. Undeterred by his weakness, Mishin found a plumbing pipe, hammered its middle flat so it would hold the kettlebell handle in place, and started jerking the kettlebell with two hands, like a barbell. The year was 1975. Two years later, Mishin could press a 70-pounder, which he had found abandoned in a park after a festival held on Railroad Worker Day, 30 times with each arm.

Mishin kept kettlebelling in the army, and when he was discharged he bragged to a friend that he would make a Master of Sports national ranking in the first kettlebell lifting competition he entered. And he did!

Sergey lost more than 100 pounds; became fast, wiry. And went on to become the number-one kettlebell lifter in the world—170 jerks with a pair of 70-pound kettlebells in 10 minutes!—and Russia’s sport legend. The president of Russia awarded Mishin a medal “For Accomplishments for the Benefit of the Motherland.” (II degree).

The cover of a 1915 issue of Hercules, Tsarist Russia’s strength magazine.

In Russia kettlebells are a matter of national pride and a symbol of strength. In the olden days, any strongman or weightlifter was referred to as a girevik, or “kettlebell man.” Steeled by their kettlebells, generation after generation of Russian boys has turned to men. A century before Mishin, another young boy, Pyotr Kryloff, found kettlebells at a butcher’s shop. It was love at first sight. Pyotr never parted with his kettlebells, and when he became a merchant marine he took them with him around the world. Eventually the kettlebell fanatic became a circus strongman and performed until he was 60. The public called him the “King of Kettlebells.” Kryloff could cross himself in the Russian Orthodox manner with a 70-pound kettlebell, military pressed the same kettlebell with one arm 88 times, and juggled three of them at once! Pyotr applied his kettlebell power to all sorts of feats. He broke stones with his fist, bent coins, made “ties” and “bracelets” out of strips of iron, broke horseshoes, jerked a “barbell” with two beefy soldiers sitting inside two hollow spheres, and set a few world weightlifting records.

Pyotr Kryloff, “the King of Kettlebells,” could cross himself in the Russian Orthodox manner with a 70-pound kettlebell, military pressed the same kettlebell with one arm 88 times, and juggled three of them at once!

Enter “Heavy Athletics”

“It can be said with a good deal of certainty that Russian weightlifting was born and grew thanks to the devotees of the kettlebell sport,” stated Weightlifting Masters World Champion Prof. L. Dvorkin. Indeed, it was the father of kettlebells, Dr. Vladislav Krayevskiy, who coined the term “heavy athletics” (tyazholaya atletika), the name for the sport of Olympic weightlifting in today’s Russia.

Dr. Krayevskiy, the father of kettlebells.

The Red Army and the kettlebell are inseparable. Every Russian military unit has a gym called “the courage corner.” Every courage corner is equipped with kettlebells. While other countries waste time testing their troopers with push-ups, Russia tests repetition kettlebell snatches with a 53-pound kettlebell. “The rank and file of the Red Army was magnificent from a physical point of view,” marveled Lt. Gen. Giffard Martel, chief of the British military mission to the USSR during World War II. “Much of the equipment we carry on vehicles accompanying the infantry is carried on the man’s back in Russia. The Russians seem capable of carrying these great loads. They are exceptionally tough.”

Law enforcement tactical teams—even the Russian federal tax police, who are handier with firearms than with calculators—also make kettlebells their strength training tool of choice. In the last days of the Soviet empire, the prison system was plagued with riots and hostage situations. Interior ministry troops were called in to suppress the riots. They did the job, but finesse was sure lacking. For instance, in 1986 they stormed a prison camp and burned it to the ground in the process of ruthlessly suppressing the riot.

In 1991 the interior ministry formed special tactical teams for every administrative prison district. Their mission: hostage rescue, riot suppression, search and arrest of escaped criminals. Since that memorable year when the USSR fell apart, these TAC teams have earned their keep on many occasions, in harsh Russian prisons and in Chechnya.

