Floods

We had some remodeling done at the house last week. I didn’t do any of the work myself, because those are not skills I possess, nor do I care to learn. Yes, I’ll do basic jobs around the house now and then, but it’s not something I particularly look forward to or enjoy. I’m not completely useless…just mostly useless.

I’ve heard it said that it’s important to know who you are, but it’s also important to know who you’re not. I’m definitely not the guy you want working on your car or renovating your kitchen. Now, my dad is a brilliant mechanic and taught high school auto for 40 years. Over the years, I spent a lot of time with him at the shop changing oil, replacing brake pads and rotors, and completing other basic jobs, but it’s not something that has stuck with me or that I’ve felt compelled to carry on into my adult life. I’ve always given my dad credit for letting me be my own person with my own interests. During my senior year of high school, I really wanted to take my dad’s auto class, but it required a three hour block of time in the morning that interfered with my school’s only offerings of calculus and physics. My dad understood that those classes were going to be part of both my academic and working life going forward, and he encouraged me to stick with them even though it meant not being able to take his class. I always thought that was a pretty cool move, and it was another example of the unselfish nature of my father.

Anyways, the house looks great and we’re really happy with everything, but in the days immediately following the completion of the project, we had two floods in our house, the result of appliances not being reconnected correctly by the contractors.

Last Friday, I was down in the basement working through my warm-up squat sets when I began to hear water running into the furnace room. I ran back there and, sure enough, water was running through the ceiling and down the walls. When I got upstairs, I discovered a soaked kitchen floor with water pouring out of the dishwasher. It turns out the contractors had not replaced the drain hose which dumped water everywhere.

Fast forward to Sunday morning. Again, I was down in the basement warming up some squats when I heard water pouring into the other half of the basement. I ran over and came upon waterfalls coming out of the light fixtures in the ceiling. Perhaps the universe just really didn’t want me to get my squats in this past week (Spoiler Alert: I always get my squats in). A flooded laundry room and cursory inspection revealed that the drain hose on the washer had not been reconnected by the contractors.

Is this bad?

After cleaning up, making trips to Home Depot to rent some carpet blowers, and hosting extra repair and clean-up visits from the contractors, everything seems like it’s squared away and back to normal.

None of this was fun or convenient, but Cali and I tried to look at the bigger picture here. These are first-world problems. Overall, the company did a great job. They just missed some details on a few small things that ended up being costly in terms of time and money. Nobody got hurt or killed. There are greater tragedies in life. Mistakes happen, etc. and so forth.

I have been trying to be more mindful about how I react to things that happen in life, recognizing that many situations are completely out of my control. This includes everyday occurrences and inconveniences and even the things others say and do that I may not like. I can only control how I react to an event and take responsibility for how I let it affect my mood and my outlook on the situation. Mark Manson’s book, “The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck” does a masterful job of explaining the importance of maintaining this approach to life. In my opinion, the title of this book is a bit misleading, because it implies that the book is going to tell the reader to just not care about anything. Really, the book is about carefully picking what you care about and managing the impact you allow it to have on you. If everyone tried to maintain this perspective, there would probably be a whole lot less people getting offended about every little perceived slight that is a part of living in the world. Imagine if all the energy spent on being offended was put into something productive like improving oneself or making the world a better place. Boy, we’d really be kicking ass as a human race.

Ready for a Change

I think I’m ready for a change when it comes to training, work, and life in general. This COVID-19 quarantine seems to be getting to me a little bit, which is definitely an indication of how easy and good I have it in life, because things could certainly be so much worse. I just really miss going places, seeing friends, taking trips, and interacting with other people. I’m in the very fortunate position to still have income during this time, and I’ve been working at home for almost two months now. Most of my work day consists of my computer and/or phone chiming, ringing, dinging, and otherwise notifying me that I have a message, e-mail, meeting, or call that needs to be answered. It seems pretty obvious to me that humans were not meant to live this way. My dad has been doing a lot of work out at our family’s hunting camp back in Michigan, and I’ve been yearning to be out in the woods, enjoying the quiet and not looking at screens and hearing electronic device notifications all day long. Obviously, these are first world problems, but I still want to get away from all of this nonsense by retreating to the woods, hunting for food, and living off the land, really getting into that Hank Williams Jr., “A Country Boy Can Survive” mindset. I don’t know exactly how to do everything I would need to do to survive, which means I would be forced to figure things out or die trying. I love reading about 19th century American history. You know, the Wild West, Civil War, the transcontinental railroad, and everything in between. That time period just really captures my imagination and gives me pause to think about how much people had to work just to survive from day to day. “Blood and Thunder” by Hampton Sides tells the story of Kit Carson and the history of the American West. One of the stories from that book that stuck with me was that Kit Carson often used the phrase, “Done so,” in conversation. When something entered his mind or seemed necessary, he just did it. “Done so,” was how he described his action. Kit didn’t have to stop to think about how his decision would affect his 401k or if he’d get a letter from his HOA. He just fucking did the thing that had to be done and moved on with his life. What a way to live.

For the last 15 years, I was certain I never wanted to have kids of my own. A few years ago, I was one week out from having a vasectomy, but I decided maybe I’d better hold off since that kind of thing can be tough to undo. Lately, I’ve found myself yearning to have children of my own, and it seems like I’m reminded of this all day every day. Many of my best friends have kids and are expecting more. Coworkers are having children, and I see neighbors out with their kids teaching them to ride bicycles and hit baseballs. My life feels incomplete, and I know I have a lot more to offer this world than what I’m doing currently. My rationale for not wanting kids before was that I felt like I was too selfish and had too many things I wanted to accomplish on my own. That mindset has faded. I’m done with my life being all about me. I want my life to be about others and to have an impact on the world. I want a family of my own that I can love and protect and be there for when they need me. I know Cali and I would make great parents, and I’m ready for the challenge. I don’t know if will ever happen, and I don’t know how that apparent failure will affect my psyche going forward. As always, time will tell.

Reconnecting

Many people are understandably struggling with the whole COVID-19/coronavirus pandemic. Uncertainty about finances, bills, mortgages, jobs, the future of the country, protests, quarantine, and a host of other legitimate worries is certainly not a great thing for anyone. I have been trying to find ways to look at positive aspects of this situation. I know that’s much easier said than done, and much easier for me to do than some people because currently my job and finances are stable.

Last Saturday, I had the opportunity to reconnect via FaceTime with some old high school friends. There were five of us in total, with one guy unfortunately having technical difficulties that prevented him from joining us. It is doubtful that we would have organized something like this or all taken the time to participate if it weren’t for the current unusual circumstances in the world. The group of guys I was talking to were my main group of friends going all the way back to elementary school, guys I’ve been able to count on to have my back for the last 30 years. I’ve made plenty of friends since moving away from home in 2007, but this particular group of pals will always have a special place in my heart. I’m repeating myself from my first ever post on here, but these are the guys who could murder someone and I probably still wouldn’t turn them in to the police.

We’re all in our mid-30s now, all grown up, working, raising kids in some cases, and making it in the world. One really crazy thing we talked about is how none of us could remember the last time we were all together at the same time. That blew my mind. Growing up, I spent all day every day with these guys. We would meet on the playground or in the hallway before school, go to class together all morning, eat lunch together, go to class together all afternoon, go to practice, and hang out on nights and weekends. I still remember the last night we were all together before heading off to college in August 2002. We were hanging out downtown, like we had done a million times throughout our high school years, and we all gave each other a hug when it was time to head home. Even at the time, I knew that was a special moment in our lives. Clearly, it was the end of one chapter and the beginning of another. All of those high school antics would soon fade away into memories that other people couldn’t quite understand.

During our call last week, we all agreed to make our best effort to get together every year or so. We threw out some hip/sexy destinations like Las Vegas and Nashville, but eventually we all agreed that these reunions would likely and most appropriately happen back in Norway, our small home town that will forever hold a special place in our hearts.

Reconnecting with my old friends really improved my psyche at the end of last week. Perhaps I have been going more stir-crazy than I thought during this whole quarantine thing. For those three and a half hours on the phone, I really felt a lot of fulfillment and connection to other humans, something that has been lacking in many of our lives lately. It was a stout reminder that I need to seek out community more and remember that life is all about the people we meet along the way.

Mr. Bray

“Quit feeling sorry for yourself!”

-Mr. Bray

This is what Mr. Bray used to scream at us during a tough practice or game when guys were hanging their heads, showing fatigue, or, well, feeling sorry for themselves. It’s a statement that I say to myself regularly whenever I’m not being grateful for all that I have or when I need to change my perspective and start looking at something as a blessing instead of a burden.

I have wanted to write this blog for a while, but I kept putting it off out of fear of missing something, of not doing justice to a man who had an enormous impact on my life. Sports played a huge role in my life from a very early age, and the influence that my coaches and teammates had on shaping the man I am today cannot be overstated. Mr. Bray was pivotal in my development as an athlete and a human being, and I am forever grateful that I got to spend so much time with him in life.

As I mentioned in previous posts, I grew up in a very small town in Michigan’s beautiful (and cold) Upper Peninsula (UP). People are crazy about high school athletics, and kids end up playing multiple sports throughout the year because there simply aren’t enough players or opportunities for someone to specialize in only one sport. These logistics, combined with a small school and limited faculty, mean that an athlete’s playing career intertwines with teachers and coaches over the years in sometimes unpredictable ways. My relationship with Mr. Bray started out as a student-teacher pairing in his middle school gym class, but Mr. Bray was also the high school lunch room monitor, one of two eighth grade basketball coaches, my high school gym teacher, junior varsity (JV/sophomore year/1999-2000) football and basketball coach, and assistant varsity football coach. Oh yeah, and he taught hunter’s safety and driver’s education. Yes, where I grew up, kids get educated on how to safely handle and respect firearms. Everyone owns guns yet there is zero crime and zero mass shootings. Weird. Anyway, if you add up all of these activities, it comes out to countless hours spent with Mr. Bray on the field, court, weight room, bus, classroom, lunch room, and driver’s ed car. This post is my attempt to capture some of my memories of Mr. Bray and describe the effect he had on my friends and me over the years. I will never get to share this with Mr. Bray because he passed away last year, but perhaps others who were lucky enough to call him, “Coach,” will get a chance to read, reflect, and share some of their own thoughts on a guy who meant so much to all of us. There are many things Mr. Bray did for the community that won’t be expanded upon here, such as his involvement with the Norway Speedway, Gold Medal basketball tournament, hunting and fishing endeavors, and I’m sure a whole bunch of other stuff I know nothing about. I’ll primarily be sticking to how I knew Mr. Bray and the venues that allowed me to spend a lot of time with him over my middle and high school years.

