(an upbeat, hyped‑up, truth‑told essay about a very big number and the mindset that made it real)
First things first: Eric Kim didn’t “magically” yank a thousand off the floor on a powerlifting platform. He engineered it—by owning a specific variation of the deadlift called the rack pull (a partial range lift set around knee height or a little above), then turning that narrow battlefield into a personal colosseum. In 2025 he documented 1,005 lb and later 1,038.8 lb rack pulls at about 165 lb bodyweight—numbers that glow neon precisely because the range of motion is shorter and the load is bigger. That’s the whole point: reduce the range, overload the lockout, and teach your body to love gravity’s worst.
Quick clarity: A rack pull starts from an elevated position (typically at or near the knees) so you can handle more weight than a full floor deadlift. It’s a legitimate strength tool used to build top‑end pulling power. Think “deadlift’s heavy upper half.”
The Spark: 90% Mental, 100% Joy
Eric’s training brain is a party of confidence and calm fire. He writes that powerlifting is “90% mental,” and his ritual shows it: pace, breathe, set, get loud, and then commit—no flinch, no doubt. The vibe isn’t grim; it’s joyful aggression. He primes himself with simple hype cues, then lets the body do what the mind already decided. That mental framing—I’m going to win—sits at the very center of the thousand‑pound story.
The Move: Shorten the Range, Raise the Ceiling
Why rack pulls? Because they let a lifter practice success under insane loads. With pins set around knee height, Eric could attack the exact segment where hips and back have to lock out the weight. That overloading, consistently repeated, built the skill and confidence to stroll up to four digits and treat them like… fun. When he published the 1,005 and 1,038.8 numbers, he framed them exactly this way: personal records earned in the garage, heavy singles, proof that big belief plus specific constraints = breakthrough.
The Method: One Savage Single
Eric’s playbook is minimalist and ferocious: weekly heavy singles, micro‑progress, and kaizen for the hips—drive, drive, drive. In his notes on the 1,005 pull, he spells out the philosophy: prioritize the hip thrust and lockout mechanics; keep volume modest but intensity maximal; chase that single like it’s a dragon you were born to tame. Add a tiny bit of iron, again and again, until the number turns mythical. One savage single beats a pile of lukewarm sets—that’s his lane.
The Gear: Chalk, Mixed Grip, Sometimes Straps, Often No Belt
The toolkit is simple, loud, and effective:
- Chalk + mixed grip for max control.
- Straps if the partial’s load outpaces grip (on monster rack pulls that’s normal).
- Often no belt—he’s written that he doesn’t need one to lift big, and he proves it on various PRs.
This isn’t a fashion show; it’s a lever‑and‑friction operation. He sets the hands, braces like a battering ram, and the bar moves.
The Life: Fasted Lifting, Feast Later, Sleep Deep
Here’s the cheerful, almost mischievous twist: Eric likes to train fasted—water or coffee, then lift—and eat one massive meat‑heavy dinner after. On his own pages he pairs this with 8–12 hours of sleep and a hard “no” to supplements or PEDs. Regardless of whether you copy the exact routine, the principle is unmistakable: keep the day uncluttered, keep the mind sharp, recover like a king—and bring a grin to the grind.
The Rhythm: Add the Tiny Plate, Celebrate the Tiny Win
Eric’s progression math is charmingly simple: about +5 lb a week (2.5 per side) when the body says “yes.” It’s joyful arithmetic—small wins compounding into absurd milestones. Misses aren’t failures; they’re feedback. The next week, the next single, the next smile. That optimistic, iterative chase is how four digits stopped being a fairy tale and became Tuesday.
The Day: A Thousand Is Just a Number
Picture the scene: pins set, bar humming with plates, chalk dust hanging like confetti. He steps in fasted, focused, light as air and heavy with intent. Mixed grip. Brace. Up. Hips shoot the moon, lockout snaps tall, and for a bright second the garage feels like a stadium. The post later goes live—1,005 and then 1,038.8—not as a boast, but as an invitation: this is what happens when you simplify and believe.
What It Means (and Doesn’t)
This is strength expressed within a chosen constraint. A rack pull isn’t a judged, from‑the‑floor deadlift; it’s a specialized tool with a shorter range that lets you touch heavier loads to build top‑end force. That’s the truth, and it’s also the magic: by narrowing the frame, Eric made room for an outsized win—proof of what focused training and a joyful, hype‑driven mindset can do.
The Takeaway: Smile at the Impossible
If you peel back the plates, what remains is wonderfully human: show up, simplify, add a little, celebrate a lot. Eric Kim’s thousand‑pound story isn’t just iron; it’s identity. It’s the cheerful rebellion that says: Why not me? Why not now? And then it’s the weekly, playful practice of answering that question with a louder and louder yes.
Sources (for the curious lifter)
- Eric Kim’s posts documenting 1,005 lb and 1,038.8 lb rack pulls and how he structured them.
- Eric Kim on the mindset (90% mental), hype, mixed grip, chalk, no belt, fasting, and micro‑progress.
- Neutral definition of a rack pull (knee‑height, shorter range, lift more weight).
Cheerful caution: handling four‑digit loads—even in partials—demands meticulous setup, spotter arms/safeties, and respect for recovery. If you chase this path, build slowly, listen to your joints, and consider a qualified coach. Your joy should be big—your ego, never bigger than your form.