Russian federal prison SWAT teams are manned with former military special operators, paras, and vets of other elite services; each one had to compete against nine or more rival applicants to make the team. The selection process is similar to that of the army Spetsnaz. Here is what the trooper has to do back-to-back: a 10K forced march in full kit, an obstacle course and rappelling, plus another 10K run. A cherry on the top when you are beyond smoked is a 12-minute full-contact sparring session—with fresh opponents rotating in every three minutes. Once on the team, operators aggressively compete against their colleagues in the frequently held law enforcement sports events. Their specialties: hand-to-hand combat and the kettlebell sport. A matter of specificity and pride.

It is hard to understand the logic of governments—both Russian and American—that encourage inmates to strength train, but Russian prisoners lift kettlebells as well. You may have seen the black-and-white archive footage in a History Channel documentary about Russian organized crime—a wiry prisoner doing kettlebell swings, flips, and side presses. Some Russian prisons even host kettlebell competitions for the inmates! Go figure. Perhaps the law enforcement likes a challenge.

In the 20th century, Soviet science validated what Russian hard men had known for centuries: kettlebell lifting is of the best tools for all-around physical development.

Voropayev (1983) observed two groups of college students over a period of a few years. To gauge their performance, he used a standard battery of the the armed forces physical training (PT) tests: pull-ups, a standing broad jump, a 100- meter sprint, and a 1K run. The control group followed the typical university PT program, which was military oriented and emphasized the above exercises. The experimental group just lifted kettlebells. In spite of the lack of practice on the tested drills, the kettlebell group showed better scores in every one of them!

Vinogradov and Lukyanov (1986) found a very high correlation between the results posted in a kettlebell lifting competition and in a great range of dissimilar tests: strength, measured with the three powerlifts and grip strength; strength endurance, measured with pull-ups and parallel bar dips; general endurance, determined by a 1K run; and work capacity and balance, measured with special tests.

Lopatin (2000) found a positive correlation between soldiers’ kettlebell sport ranking and their obstacle course performance.

Kettlebells improve coordination and agility (Luchkin, 1947; Laputin, 1973).

Kettlebells develop professional applied qualities and general physical preparedness (Zikov, 1986; Griban, 1990).

Kettlebells are highly effective for building strength.

The official Soviet armed forces strength training manual approved by the ministry of defense (Burkov & Nikityuk, 1985) declared kettlebell training to be “one of the most effective means of strength development,” representing “a new era in the development of human strength-potential.”

Kettlebell lifting is great for your heart.

Siberian scientist Shevtsova (1993) verified what is obvious to any girevik. She studied 75 gireviks with three to five years of experience and recorded a long-term decrease in the heart rate and the blood pressure. The kettlebellers had what Russians call “a cosmonaut’s blood pressure”: 110/70 in the summer and 114/74 in the winter. They clocked an average resting heart rate of 56 beats per minute. The heart rate took a dive not just at rest, but also during and after exercise. And the time it took the heart to slow down back to normal, after exercise, also decreased. Besides, the experienced gireviks’ systems had also adapted to be better “primed” and ready for upcoming action.

Properly used, kettlebells are surprisingly safe.

Only 8.8 percent of top Russian gireviks, members of the Russian National Team and regional teams, reported injuries in training or competition (Voropayev, 1997). A remarkably low number, especially if you consider that these are elite athletes who push their bodies over the edge.

Kettlebell training improves body composition.

According to Voropayev (1997), who studied top Russian kettlebell lifters, 21.2 percent increased their bodyweight since taking up kettlebelling, and 21.2 percent (the exact same percentage, not a typo), mostly heavyweights, decreased it. Another study of elite gireviks revealed a consistently low body fat (Gomonov, 1998).