Right up front, I should mention that Mr. Bray scared the living crap out of me. The guy looked like he could suit up and go play linebacker for a college football team like he did back in the early 1970s. If you watched one of our JV football practices with Mr. Bray, it was not uncommon to see him get pissed at what he deemed a lack of intensity and jump right into a full contact hitting drill against a kid in full helmet and pads.

From my 2000 high school yearbook.

Mr. Bray’s intimidating build and physique were accompanied by one of the loudest and most booming voices you could ever imagine. He did not hesitate to get right in your face and give you an earful when you needed it. Now, I’ve been screamed at by a lot of people over the years, including siblings, parents, teachers, coaches, and drill instructors. Some yell just to yell. Some yell because they suck at communicating. Some yell because of their own insecurities. Some yell because they’re assholes and mad at the world. Some yell to try to motivate. Mr. Bray didn’t yell for any of these reasons, although getting yelled at by Mr. Bray did tend to motivate the hell out of a person. Mr. Bray yelled to make you better. He yelled because he cared, and I don’t ever remember getting yelled at by Mr. Bray and thinking to myself that it was unnecessary, unfair, or silly for him to be yelling at me. When Mr. Bray yelled, it just made me want to put my head down and run through a wall for the guy if that’s what it was going to take to not let him down, and I know my teammates felt the same way. None of us wanted to let our teammates or Mr. Bray down. That was the worst thing our adolescent minds could imagine, something that would stick with a person for a long time after the fact.

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When I was in eighth grade, my school had around twenty kids go out for the basketball team. Instead of cutting players to whittle the numbers down, the school decided to make two teams, White and Blue, so nobody had to get cut and more athletes got exposure and practice with the game. A few other schools in the area were doing the same thing, so it was no big deal. Mr. Bray was the coach of the White team, but I ended up on the Blue team coached by Mike Maule and Dante Mendina, two guys I absolutely loved and who obviously cared deeply about the development of my friends and me. One day, Mike and Dante were unavailable for practice, so both the White and Blue teams were going to practice together under Mr. Bray’s guidance. The intensity of practice was cranked up because it was a Mr. Bray practice and there was a lot of competitiveness between players from the two teams. Everyone was going all out and hustling through each drill. I distinctly remember running a three-man weave, a classic full-court basketball drill, when Mr. Bray said, “Henrion might be able to play for me someday.” Mr. Bray didn’t know it, but that statement meant the world to me. It was obvious to us all that compliments from Mr. Bray were not handed out casually. Mr. Bray didn’t “blow smoke up your ass,” to use one of his common expressions. Up to that point, that was the closest thing I had ever gotten to a compliment from Mr. Bray. Ten years later, Mr. Bray had a health issue, and I sent him a card. In the card, I let him know that when he told a player, “Good game,” in the locker room after a game, it meant more than when someone else said it because you knew it must be true. Praise from Mr. Bray was not free. Much like any good thing in life, you really had to earn it.

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At times, Mr. Bray was completely nuts, but there was always a method to his madness. It’s probably a lot different now, but back in the late ‘90s in the UP, football coaches could still make their players do old school drills like the nutcracker, Oklahoma, and shed drills. Mr. Bray would often stand right next to the action of two players going at it yelling, “It’s gotta be violent!” and waving his arms around. Just typing that sentence still gives me goosebumps and makes my hair stand on end. Practices with Mr. Bray were intense. There was no letting up and there were no easy days. In Michigan, August two-a-days began with a mandatory three days of conditioning where players wore only helmets rather than full pads. After that last conditioning practice on Wednesday evening, with everyone nervously anticipating the transition to full pads for the first practice Thursday morning, Mr. Bray told us, “Tomorrow, we separate the girls from the sissies.” That line still makes me laugh, even though you’d probably get fired for saying such a thing in today’s politically correct environment. The message, however, was clear. The rest of the season was going to be a gut check, so you better bring your balls to practice every single day.

For the entire first week of JV football two-a-days, Mr. Bray saddled me with the nickname, “Big and Dumb.” On Monday morning of the second week, I came sauntering into the locker room knowing it was going to be a tough, physical week. Mr. Bray was sitting in a chair just outside the coaching staff office. He kind of looked me up and down, and I offered a meek good morning greeting. Mr. Bray glared at me and said, “You know, Henrion, I need to give you a new nickname.” “Really?!” I responded, probably a bit too excitedly. “Yeah. You’re not all that big,” Mr. Bray said casually, and rolled his chair back into the office. I absolutely lived for this kind of locker room ball-busting among players and coaches, and I knew Mr. Bray had just given me a story, and perhaps unfortunately a nickname, for the rest of my life.

Mr. Bray flanked by his assistant JV coaches, his brother Andy (left) and Mr. Zygiel (right).

There are many moments that stand out from our JV football season, but one in particular will stay with me the rest of my life. We had a pretty competitive group of athletes in our class, and we went on a tear during our JV year. The last week of the season, we always played our rival, the Iron Mountain Mountaineers, and this particular season, we were both undefeated going into the final game. Both teams played hard, but Iron Mountain was damn good and we got down to the end of the fourth quarter and it was obvious we were going to lose. Iron Mountain had the lead and the ball down inside our five yard line with under two minutes left. Our last timeout was called and my teammates and I slowly trudged over to our sideline, knowing that it was pretty much over. Mr. Bray exploded, but it had nothing to do with the fact that we were going to lose. “Don’t you dare quit on me! And don’t you ever quit in life!” Here we were at the culmination of a memorable season about to lose a game that meant the world to my teammates and me at the time, and Mr. Bray was screaming at us about not quitting in life. That statement hit me harder than anything else that entire season. Mr. Bray was well aware of the much bigger picture, even though the 15 year-old players standing on the sideline were not. That was such an emotional moment for me that reminiscing about it always chokes me up a bit. It just showed how much Mr. Bray cared about us and how there is often a bigger message in the challenges we undertake.

JV football team from the 1999 season.

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Football season wrapped up in somewhat disappointing fashion, and we only had about a week before basketball practice started. The funny thing is, when football season ended, we actually still didn’t know who was slated to be our basketball coach. There was a brand new varsity basketball coach at the school, so some other coaches had been shuffled around and the decision to name a JV coach was delayed. I still remember walking into Mr. Bray’s fifth period weight lifting class, right after lunch, and Mr. Bray telling me, “I got you guys for basketball.” Even though I loved Mr. Bray, my stomach dropped upon hearing this news. If I haven’t mentioned it enough already, playing for Mr. Bray was intense. There were no easy days and you had to go all out for every single moment of every single practice and game. Mr. Bray made sure that my teammates and I were held to a higher standard in every aspect of the game, and it was exhausting. At the time, I just wasn’t sure if I could stay disciplined and continue to meet those expectations for a four-month basketball season. Of course now, looking back twenty years later, discipline and high standards were exactly what all of my friends and I needed. Basketball season went well and we ended with some good victories and a decent record. There was, of course, more screaming and running and the whole team getting kicked out of practice at least once, but it all just made us love Mr. Bray even more. Looking at the stat sheet after a game, Mr. Bray noticed that I had an abysmal shooting performance. I made something like two out of fifteen shots from the field. “Henrion, two for fifteen? I could kick it in at that rate. You couldn’t throw it in the ocean if you were standing on the shore.” Mr. Bray stated. How could you not laugh?

JV basketball team from the 1999-2000 season. Two guys weren’t in the picture and two of our classmates were moved up to play varsity that season.

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With my sixteenth birthday coming later that spring, I was anxiously anticipating getting my driver’s license and a little bit of freedom. My dad had already spent hours teaching me how to drive a car, but I also had to complete a number of official hours in the car with Mr. Bray, the school’s driver education teacher. Mr. Bray would put out a schedule, and a few students would meet up after school. One kid would drive with Mr. Bray in the front seat with two other kids in the back observing. After about an hour, the driver would rotate out and a new driver would take control of the car. The school driver’s ed car had a brake on the passenger side so Mr. Bray could mash it if one of the student drivers was about to do something reckless. I ended up doing most of my driving hours with this girl Shelley, who I secretly had a crush on from when we sat next to each other in freshmen biology the previous school year. Shelley loved giving Mr. Bray a hard time about anything and everything. She just had to poke the bear and keep the conversation going as we drove around town. On one particular day, I was driving and Shelley was in the back seat running her mouth and badgering Mr. Bray, obviously approaching his last nerve. When I had started driving, Mr. Bray had taken a few tubes of lip balm and jammed them into a few of the passenger side air vents. I guess he had chapped lips and wanted to keep them handy. I made a turn and the lip balm dislodged from the air vents and fell on the floor. At that point, Mr. Bray offered an analysis of my driving. “You fail,” he said without taking his eyes off the road. Even though Mr. Bray was clearly joking, Shelley couldn’t let the statement pass. “You can’t fail someone because your stupid Carmex fell!” Shelley shrieked from the back seat. Mr. Bray, who had been married and divorced a few times over the years, half turned his head and dryly asked, “Was I married to you once?” I immediately burst into laughter at this exchange. Hell, I don’t know. Maybe you had to be there, but it was great.

