Egmond Molina has done a lot of unusual things with his neck. The 49-year-old strongman from Aruba has earned a global reputation for feats most people would consider both physically impossible and probably unwise. This month, Guinness World Records confirmed his latest one: pulling a 21,737-pound bus — roughly the weight of an adult African elephant and a half — more than 65 feet, using nothing but a rope looped around his neck.
The record stands at 9,860 kilograms (21,737 pounds), and it is, officially, the heaviest vehicle ever pulled by the neck. It is also Molina's 10th Guinness World Records title, putting him in rare company among living strongmen.
The attempt was carried out on a flat stretch of road, with the bus rigged to a thick harness that distributed the load across the back of Molina's neck and shoulders. From there, he had to lean forward, dig in, and walk the bus across the qualifying distance. Guinness rules require continuous motion across the measured length — no stopping, no resetting — and an officially certified weight on the towed vehicle.
For Molina, it is a continuation of a long, deliberately strange career. Over the years he has set records pulling fire trucks, lifting heavy objects with his hair, and bending steel bars with his bare hands. His training regimen, by his own description, looks more like medieval conditioning than modern fitness: years of progressive load-bearing exercises designed to build strength in the smallest muscles of the neck and upper back — muscles most weightlifters spend their entire careers ignoring.
It works, but it does not happen quickly. Strongmen who specialize in neck pulls typically spend a decade or more building the connective tissue strength required to even attempt a feat like this safely. The neck has to handle not just the raw weight, but the asymmetric forces that develop as the rope shifts and the vehicle responds to uneven ground. A small slip can torque the spine in dangerous ways. Molina trains with a coach, a chiropractor, and a small support team who oversee his attempts.
"The hardest part is not the bus," Molina has said in past interviews. "The hardest part is keeping the rope steady. If it slides, you're finished."
His success rate is remarkably high — at 49 years old, in a sport where strongmen typically peak in their early thirties and retire before forty, Molina has kept setting new personal bests. Sports scientists have studied his physiology, including the unusually dense musculature of his neck and trapezius, and credit a combination of genetics, decades of careful loading, and an almost monk-like adherence to recovery routines.
The cultural side of the achievement is its own story. Aruba is a small Caribbean island with a population of just over 100,000 people, and Molina has become a kind of national figure there. Schools have invited him to speak about persistence and physical discipline; his record attempts have brought attention and tourism to the island; and Aruba's tourism board has, more than once, made him an unofficial ambassador.
Guinness adjudicators on hand confirmed the feat in real time, measuring distance, certifying the bus's weight, and reviewing video footage. The record was made official shortly after the attempt, and Molina now holds the title until someone else figures out how to pull more than 21,737 pounds with their neck — which, by the standards of professional strongmen, is a problem nobody has yet figured out how to solve.
In the meantime, Molina says he isn't done. He has hinted at attempts on at least two more records before retiring, though he declines to say which ones. Whatever they are, they will almost certainly involve his neck — the part of his body he has spent more than half his life turning into a piece of industrial equipment.
