For shoulders: seated dumbbell presses, palms facing each other at the bottom, rotating outward as he pressed. Laterals with a cable—one arm at a time, leaning slightly away for peak contraction. Rear delts on the pec deck, face against the pad, elbows high.
Three sets of eight, then front squats with lighter weight. Lunges with dumbbells, each step deliberate as a dancer’s. Leg curls for hamstrings—lying, not seated—to avoid lower back involvement. frank zane routine
In the late 1970s, while other bodybuilders chased mass like a trophy, Zane chased symmetry. His gym was a concrete-block garage in Florida, the air thick with humidity and the smell of chalk. No grunting crowds. No mirrors bigger than a coffin. Just Frank, a stopwatch, and the quiet arithmetic of perfection. For shoulders: seated dumbbell presses, palms facing each
Years later, at the 1977 Mr. Olympia, he stood next to Lou Ferrigno—sixty pounds heavier—and won not by out-massing, but by out-sculpting. The judges saw it: a human anatomy chart carved from alabaster. No veins bulging for shock. No distended gut. Just proportion, line, and the quiet power of a routine that treated lifting like meditation. Three sets of eight, then front squats with lighter weight
Abs were a liturgy. Hanging leg raises with a dumbbell between his feet. Crunches on a slight decline, fingertips to temples, chin tucked. Vacuum poses between sets—sucking his navel to his spine, holding for twenty seconds. “The waist is the frame,” he said once. “Don’t blur the frame.”
Pull-ups first. Wide overhand grip. He used no straps—forearms had to earn their keep. Four sets to failure, which was usually ten or eleven reps. Then T-bar rows, chest supported on a pad, pulling into his navel. “Squeeze the shoulder blades together,” he’d mutter. “Now hold it—one, two.”