Mr. Bray served as the high school lunch monitor, and since my friends and I ate the standard school hot lunch just about every day, we got to dine with Mr. Bray on a regular basis. I have so many fond memories of us all sitting together eating hot dogs, chicken sandwiches, or mashed potatoes with mystery meat gravy and talking and laughing about things that were going on in the school at the time. During these conversations, we all got Mr. Bray’s perspective on things and really felt like we got to know him as a man a little bit better.

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I want to take a moment and just riff on a few of my favorite Mr. Bray expressions from over the years. I know that many of these will lack context and not hearing just how loudly some of these words were yelled doesn’t give the reader even close to the full experience, but I can’t write about Mr. Bray without sharing some of these.

On players looking lackadaisical at practice:

“It’s eighth speed!”

“It’s because you’re lazy!”

“You have zero discipline!”

“You’re milling! You’re milling!”

“Dio! Dio! Dio!”

“What’re you, posing for holy pictures?! I’ll get you a staff and some sheep!”

On warning others not to mess with him:

“My left fist is six months in the hospital. The right one I’m scared of myself.”

“You’re going to think you’re chicken little and the sky is falling.”

“You think I can’t swat you [insert player’s name here]?!”

On being a detective when one player stole another player’s shoulder pads:

Mr. Bray: Craig, take off those pads.

Craig: Why?

Mr. Bray: Because they’re not yours.

Craig: Yes they are.

Mr. Bray: No they’re not! They look like a peanut on an elephant’s back!

On evaluating a player’s toughness:

“He’s not the bravest guy I’ve ever seen.”

On evaluating a player’s ability to catch passes:

“Paddle hands. He couldn’t catch a cold.”

On believing in us:

“I WILL NOT LET YOU LOSE! I WILL NOT LET YOU LOSE! I WILL NOT LET YOU LOSE!”

That last quote came from my buddy Hammer. Try to not be confident going into a game with a very imposing individual screaming that in your face. Mr. Bray helped prepare my teammates and me for games, but he also helped prepare us for life. I will forever miss Mr. Bray and the feeling of walking onto a field or court with my friends, knowing Mr. Bray is on the sideline watching us and that, no matter what, he had your back and you did not dare even entertain the thought of letting that man down. That was all you had to worry about in life at that particular moment, and you knew everything was going to turn out okay.

Interview with the Admiral

Today, April 13, 2020, marks the ten-year anniversary of me interviewing with Admiral Kirkland Donald and signing on the dotted line to go on active duty with the Navy in order to be an instructor at the Naval Nuclear Power Training Command (NNPTC) in Goose Creek, South Carolina. Back in 2010, I was teaching high school math and physics out in Arizona. The job was a lot of fun, but I couldn’t see myself doing it forever and, after student teaching at a Department of Defense school on an Army base in Bamberg, Germany, I was itching to do something in the military. After jumping through a million hoops and going through the process of physicals, eye exams, and technical phone interviews, I got the opportunity to fly to Washington, D.C., to interview with Admiral Donald, the four-star officer in charge of the entire storied Navy Nuclear Power Program. This interview with the Admiral was the most nervous I have ever been in my entire life. I felt like my entire future was on the line.

Interviewing for the Navy Nuclear Power Program follows a specific format. First, candidates do at least two technical interviews with Naval Reactors engineers. Some interviewees are randomly chosen for a third interview, while others get a third interview because one or both of the first two did not go well, but the candidate does not know the reason he/she is having a third interview, so it’s extremely nerve-wracking. The engineer doing the interview has your college transcript, and they warn you that anything from any class you have taken is fair game. Everything is on the table. They give you a whiteboard and a dry erase marker, and start firing questions. The goal is to work through the problems on the board, explaining each step in your thought process and talking your way through the problem. Showing how you think, reason, and communicate is even more important than getting the final right answer, or so they say. Fortunately for me, I had been teaching for a few years and was very much in the mode of explaining things to students. I remember having to derive the quadratic formula, work through a classic calculus problem, explain how to solve an exponential growth rate problem, and talk my way through the Rankine cycle. This all went pretty well, I managed to evade a third interview, and I was given the go ahead to see the Admiral. If your technical interviews don’t go well, they don’t even waste the Admiral’s time by letting you talk to him. You’re just done right then and there.

They had flown us out to D.C. a day early so we could practice our interviews with Admiral Donald. It turns out the Admiral interview is hardly an interview at all, at least in the traditional sense. Everything was done under strict control and guidance from the officers who helped prepare us for the interview and escorted us to the office on that day. When it became my turn to see the Admiral, someone escorted me into Admiral Donald’s office. As I entered, I introduced myself using a scripted template that included my name, city of residence, college major, occupation, and personal interests. There was no handshake or chit-chat with the Admiral of any kind. I sat at the chair in front of his desk as he looked through the write-ups from my technical interviews, college transcripts, and other documents and letters from my recruiters. My escort awkwardly stood behind me during the entire interview. Admiral Donald may have glanced at me once in the roughly two minutes I was in his office, but it was fleeting and nearly imperceptible. He asked me how long I’ve been teaching, what the graduation rate was at the high school I was teaching at, and maybe one or two other things that I can’t remember. I did my best to speak clearly, not sound nervous, and keep my answers brief. The Admiral then gave a slight nod to my escort who tapped me on the shoulder and indicated it was time to leave. We walked into a small anteroom, and my escort stuck out his hand and said, “Congratulations. You are now a dildo.” That’s not a typo. The guy called me a dildo ten seconds after one of the biggest moments of my life as I’m standing there nearly crapping my pants from nerves. Let me explain. The Admiral must have given my escort a thumbs up or some kind of confirmation that I had passed as I walked out of his office, so my escort was free to tell me right then and there that it was time to sign some paperwork to officially go on active duty with the Navy. As for the dildo thing…well, I was interviewing for an instructor position at the Nuclear Power School. Legend has it, although it’s likely not factual, that people in my position used to formally be known as Direct Input Limited Duty Officers, hence the nickname. This is the first and only time in my life that I nearly cried tears of happiness because someone called me a dildo.

My escort took me back to the bullpen where everyone else was waiting. I sat there for a few hours while the rest of the candidates went through their interviews. It was a somber atmosphere, because some people there did not make it, and those who did were considerate and kept to themselves. Eventually, those of us who passed signed our paperwork and life was never the same again. Going through this process and serving in the Navy is easily one of the most important, challenging, and rewarding things I have ever done in my life. The Navy gave me skills that set me up for the rest of my life. The chances I would have my current job without my time in the Navy are slim to none. This was a monumental moment in my life, and the fact that ten years have already flown by blows my mind. It’s a good reminder to savor the days and moments in life, because they are all too fleeting.

Like a Punch in the Face

Cali and I had a verbal exchange the other day that hit me like a punch in the face. It wasn’t an argument, domestic dispute, or anything of that nature, but rather something that really just made me pause and take inventory of all of the things for which I should be grateful on a daily basis. Now, I want to clarify something before going any further because I worry that this whole post is going to come across like I’m bragging or just a giant douche in general. Cali and I are not monetarily rich by any stretch of the imagination, but we are solidly middle class. Much like George Costanza’s pick for the Susan Ross scholarship, we’re right in the meaty part of the curve; not showing off, not falling behind. We got that way because we had every advantage in life from an early age, grew up in wonderfully stable homes, and then worked hard and were willing to move across the country for jobs multiple times to land where we are right now.

During a normal week, I make the Costco grocery run for bulk items and Cali picks up everything else we need from Wegman’s, an awesome chain of grocery stores up here in the northeast. Cali’s work has been disrupted a bit by the whole COVID-19 fiasco, so she’s been doing all the grocery shopping the past few weeks. A few days ago, we were standing in the kitchen chatting while Cali put away the Wegman’s haul. She had gotten a big container of salsa that was the same brand as the one I usually buy at Costco.

Cali: I never knew it but they have this salsa at Wegman’s too. How much does it cost at Costco?

Me: I don’t know. I don’t look at the prices of anything I buy when I go there.

Pow! Boom! Kablam!

Cali and I both kind of just stopped and looked at each other, both thinking the same thing. We live in a country where food is plentiful and we both have jobs that allow us to go buy whatever food we need without having to think about the price or whether or not we can afford it. I’m embarrassed to say that this is something I take for granted all too often. Life just gets busy and my weekly Costco run is just part of the routine. Rarely do I just pause and have grateful thoughts about our situation. That needs to change.

This COVID-19 pandemic is a total disaster for countless people around the world. Here in America, millions of people have lost their source of income and are fearful of how they will make ends meet in the coming weeks and months. Our government passed a stimulus package that is going to send money out to most everyone in the country, and Cali and I are planning on doing something positive with our check. The goal is to help someone or some family that needs this money a lot more than we do. We are not completely certain how we are going to do this yet, but we’ll figure it out in the next few weeks. Please know that I am not telling you what we plan to do with this money to advertise or virtue signal that we’re doing something charitable. I am saying that this pandemic has reminded me to be grateful for all that I have and to help others out when given the chance. One has to wonder how different the world would be if we all lived like that all the time.

Heavy-Light-Medium

In a previous post, I talked about periodizing my year into some different training blocks. It turns out the coronavirus had other ideas and some of my plan has gone out the window. Most of my work travel for the year has been canceled, which means I have more time to work through a block of barbell training. My powerlifting meet that was scheduled for April 18 is no longer happening, and I am not sure about the kettlebell challenge in May. For now, I am just going to focus on using the barbell lifts to get stronger overall.

Gyms being closed out here in PA for the past week or so due to the coronavirus has made me even more grateful than usual for my home gym. My training has not missed a beat, and I am convinced that it’s the only thing keeping me sane. No matter what fear-driven headlines I read in the news or hear about online, I can always go down to the basement or out to the garage and get after it.