“A girevik (legendary strongman Eugene Sandow pictured) is characterized by a balanced development of all organs and musculature with significant hypertrophy of the muscles of the shoulder girdle.”—(Rasskazov, 1993)

“A girevik is characterized by a balanced development of all organs and musculature with significant hypertrophy of the muscles of the shoulder girdle.” (Rasskazov, 1993).

American iron men of old knew the value of kettlebells. You can see a pair in the training “dungeon” of one of the greatest deadlifters of all time, Tennessee farmer Bob Peoples, who pulled more than 700 pounds weighing a buck eighty before steroids and supportive gear. Sig Klein was a big proponent of kettlebells. I bought a pair of antique 1917 American kettlebells (they look like miniature Weber grills) from a 70-year-old friend, a “once a lifter, always a lifter” who still does good mornings with 405 pounds.

Then America got prosperous and forgot its rugged frontier past. Kettlebells went the way of the California gold prospectors and the gunslingers of the Old West. The kettlebell would have remained but a chapter in manly American history if not for my friend Marty Gallagher, former Coach, Powerlifting Team USA.

Marty and I were enjoying steaks in his backyard in an undisclosed location on the East Coast. We were trading old war stories over a mouthful of Mennonite-raised beef. Marty told me about Ed Coan, Kirk Karwoski, and other champions he had coached. I told him about kettlebells.

Gallagher thoughtfully finished chewing his steak and suggested, “Why don’t you write an article for MILO?” You know, the magazine for crazy guys who bend nails and lift rocks.

I said, “Marty, you don’t get it, this is the most painful workout you could imagine, who would want to do it or even read about it?” Earlier I had made the mistake of explaining a Russian slur, the “collective farmer,” to Marty. He used it on me and told me that I did not understand Americans.

The subversive Vodka, Pickle Juice, Kettlebell Lifting, and Other Russian Pastimes was published in 1998. The article was extremely well received by the most ruthless critics in the strength world. I started getting mail from guys with busted noses, cauliflower ears, scars, or at least Hells Angels tattoos. Incredulous, I told my friend and editor John Du Cane about it. He thought for a minute and said: “Let’s do it! I’ll make kettlebells and you teach people how to use them.”

Behind John’s reticent Cambridge demeanor is the heart of an American pioneer. A Brit who grew up in Africa, John drove from England to India—through Pakistan and Afghanistan—and lived for a few years in a Yoga community. He built his publishing company in the U.S. while driving a limousine to make ends meet. Fledgling Dragon Door Publications demanded undivided attention and John could not afford “wasting” his time on sleep. Du Cane took naps in the limo while waiting for his customers and used every spare minute to build his American Dream.

When presented with a new opportunity this rugged, self-reliant individual risked everything he had accomplished in his hard years as an entrepreneur publisher and decided to invest in manufacturing and promoting Russian kettlebells. Hindsight is always 20/20 and today it is obvious to anyone that the kettlebell is a winner. But that was not the case back then. “A cannon ball with a handle? Are you out of your mind?!”

2001 was the year of the kettlebell. Dragon Door published The Russian Kettlebell Challenge and forged the first US made Russian style cast iron kettlebell. RKC, the first kettlebell instructor course on American soil, also kicked off in 2001. Given the kettlebell’s harsh reputation, most of my early students looked like they came from the federal witness protection program. People often ask if Steve Maxwell and I are brothers. Steve, I love you, man, but I don’t think it’s a compliment for either of us.

Times change. Hard living Comrades remain the loyal core of ‘the Party’. But now they have to begrudgingly share the Russian kettlebell with Hollywood movie stars and other unlikely kettlebellers. Fed up with the sissified mainstream fitness advice, smart folks go hardcore. In 2002 our Russian kettlebell made it into the Rolling Stone‘s exclusive Hot List as ‘the Hot Weight’. In 2004 Dr. Randall Strossen, one of the most respected names in the strength world, stated, “In our eyes, Pavel Tsatsouline will always reign as the modern king of kettlebells since it was he who popularized them to the point where you could almost found a country filled with his converts…”