Since returning home from the Starting Strength seminar a few weeks ago, I have been running a Heavy-Light-Medium program, lifting every other day and doing my best to get some walking and recovery in between sessions. I am really determined to stay focused on lifting for a little bit here and not do my usual thing of adding in a ton of other crap that takes away from my current goal of getting stronger. I keep reminding myself that the only way I can screw this program up is by adding in extra work that will hinder my overall adaptation and recovery. My days have been broken down as follows with specific weights being used found in my Training Log. The (sets x reps) refers to the work sets and does not count warm-ups. Right now, the weight is held constant for all sets across.

Heavy Day

• Squats - 3 x 5

• Bench - 3 x 5

• Deadlift 1 x 5

Light Day

• Squats (with 80% of Heavy Day weight) - 3 x 5

• Press - 3 x 5

• Chins - Various grips, bodyweight, weight added, different rep schemes, doesn’t matter. I’m just doing a bunch of chins.

Medium Day

• Squats (with 90% of Heavy Day weight) - 3 x 5

• Close Grip Bench - 3 x 5

• Power Cleans - 5 x 3

So far I am having a ton of fun with this program. I love doing all of these lifts, so the frequency is keeping me from getting too antsy on my rest days. The plan is to run this until it stops working and then make a small change to continue to drive progress.

I am working at home until further notice, which is totally fine by me. The fact that I have a stable job that is going to keep paying me during all of this turmoil has removed a ton of stress that many Americans are unfortunately facing at this time. One thing I do really miss is the social interaction of being physically at the office. I have a lot of great friends at work and it is definitely different interacting with everyone through a computer rather than face-to-face. My days now consist of working on the computer and answering a constant stream of dings, beeps, and other notifications on my phone and through various applications on my laptop. I’m definitely not complaining, but by the end of the work day, I am ready to unplug and lift some damn weights.

I wish you all the best during this crazy time.

Secret Secrets

“There are two kinds of guys. Guys who watch porn and guys who lie about watching porn.”

-A relative who shall remain nameless

Most of my blogs here focus on the benefits of lifting and improving physical health, but I’m going to veer off a bit here and talk about mental health. Now I am certainly no expert on any of the things I ramble on about here. These essays are just my opinions, observations, and experiences from my journey through life. Writing these things down and trying to organize my thoughts makes me really think about my perspective on things and how my experiences led me to my current beliefs.

Pornography is a super uncomfortable and embarrassing topic for most, but I want to talk about it here because it is something that has had a negative impact on my life, relationships, and self-esteem in ways that I have just begun to recognize over the last few years. Fortunately, I have come across a few people over the past decade that had the guts to talk about porn addiction and how important it is to recognize that it is a widespread problem that is affecting countless people, mostly males, throughout the world. My goal here is to share my story and struggles and give a few recommendations for turning things around. To be honest, this is very hard to share and discuss. I realize I’m running the risk of someone I know reading this and coming to the conclusion that I’m a giant pervert or sexual deviant, but I’m just being honest and this is a story that needs to be shared. This is real talk. If I can get this out in the open and maybe help someone else who is struggling with porn, it will be well worth any shame or embarrassment on my end. And if you are reading this and do want to judge or label me, that’s fine, but please be aware that there are other men, and even young boys, in your life who may have also gone down a similar path and are being affected by porn on a daily basis. This is even more likely now that everyone has a smartphone with the ability to stream videos and bring a porn theater everywhere they go.

Two things to note before I go on. First, I am going to use the word addiction throughout this article. I know some people think the term addiction is bullshit and everything comes down to the choices we make, and that’s totally fine. I am not here to argue the point of whether or not addiction exists. Rather, I am using the term addiction to mean the really powerful allure that porn can have for the brain and the fact that it can be tempting enough to keep bringing a user back even when the user knows it’s not necessarily a great thing for their life. You can call it lack of discipline, weakness, poor choices, whatever. I don’t care. The point here is to talk about some things and get them out in the open, not debate inconsequential nuances. Second, I am all about individual freedom and people having the right to do whatever the hell they want in life. The purpose of this post is not to tell anyone to quit watching porn or to argue about morality or anything of that nature. My goal is just to reach out to anyone who may watch porn but feels that it is not enriching their lives and may even be having a negative effect. If you do feel that way, you’re definitely not alone or unique.

I was born in 1984 in that generation who watched today’s internet and smartphone culture develop over the years. Sure, the internet existed, but it wasn’t the ubiquitous, widespread thing that it is today. We didn’t have really useful internet in our house until I was 13 or 14. Despite not having the internet, porn still became a part of my life when I was around 10 years of age when a friend and I innocently stumbled upon my dad’s collection of porn VHS tapes. We were like any other curious boys desperate to learn more about women and sex, so we thought we had hit the jackpot when we found those videos. I watched those tapes for hours, and there was plenty of variety to always see something new. Of course, at the time, I had no idea that I was messing up my young, malleable brain by getting these porn-induced dopamine hits where I was teaching myself to associate sex with watching something on a screen. It never occurred to me that this was totally unnatural and unrealistic. All I knew was that my body craved sex and this gave me a good fix. Watching porn gives the viewer the opportunity to trick his/her brain into having multiple, novel sexual partners, a highly desirable situation from an evolutionary perspective. It sounds crazy, but having sex with a real life woman doesn’t even seem as exciting or pleasurable once the user gets used to the experience of having multiple sexual partners at once by watching porn.

Fast forward a few years when all of my friends and I finally got the internet in our small town. At first, it was hard enough just to download pictures of naked girls because dial-up was super slow and would randomly drop off with no rhyme or reason. As we all know, the internet evolved over the years until we finally had the ability to easily stream videos any time we wanted. Streaming video really opened up the floodgates when it came to easy access to viewing porn. This was especially true by the time I graduated high school and went off to college in 2002. My roommate was always streaming porn on his laptop, leaving it running for hours at a time just because he thought it was funny. I never acknowledged that I enjoyed it or indulged myself because I was too ashamed and embarrassed, but pretty much every guy in our dorm knew what everyone else was doing on the regular.

During my college years, I had some very nice and pretty girlfriends and have now been married almost 10 years to a very sweet, beautiful, and sexy woman. I may not have known it or stopped to think about it at the time, but porn has affected all of my relationships in the past 20 years. Why would you need porn if you have a girlfriend, wife, or partner? This is a common question that gets asked when people talk about porn, and there are several logical answers. Reflecting back almost 20 years on my college self, I viewed porn as a tool that I could use to calm down my raging 18-22 year-old hormones. Porn was easily accessible anytime I needed it. Watching porn was just like general maintenance where I could take care of my needs without bothering anyone else. There was no fear of rejection from an actual living person. I didn’t have to worry about performance or logistical matters. It was great, it calmed me down, and it was right there for the taking in the comfort of my dorm room, so why not take advantage?

I was 24 when I met my wife, Cali. By this point, I was still watching porn about once per week even though I knew it was not really a good thing. Pretty much every time I indulged, I would tell myself that it was the last time. I even read a few self-help books about controlling my lust and urges. Some of the tactics I learned from these books worked for a while, but the allure and dopamine spikes from watching porn eventually won out in the end. At this time, I was also still very religious and was constantly weighed down by guilt over my failure to abstain from porn. Cali and I began seriously dating and eventually got engaged and married in 2010. As a result of me joining the Navy and Cali needing to stay in Arizona to finish college, we had considerable time apart during the first year of our marriage. I had told myself I was going to be completely done with porn once I got married, but I was too weak to follow through. Being apart and left to my own devices meant I carried on my porn habits. Each time I felt ashamed, but I thought that this was completely unique to me and there was no way I could acknowledge to anyone, especially Cali, that I had this secret. I remember when my sister Stacy found out about our dad’s porn collection. She said it forever changed the way she looked at him, like he wasn’t fully the man she always thought he was. I can’t speak for Stacy, but I think her perspective has changed a little bit over the years. When I was home last March, I told Stacy about my own struggles with porn and we had a great conversation, and I know she loves our dad unconditionally with all of her heart. Her initial statement about viewing our father differently was my first indication that porn could have negative consequences for relationships.

So yeah, almost eight years into our marriage and I was still watching porn now and then. I found time to do it usually once or twice a week, still just viewing it as general maintenance where I could take care of some of my sexual needs without any of the pressure of trying to actually be intimate with my wife. That sounds so messed up as I write it, but it’s the truth. One thing that is undeniable is the guilt I felt after each session. It was eating away at me and preventing me from being truly honest with Cali. She didn’t know it, but there was a chasm between us. My physical affection towards her was lacking because I was using up energy and resources watching porn.

Finally, on April 5, 2018, I worked up the nerve to share my struggle with Cali. One thing that really gave me the guts to do this was Terry Crews talking about his own porn addiction on Joe Rogan’s podcast. It blew my mind that someone so famous was willing to put himself out there and be honest with this topic as millions of people listened. Terry stated how porn addiction had negatively affected his marriage and had come between him and his wife. As weird as it sounds, it was very refreshing to hear this from someone else. Confessing my own struggles to Cali was not an easy thing to do, but once it was out in the open, I felt like a huge weight had been lifted off my chest. Cali was extremely sweet, supportive, and understanding, and it actually brought us closer together. My journal entries below convey some of my thoughts during this time.

Journal entry from April 5, 2018.

Journal entry from April 6, 2018.

This was a watershed moment for me, because I felt like I finally was not alone in my battle. It also completely changed the way I looked at Cali. Once I quit looking at porn, it was like my eyes were fully opened and I just could not get enough of Cali. She turned me on so much and we connected physically like I had never felt before. Things went along great for about 16 months, but then I slowly fell back into old habits. In August, I went out of town. I was alone in a hotel and kind of bored. It started out with just a picture or two from social media, but things snowballed from there and several months later I was back into watching porn on my computer on a weekly basis. This time around, I was even more embarrassed than ever because I had allowed myself to slip back into this damaging cycle of watching porn, feeling guilty, and not fully being into my marriage to Cali. How could I be so weak and stupid? After beating myself up about it for a while, I read the book, “Your Brain on Porn,” by Gary Wilson. I cannot recommend this book enough for anyone who is struggling with porn. It is brilliantly written, has other firsthand accounts from real people, and explains some of the science behind what makes porn so enticing, particularly to men. There is also a companion website, www.yourbrainonporn.com, that has tons of articles and resources.

I recently talked things out with Cali again and feel like I have gotten back on the right path. Once gain, she was extremely understanding and supportive. I wish I could say I know that I’m done for good, but experience has shown me that it’s too slippery of a slope to make that statement right now. All I can do is stay disciplined and keep reminding myself how important abstaining from porn is for my marriage and relationships. What I can say for certain is that my head is more clear than it’s ever been, and my relationship with and desire for Cali have never been stronger.

If you’re struggling or want to talk about any of this, don’t hesitate to reach out. I’d be glad to hear your story and offer any help I can give.

Starting Strength Seminar

This past weekend I completed a bucket list item by attending a Starting Strength seminar at Mark Rippetoe’s Wichita Falls Athletic Club (WFAC) in Wichita Falls, Texas. When I told a fellow participant that I lived in the Philly area, he asked me why I didn’t attend one of the seminars held on the east coast. I explained that it was important to me to not only attend a seminar, but to make the trip to Rip’s gym to see the place for myself. It turns out that this was an excellent decision, because WFAC, the setting for countless Starting Strength YouTube videos that I’ve watched over the years, is like a combined gym/strength history museum. There are cool pictures, posters, and memorabilia all over the walls, and all of the equipment has a very unique feel to it, like it was carefully thought out and built according to exacting standards with the sole purpose of helping the user get stronger in the most efficient way possible. WFAC is basically a dream gym for someone who wants to base his/her training around the main lifts that make up the Starting Strength method: squat, bench, deadlift, press, and power clean.

The seminar is roughly 25 hours long spread across Friday night, Saturday, and Sunday. Throughout the three days, I was pleasantly surprised at how much time was spent in a classroom setting while hearing lectures and having discussions on anatomy, physics, and the logic and standards behind the lifts. The last time I had an anatomy class was my junior year of high school, so this portion was a big eye opener for me as far as how the human body works and the most efficient way to perform the lifts. At one point, Rip lectured on the deadlift for nearly three hours straight without taking a break. He showed countless deadlift videos and broke down every aspect of the execution of the lift. It was actually super interesting and enlightening, especially for a nerd like me who loves watching videos of big lifts.

There were just over 20 attendees ranging in age from 20-69 and with extremely diverse backgrounds and skill levels. From what I gathered, not that many of the participants were strength coaches, but rather just ordinary folks like myself who see the value in getting stronger and improving one’s self under the bar. I very much enjoyed the group that I worked with throughout the weekend, and we all became friendly and supportive of one another while learning together and coaching each other through the lifts.

Other than Rip, there were four coaches at the seminar who would each take a group of about five lifters for each lift. I cannot say enough positive things about the level of coaching. It was clear that every coach had a ton of experience in coaching the lifts and knew exactly how to identify issues and give corrective cues. They also had a standard way of coaching the lift from the very beginning, and each lifter in the group would practice coaching someone through the lift as well. One of the best ways to learn something is to explain it to someone else, and we took full advantage of this fact throughout the weekend.

In the past five years, I have felt pretty confident about my form on the lifts, but it turns out I don’t actually know shit, particularly in the squat and bench. By the end of Saturday, I had acknowledged to myself that I have been squatting incorrectly for the past 20 years. A revelation like this is exactly the reason why I wanted to attend the seminar. I am very excited to see how my training and execution of the lifts looks going forward.

The seminar wrapped up on Sunday with a Q&A session. Rip was absolutely off the hook hilarious during this entire thing. I wish I had been able to film it so I could go back and watch it anytime I pleased. I wrote down as much as I could during the session, but I’m sure I missed some real gems.

This whole weekend was amazing from start to finish. If you have any desire to attend a Starting Strength seminar, do not hesitate to sign up. Rip is a true original and has made a major impact on the world with his books and methods. My training will never be the same after this past weekend, and I trust it would have a similar impact for anyone who attends with an open mind and a willingness to learn and be coachable.

Periodizing My Year

Training throughout 2020 has me really excited (big surprise). The first part of this year has been focused on the barbell. I have been absolutely loving squatting, benching, deadlifting, and overhead pressing with the barbell again. I did not do these movements for much of 2019 because I was so focused on kettlebells, but damn are they ever fun. My plan going forward is to stick with the barbell until my powerlifting meet in mid-April, and then transition back to kettlebells throughout the summer months. I have a lot of work travel coming up, but I can always throw a kettlebell or two in my truck and train my ass off when I’m on the road even if a decent gym is not available. Hotel rooms, parking lots, and local parks will become my gym for the middle part of this year, and that is just fine. The one caveat to this year’s kettlebell work is that I am determined to keep the barbell deadlift in the mix as much as possible. There is just no true substitute for the deadlift, so if I can manage to pull once a week, my body will benefit and it should scratch my barbell itch.

The summer’s kettlebell training will definitely include some mountain biking on the side, but more just as a way to do some steady state cardio and enjoy the nice weather with Cali. When August rolls around, I am going to really turn my attention to mountain biking in preparation for The Iceman Cometh race in November. This is going to be a great challenge that totally turns my training on its head. Right now, I am not totally sure how I will train for this race, which gets me fired up. It means I am going to have to learn some new skills and acquire some additional qualities for my training arsenal. I predict that it will benefit me in the long run in ways I cannot currently foresee.

After the bike race, I will move back to barbell focused training during the winter months. I am super excited for this variety in my training and a few competitions that will help focus my training. Throughout my training career, I have definitely been guilty of being the guy who goes into the gym and does the same thing day after day, week after week, and month after month. When I first started powerlifting, it was really hard for me to get away from a typical body-part split. It was all I had ever known and read about in the magazines. It was familiar and I felt like I knew what I was doing, but I was very much missing out on many things that would benefit my body, mind, and soul.

I think life is often like that in a lot of ways, at least for me. I am a very routine oriented person, and it is easy for me to get stuck in a familiar rut and not want to branch out to try or experience different things. There have been a few times in my life where I packed up and moved across the country. Every time, the thought of such a big change scared the hell out of me, but it ended up being nothing but a positive in the long run. The places I got to see, and more importantly, the people I met along the way, added incredible value, education, and enrichment to my life.

What if we all were just unafraid to go out and do things and be around people who may look, think, and do things a little differently than us? I wonder if we all would gain a little different perspective that made the whole world just a little bit happier and understanding of our fellow human beings.

Compete

I grew up in the very small Upper Peninsula town of Norway, Michigan, about 90 minutes north of Green Bay, Wisconsin, right over the Michigan border. Norway has a population just under 3,000, one stoplight, and one big building that is home to the local elementary, middle, and high schools. Growing up in Norway was a great experience that I wouldn’t trade for the world. I lived within bicycle riding distance of the school and all of my best friends, and there was no real crime or danger to speak of for us kids. Everyone in town seemed invested in the Norway High School sports teams, and since I played football, basketball, and track (I also played one year of baseball but it wasn’t affiliated with the school and it interfered with track so it didn’t pan out), I felt like the effort I put into sports was of the utmost importance. People in town were constantly talking about sports and asking about this or that game. Working the 8 AM - 1 PM shift at the local grocery store, Ebeling’s IGA, on the Saturday morning after a big football or basketball game was a blast if we had won the night before. Customers would be offering congratulations and commentary on certain plays. At times, I felt like a hero. A legend in my own mind as my buddy Hammer’s dad likes to say.

When I graduated in 2002 and went off to college, I was a little bit torn. I was used to playing sports, lifting weights, and having all of this physical exertion built into my normal daily routine. I was already addicted to lifting and knew I wanted it to always be a part of my life, but I didn’t really understand how important it was for me to continue seeking out ways to compete as I aged. Although I was very lightly recruited for football and basketball by some small local colleges, I chose to focus on academics and just try to enjoy the college experience without playing any official sports for a school. Sometimes I regret this decision, but I’ll pontificate on that another time. Fortunately, I got into playing a lot of intramural sports, pick-up and local men’s league basketball, and racquetball. These were great experiences, but I was too young to really see any value in the competition. At this point, I was just trying to stay in shape and carry on like I had all through high school.

After finishing my undergrad in 2007, I moved to Arizona and really got into racquetball. I played in several leagues and tournaments and was a regular at the Dysart Road LA Fitness courts. This was a ton of fun and I made some wonderful friends in that three-year span.

The Navy took me to South Carolina in 2010, and this is where I really started to think about the value of competing. I was in my late-20s by this point, and lifting was still my passion. On August 18, 2012, I competed in my first ever powerlifting competition, the Iron Boy Powerlifting (IBP) 7th Annual South Carolina State Powerlifting Championship. IBP is a regional federation that runs meets in the Carolinas. They were a family operation and some of the nicest people I have ever met. They also ran a great meet and treated all of the lifters and spectators well. They had a big sound system in the gym and each lifter got to pick his/her song while they lifted. For me, there was only one option.

Signing up for this meet made me laser-focused on the task at hand and took my training to a new level. When you pay money and sign up to compete, you know there is a date on the calendar where you are going to have to put up or shut up. All of the excuses and “what ifs” don’t mean a thing when that day comes and you have to put yourself out there. I believe everyone should compete in something, and it doesn’t have to be in a sport or something strength related. One time in college, our roommate Bob was showing some of his model airplanes at a show at the local library. A bunch of us from the dorm showed up unexpectedly and Bob seemed genuinely touched. He spent countless hours on those models and was showing them off to the world, hoping they would stand up against other builders in the area. That took some gumption and we were all proud of Bob.

Sometimes competing in something that is off the beaten path of our comfort zone is just what the doctor ordered. Doing the StrongFirst Level I kettlebell certification last summer felt that way for me. While this wasn’t necessarily a competition where people were pitted against each other, candidates were measured against the set weight and movement standards to see if they made the cut. I was very reluctant to take my focus off of barbell training for a while, but it ended up being a positive experience that will influence my training for the rest of my life.

So far this year, I have done a push/pull meet, am signed up for a full powerlifting meet in April, plan on doing something similar to a tactical strength challenge in May, and am seriously considering doing a mountain bike race with some friends in Michigan in November.

The bike race would be a drastic departure from my normal training, and driving all the way to Michigan to ride 30 miles of rough trail in likely crappy weather conditions would be a giant pain in the ass. These are precisely the reasons why I should probably get up off my ass and do the damn thing. It would take me out of my comfort zone and make me put it on the line to accomplish a difficult task. I think they call that living.

Deload Week and Such

“Work hard when you’re working. Rest hard when you’re resting.”

-Coach Grayvold

I think back on a lot of the things our high school coaches use to say to us, and some of the time, like this gem from Coach G., it was spot on. After last Saturday’s push/pull meet, I decided to take a few days off to recharge a bit. I still stretched and walked a few miles with Zeus each day, but I didn’t touch a weight or do any cardio. To be honest, I hate taking days off. I just don’t feel as fired up or as useful during the day when I haven’t challenged myself physically in some way. My 4 AM workouts get me amped for the entire day and change my whole mindset when I’m at the office, driving, or doing whatever. I am still good about maintaining healthy eating even if I’m not training though. It’s very easy to have training and diet linked together. If one goes to hell, the other tends to follow. Fortunately, we can almost always control what kind of food we eat or don’t eat, so diet is something that shouldn’t be compromised.

Doing that small meet last weekend got me so fired up that I signed up for a full powerlifting meet the weekend of April 18-19. It’s been a few years since I stepped on the platform, and I was about 70 pounds heavier when I last did so, so April should be a lot of fun and a good challenge to see what I can do weighing about 220 pounds. This will be the lightest I’ve ever been at a meet. My numbers certainly won’t be spectacular, but they will be the best I have on that day.

I was watching a meet recap video from these guys I follow on YouTube. Someone had commented that the atmosphere at the meet was really cool with the whole crowd cheering for every lift and not even caring how much weight was on the bar. That is the beautiful thing about the sport of powerlifting. How could you ever fault someone for having the guts to put on a singlet, get up in front of a crowd of strangers, and give maximum effort on a weight they may have never done before? When I see someone under the bar straining and giving it their all while the crowd screams and yells, I almost get choked up at the camaraderie, energy, and power of the human spirit. It gets my adrenaline going and makes me want to get under the bar myself.

2/8/20 Push/Pull Meet

I posted a quick write-up of yesterday’s meet over in the Training Log section. Click here to take a look.

Kettlebell Snatches

In a previous post, I mentioned that Cali and I completed the StrongFirst Level I certification in June of 2019. Taking on this challenge was incredibly fun, rewarding, and full of good instructors and fellow, like-minded training partners. We both learned a ton about how to effectively use kettlebells and how to step up to the challenge of making it through a very long weekend with the infamous “Snatch Test” as pretty much the grand finale. The StrongFirst weekend is a full day of training and instruction on Friday and Saturday, with testing done mid-morning on Sunday. Candidates have to perform specific movements with certain loads based on their weight and gender, all under the watchful eye of a certified StrongFirst instructor. The final test of the weekend is the aforementioned snatch test, which for me was 100 snatches with a 24 kg kettlebell in five minutes. My months of preparation and top notch instruction from Phil Scarito paid off and I was able to meet the standard on each evolution, but, had I tried this eight months prior, it would have been a much different story. This article is going back to a time when all I knew about kettlebells is that I was fascinated by them and kettlebell sport athletes looked and moved like they had the work capacity of a diesel engine. Oh, and I had heard they were Russian, and Russians are tough and strong so maybe there was something to these hunks of iron.

Cali and I got married and moved to South Carolina in 2010. The duplex we rented had a small one-car garage, which was all we needed to start building a killer home gym. After getting a rack, bars, plates, and some other essentials, we bought a full double set of competition style kettlebells. Looking back, it’s crazy that we spent so much money on kettlebells because we had zero clue how to use them, what weights we could handle, or if we could find a coach in the area who might know what he/she was doing. We just thought we’d figure it out as we went along.

Our old kettlebell set of 8-36 kg in 4 kg jumps. The color of these did not match up with the standard colors. I ended up selling these on Craigslist when we switched over to the cast iron bells.

Fast forward to 2018. Cali and I still had this set of kettlebells, but hadn’t really learned a thing about using them. Sure, we’d do some swings now and then, but that was pretty much it. Our beloved garage gym had expanded and moved several times by this point, following us to Pennsylvania to start my new career after getting out of the Navy. My new job required me to travel a good bit, sometimes to locations that were a bit out of the way without any quality gyms nearby. In August of 2018, work had me heading to Connecticut for a few days, and I decided to throw my 24 kg kettlebell in the truck. Safety tip: Use a seat belt to secure your bell in one of the seats. It will violently fly all over your vehicle while driving if not secured properly.

Around that time, I had started reading and watching YouTube videos about this so-called snatch test. I didn’t know anything about StrongFirst at the time, but I was seeing all kinds of people talk about the male standard of 100 reps with the 24 kg bell in five minutes (this is technically for males with a bodyweight between 150 and 220 lbs). One article mentioned the U.S. Secret Service snatch test, which for males is as many snatches as possible with a 24 kg bell in ten minutes (ladies use a 12 kg). There is no set number a person needs to get, so long as he/she doesn’t quit, but it is stated in Pavel’s Enter the Kettlebell! that 200 reps gets respect. So on Tuesday of that week, August 8, 2018, to be exact, I figured I’d give this five-minute snatch test a try out in the parking lot of my hotel. Honestly, I wasn’t too worried about it. After all, I’ve always considered myself an athlete and knew how to push myself a little bit. I had recently competed in a bunch of powerlifting meets, performed regular slow, steady-state cardio, and figured I was fairly well conditioned over all. I had read some things about protecting your hands, but I had good calluses built up from deadlifts, chins, and farmers walks, and I brought chalk with me, so this didn’t scare me. in the least.

I was mistaken. This five minute effort handed me my ass like nothing I’ve ever encountered. My plan was to do 10/10 (10 with each arm) on the minute for a total of 100. After the first minute, I realized my technique, or lack thereof, only left me about 10 seconds to catch my breath before it was time to go again. And speaking of breath, I didn’t know how to breathe through each rep so I was pretty much just randomly gasping for air as I went along. In the second minute I only managed to do eight with each arm because I couldn’t breathe and my crappy form meant I was basically just muscling the bell up overhead and pressing it out over the last few inches. By the third minute, I began to get concerned, as my stomach started feeling weird. I’m not a puker, but shitting my pants suddenly seemed like a very real possibility and I was only about 50 or so reps in. After the fourth minute, my rep count reached 70 and the amount of skin left on the palm of my hands reached zero. Well, not really zero, but enough to make me want to stop, especially when combined with the fact that I couldn’t breathe or see straight. The picture below is my right hand the next morning. This picture isn’t meant to show you how tough or hardcore I am, but rather how stupid I was for ignoring proper technique, and how it hindered my training for the next week or so. My carelessness also made for an awkward week at work as I met new people and had to refuse to shake hands for fear of getting blood and pus on them. The left hand was actually worse as I managed to also tear off a big section of my palm.

So much for tough calluses.

One of my high school teachers, Mr. Lynch, used to tell us, “It’s okay to be stupid, but it’s not okay to stay stupid.” This snatch test attempt taught me several things.

1. Good technique is very important, and I didn’t have it.

2. Kettlebells can get one’s heart rate through the roof in a very short period of time.

3. It was gut check time. After getting thoroughly humbled, I didn’t really want anything to do with kettlebells for a while. I wanted to run back to my barbell and just stick with what I knew and what was familiar.

In November of 2018, just a few months after this, Cali and I went to Phil’s one-day kettlebell workshop, and you know the rest. I’ve already told that story. It has now been seven months since I completed the Level I certification, and kettlebell snatches are still an integral part of my weekly training. They are an amazing movement for building work capacity, testing myself, and/or getting in a quick and intense session when I’mi pressed for time.

The regular snatch test with a 24 kg kettlebell is a good baseline that I like to maintain. Working with heavier bells and building in volume lets me add in some variety and work on strength through the movement pattern. With the heavier bells, I’ve been doing a lot of “on-the-minute” training. For example, my training log from last Tuesday shows I used the 28 kg bell and did 7/7 snatches every minute on the minute for 9 minutes. This comes out to 126 total snatches with about a 30/30 seconds work/rest ratio.

Today’s training log shows how I mixed in heavy snatches and dips. There is no limit to the number of sets, reps, and combinations a person could develop to get in a good training session. Use your imagination and have fun with it.

Kettlebell snatches are kind of like the last step in a beautiful progression, the coup de grace, if you will. When I first started learning about kettlebells, I first learned the hinge that is necessary for the deadlift. Next, I learned the two-handed swing, then the one-handed swing, then the clean, and finally the snatch. Each of these movement patterns builds on the next. Dan John has said, “The swing is a swing. The clean is a swing. The snatch is a swing.” I didn’t really get what he was talking about until I started working up in weight on my one-handed swing. Snatching the 24 felt like nothing after doing one-handed swings with the 32, 36, and 40.

I’m thinking about setting some kind of snatch goal to work on this summer, but I haven’t pinned it down just yet. Putting a rabbit out there to chase is a great way to focus and prioritize your training. Plus I love a good challenge. Here are a few candidates in no particular order.

• 200 reps with 24 kg in 10 minutes (U.S. Secret Service snatch test)

• 100 reps with 32 kg in 5 minutes (I’ve done the 28 a few times but it’s been a while)

• 100 reps with 36 kg in 10 minutes (I’ve never snatched the 36 so I have no idea what this would take)

I’ll pick something in the next month or so and hit the ground running as the weather improves. I’m sure it will be fun and brutal.

This was at ~0445 on 2/4/20. Cali calls this my, “Murder face.”

Beautiful Moments - Part 2

I had a beautiful moment on the morning of Wednesday January 20, 2020, but it almost didn’t happen. When my alarm went off at 0345, my spot in bed was toasty warm, my pillow was cloudy soft, and my beautiful wife was sleeping peacefully next to me. It wasn’t hard for me to come up with a few excuses as to why I should stay in bed.

1. The day before, I had a hard early morning training session out in the cold garage.

2. I hadn’t slept great the past two nights.

3. I…blah, blah, blah…

When I was a kid and woke up not feeling well or unmotivated to go to school, my dad would always say, “Get up and get moving and you’ll start to feel better.” Thirty years later and those words still ring true for me. I dragged my ass out of bed, made my way downstairs, and let Zeus out to go pee while I tied my shoes and wiped the sleep out of my eyes. I warmed up with a mile on the Assault bike, nailed some front squats and kettlebell swings, and then put on some warm clothes to take Zeus out for a walk around the neighborhood. This whole experience was a beautiful moment.

Zeus’s hip pain and declining mobility over the last month or so has really made me grateful for the times I can take him for a walk. We headed out the door into the crisp 30 F darkness around 0440. My legs were shaking from my workout and, despite a thin film of sweat beneath my layers of clothing, my body heat was still running on high. Zeus walked around like a healthy young pup on this particular morning, sniffing every street sign, stick, and abandoned dog poop on our route. The neighborhood was quiet and still, and I tried to take it all in as I walked. Many people aren’t fortunate enough to live in a safe neighborhood with nice sidewalks and good folks, and I try to keep that in mind, knowing how lucky I got to arrive at this point in my life and how many little things had to go just right and how many people had to bend over backwards for me to make it here.

My coworkers know that I get to the office around 0600, which is pretty early for most people. What they don’t know is that by the time they see me, I’ve already lifted, done cardio, or both, on most days. I don’t divulge the fact that I’m a crazy person and have already trained that morning for a couple of reasons.

1. No one really cares and it doesn’t matter.

2. Getting out of bed is not a sacrifice, it’s a privilege. My strong and healthy body is an absolute gift, and getting to wake up, train, and experience moments like the one I’m writing about here is a true blessing. Sometimes I think about how, when I get old, I will probably look back and think about how I would give anything to have one more morning where I could wake up early, squat my ass off, and take Zeus for a walk with barely a care in the world.

There is something very special about being up early, knowing that you got your day started right and are already ahead of those who decided to hit the snooze button and stay in bed. When I was growing up, my buddy Hammer’s dad, Mike, used to always be up super early, out in the garage before the sun came up tinkering with one thing or another and enjoying the still of the morning. Hammer and I couldn’t fathom why someone would wake up so early, especially on a Saturday. “It’s the best part of the day. The assholes aren’t awake yet,” Mike would tell us. It took me years to understand that Mike was absolutely right.

I’d love to hear about a beautiful moment you had recently. It can be the simplest thing in the world that no one else will understand. Your beautiful moments are yours, and that is, perhaps, the best part.

Getting Fired Up About Kettlebells

My sister, Stacy, sent Cali and me a text last night asking if we had any suggestions, books, or other resources to get started working with kettlebells. Between worrying about the health of my immediate family members and being completely obsessed with training, I immediately got fired up and wrote Stacy the below e-mail. Hopefully it has some solid advice she can use to get started.

Hi Stace!

We're so excited you're thinking about kettlebells!  I figured an e-mail might be easier to send you some stuff, but definitely let me know if any of the links don't work or if you have any questions.  You can always send us videos of you working out and we could try to give you tips and suggestions.  Lots of people do online coaching that way.

I have included some video links below, but really what I would recommend to start is just working on very basic movements with the kettlebell and your own bodyweight:  deadlifts, goblet squats, two-handed swings, presses, bodyweight planks, and crawls (like, literally crawling on hands and feet or hands and knees).  You'll see some more complicated exercise varieties in the videos, but if you just did the above movements, you would be strong, fit, and feel great.

As far as programming goes, I do a lot of "on the minute" training and ladders with kettlebells.  These are both great options with an infinite variety of combinations.   

An example of on the minute training is something like setting a timer for 10 minutes and doing 10 swings every minute on the minute.  This works out to roughly 15-20 seconds of work and 40-45 seconds of rest.  It's a great system to get your heart rate up and work efficiently.  I can go in the garage and do snatches for five minutes on the minute and have an outstanding workout.  

Ladders just means picking a movement and working through sets and reps.  For example, if I want to do overhead presses, I may do ladders of (2,3,5) (or (1,2,3) or (3,5,7) or any other combination you like).  So I'll take the bell and do 2 presses with my left arm, put it down, 2 presses with my right arm, put it down, 3 presses with my left arm, put it down, 3 presses with my right arm, put it down, and so on.  If I run through two ladders of (2,3,5), I've done 20 reps with each arm.  How long should you rest when you put the bell down?  As long as you need!  Catch your breath and shake out your arms until you feel ready to go again.  The rest periods really just don't matter that much as long as you're not sitting on a bench looking at your phone for 15 minutes between sets like most people do at commercial gyms.          

Pavel is the head of StrongFirst, the company Cali and I did our certification with last summer.  He's credited as bringing kettlebells to the United States.  The link below is a video where he goes over some basics.  Disclaimer:  The video is kind of awkward and funny.  You'll get what I mean.  If you search any combination of Pavel, StrongFirst, and kettlebells on Youtube, you'll find tons of good videos.  

This video is from StrongFirst and shows some of the testing standards of some of the basic movements.  It might at least give you some ideas of what to look for when you're doing the movements, but there are some varieties in here you won't need, at least to start.

This video by Pat Flynn is very brief, but shows the goblet squat, one of the best movements in the world, period. 

Please keep us posted on your progress and any questions about anything.  We freaking love this stuff so much.  I was sitting here typing this out and telling Cali I was getting fired up about kettlebells just thinking about them.  

Mark 

Quadzilla

This story is a little embarrassing because some just don’t understand the concept of a good man crush, but the person I’m about to tell you about inspired me to train hard and get strong on basic, compound exercises at a time in my life when I was fascinated by lifting and getting strong but had no idea how to go about either. When I lived in Phoenix and trained at the LA Fitness gyms on either Dysart Road or Cotton Lane, there was this huge dude who used to come in that just had me in awe. That may sound weird to some, but I’m not ashamed to admit that this guy’s build and strength was captivating to me. I was in my mid-20s at the time, and being a transplant from such a small, isolated part of the country, I had not ever seen anyone like “Quadzilla.” Quadzilla was the nickname I gave him in my head, because every time I saw him in the gym, he was squatting heavy-ass weight. Standing about 6’2” and weighing 255 pounds with big legs and a thick and powerful upper back and traps, Quadzilla looked like he had been either a thrower or football player in college. His typical gym attire was tight-ass sweatpants with a tank top. If I saw him at the gym now, I would strike up a conversation with him and try to pick his brain on training, but back then I was too shy and figured I should probably just stick to my bodypart split from Muscle and Fitness.

I only ever saw Quadzilla do a handful of exercises, including squats, bench press, overhead press, lat pulldowns, and seated cable rows. At first, I was confused as to why he didn’t have a dedicated “arm day” full of preacher curls and triceps pushdowns. After all, that’s how MuscleMag told me the pros trained. In 2009, as I slowly learned more about powerlifting and the shockingly positive effects squatting, deadlifting, and overhead pressing could have on a person’s system, I started to see the bigger picture. Quadzilla looked like a total beast because he used heavy weight on basic, hardcore exercises that have stood the test of time. The more I started to employ these methods in my own training, the more I realized how little use I had for the fluffy exercises that used to occupy most of my training time. Finally, I was getting results, putting on weight and feeling strong.

I moved away from Phoenix in 2010, so it’s been at least ten years since I’ve seen Quadzilla. I like to think he’s still out there, squatting and benching his ass off, looking like a monster, and maybe even inspiring some other young guy to get with it, cut the crap exercises, and start doing the hard stuff in training that actually produces results.

Maybe I’ll Call Ya Later…If I Feel Like It

“The person you marry will be the biggest investment you ever make.”

-Mr. Krznarich

Mr. Krznarich was my 10th grade U.S. History and 11th grade Sociology teacher, and he was always dropping knowledge bombs on us, giving us harsh doses of reality on a daily basis. My friends and I imitated Mr. Krznarich relentlessly behind his back, which was basically the greatest sign of respect a person could get from my goofy group of high school buddies. Like a lot of guys, we picked at each other constantly and only made fun of the people we really loved. One time a few of my friends and I were playing video games in my bedroom and just hanging out. My sister, Kristin, who was in her bedroom next door, came in and exclaimed, “Are you guys even friends? You are SO mean to each other.” We all just gave Kristin a puzzled look. She was just listening to our typical, everyday banter, so we didn’t see that it was any big deal. I know it sounds weird, but this is how young men have been interacting with each other for centuries. I read that it comes from more tribal times, when men were constantly testing each other in order to feel out if someone could be relied upon in battle. It also serves to keep anyone from getting too full of himself or letting his ego run amok. My friends and I would have done anything for each other. Our reliability to be there for the next guy was well-tested.

Anyway, Mr. Krznarich told us the opening quote at least 20 times during the two years spent in his classroom. Like many things when I was 16, it didn’t really register or seem to be that consequential at the time. It turns out, he was 100 percent spot on. I could write books about how lucky I got to find my wife, Cali, but for the purposes of this post, I’m going to stick to my relationship from a training perspective. I’ve met a lot of couples over the years who are not at all on the same page when it comes to fitness, working out, and living a healthy lifestyle. Cali and I have never had that problem. In fact, we met at the LA Fitness on Dysart Road in Avondale, Arizona. For months, I had seen this beautiful, tall, and sweet-looking woman diligently working out and keeping to herself. One day, on the way out, she ended up walking behind me and I held the door for her, receiving a thank you and a smile in the process. It took a while, but I finally worked up the nerve to ask her out one day. My buddy Kevin and I were playing through our usual seven or so games of racquetball on a Monday afternoon, and Cali was using the lat pulldown right by the courts. Kevin and I were on break and about to go back in for another game.

“I’m going to ask this girl out right here,” I said to Kevin.

Kevin looked at me, said, “Hell yeah,” and walked back into the court, closing the door behind him.

Well now I had to do it. I couldn’t go back in there with my tail between my legs and face Kevin after totally punking out. Keep in mind, my outfit at the time consisted of some short mesh Nike shorts, white racquetball shoes, a ratty cut-off t-shirt that I got when I joined my college gym seven years earlier, and a pair of racquetball goggles sitting on top of my head. I walked up to Cali and said, “Hi. I don’t want to be the guy who’s bothering women at the gym, but I’ve seen you in here a lot and would really like to take you out some time.” Much to my relief, Cali smiled and was her usual sweet self. We exchanged phone numbers, went out the following weekend, and the rest is history. Now, when I met my wife, I was making a living as a teacher. Every school year, it seemed like a student would inevitably ask how Cali and I met. Never one to miss an opportunity to have some fun with my students, I would always give some version of the following story…

“Well, one day I was at the gym, and I was in between sets of benching 500 pounds for reps. I saw Cali over in the corner working out and thought she was kind of cute, so I walked over and said, ‘Hey Toots, gimme your number and maybe I’ll call ya later…if I feel like it’”

Marrying Cali was easily one of the best decisions, and investments, I’ve ever made for a number of reasons, and training is certainly one of them. Cali has always understood the importance of training in my life, and she lives the code herself every single day. She understands why I’ll get up at 0345 if it’s the only time I have to train on a certain day, or why I can be grumpy if it was a long day at work and I haven’t gotten my workout in yet. Cali and I now have kettlebells at all of the places we go to visit family members. We just had them shipped to each spot and then use them when we’re in town. I know that may sound insane to some, but to us it means not having to find a gym or miss a workout. And yeah, we could always find a way to just do bodyweight stuff or run some sprints (and we do both of things), but kettlebells are tremendously awesome so it just makes our training sessions on the road that much better.

We have an awesome gym in our house that we’ve been building, modifying, and tweaking since 2011. Cali loves having great equipment as much as I do and is never hard to convince when it comes to making a gym purchase. Hell, she didn’t even get mad when one night, after a few adult beverages, I ordered a full competition bumper set, change plates, and weightlifting bar from Rogue. The set is beautiful, expensive, and way over the top for our training needs, but we’ve gotten use out of it so what the hell. One of my good friends and training partners has a wife who isn’t into training. The guy has a very modest home gym set up. I’m talking a few kettlebells and maybe an ab wheel, and he has had to beg and plead for every bit of that. His wife, who is a great woman by the way, just doesn’t see the value in training. She must not fully understand what it does for mental and physical health or how it will allow her husband to become an even better version of himself. I recently gave my friend an olympic bar and a bunch of plates that I had out in the garage. I hadn’t used them in years and was happy to give them to someone who would get some use out of them. Plus I just hate seeing someone with the passion and desire that my buddy has not be able to train how he or she desires.

Cali and I have bought and sold literally tons of equipment over the years. When we moved from South Carolina to Pennsylvania, we went from a big two-car garage down to a small one-car (we eventually converted our basement into a gym too). When we got up here to PA, we gave our big tire, Atlas stones, and battling rope to a local CrossFit gym and our punching bag to a youth center. I’m sure I could have sold some of this on Craigslist, but it feels good to give people something that I know can help them get stronger and healthier. Going through the process of turning over so much equipment over the years, I’ve learned just how little stuff a person actually needs to train effectively. Our gym is fairly paired down now to a rack with a pull-up bar, some bars and plates, kettlebells, sandbags, and a Prowler. We also have an Assault Air Bike and a Concept 2 Rower. We still have more stuff than a person really needs, but we enjoy it all and use it regularly so we’re happy with it.

As I type this blog, I can hear Cali downstairs doing kettlebell swings and getting after it. Cali gets it.

He’s doing it!

If you’ve been reading along, you have heard me mention my frustration with my parents and their refusal to take care of their health and fight for strength as they age. To summarize, my dad worked out a lot when I was a kid, but…let’s just say he took some time off from exercising. Like, a lot of time. I’ve been telling my dad to lift weights for at least 15 years, and he’s never taken my advice. My mom is a different story. She’s done a little water aerobics at the YMCA in the past decade, but other than that, I don’t recall ever seeing her exercise in my 35 years on this planet. Sweetest and most loving mother a person could want? Check. Good example of health and fitness? Not so much.

The good news is that I just got off the phone with my dad. Shortly after the new year, he started going to Bianco’s, a local gym back where they live, and participating in their Silver Sneakers classes five days per week. My dad has been diligent about going and walking on the treadmill a couple days per week for the past several years, but this program has him on his feet, moving, lifting, and doing lots of stuff that is good for balance and fighting the aging process. Unsurprisingly, he has already made a new group of friends and is strutting around like he’s Arnold at Venice Beach in 1970. I can’t even explain how happy I am that he took the first, and often most difficult step, of starting a fitness program at a new gym. My dad has also told me that my mom is at least asking questions about accompanying him. She’s fallen twice in the last month, hurting her knee, shoulder, and hip. My mom is physically kind of a mess, and is likely at the point of no return as far as her health is concerned. I just sent her a text message encouraging her to start joining my dad. Surely starting something like that when you’re already in such rough shape is difficult, but what’s the alternative? Just call it a life and keep dying? No, that’s not acceptable.

I’m sure most people go through this to some extent, but it’s damn hard watching my parents age and grow weaker. Actually, let me rephrase that. It’s damn hard watching anyone age and grow weaker without putting up any kind of fight. I’ve already preached enough on here lately about fighting to maintain strength as I grow older, so I won’t belabor the point. My dad just made my day so I wanted to shout it from the rooftops, so to speak.

“I thought I was going to die.”

Last Monday, I had an impromptu conversation about training with a friend from work. About 10 people were in the break room during lunch time, catching up after time off over the holidays, bantering about fun travel experiences, and belaboring the unceremonious end to the Eagles’ season the previous night. My buddy (I’ll call him L) was telling me how his wife got him a set of dumbbells and a bench for Christmas. It sounded like one of those benches that also has a preacher curl and leg curl attachment that go on one end. You know what I’m talking about. L told me that on Christmas day, he went on YouTube, found some exercises, and went down to his basement to get after it. And then…nothing. L hasn’t been back to the basement, or the weights, in nearly two weeks. He explained to me that his problem is not being able to stick with any kind of exercise/fitness/training routine. L will do something for a day or two, or even a week, on a good stretch, and then it falls by the wayside. L played soccer in college and has always considered himself an athlete, but he’s 45 now and admitted that once his college career ended, that was pretty much it for working out. L actually looks pretty good. He’s not carrying around much extra weight, and one could imagine (not that I try to imagine my co-workers naked) that he might have a decent build with his clothes off. But this conversation led me to conclude that underneath his business casual attire, L probably has the classic skinny-fat look. He told me how he was recently visiting a friend and got invited to play in an intramural soccer game. “I used to play 90 minutes, no problem. Bro, I was in the game for five minutes. Five minutes! And I had to come out. I thought I was going to die.” It turns out that doing minimal physical activity for 20 years had not kept L game-ready when it comes to soccer. Have you ever had this experience? Remembering how you used to perform at something or how something used to feel “back in the day,” only to revisit it years later and completely get your ass handed to you. I know I have had that happen to me. It’s certainly not fun, but it can serve as a good wake-up call to get back in the gym, on the field, and into the arena of life.

During our conversation, I told L about a book I’m currently reading, “The Barbell Prescription: Strength Training for Life After 40.” This book is published by The Aasgard Company, and, much like their other books, “Starting Strength” and “Practical Programming for Strength Training,” it leaves no stone unturned. The book is dense, detailed, thorough, and does not take for granted that the reader has any prior knowledge or expertise on the subject matter.

The reason I brought this book up in my conversation with L, is because the authors describe the fight to maintain strength and retard the aging process as an all-out death match. What a perfect description. I have heard many respected figures in the strength training world (Louie Simmons, Donnie Thompson, Mark Rippetoe, Dan John, Marty Gallagher, Mark Bell) talk about how important it is to be strong, how a person’s quality of life and independence as they age are directly related to one’s ability to maintain strength. When I pointed this out to L, he actually seemed quite surprised, like he had never considered this concept before. “That’s right,” he said. “When you look at people in nursing homes, they can’t move around or do things for themselves anymore.” L’s surprise surprised me (say that five times fast), because after spending so much time reading, listening, and researching about this topic, it now seems completely self-evident, if not totally obvious. The concept of being physically strong is so important that Mark Rippetoe opens “Starting Strength” by stating, “Physical strength is the most important thing in life. This is true whether we want it to be or not.” This is why I’ve been encouraging my dad (unsuccessfully), to strength train for the past 15 years, and why it makes me sad to see so many people in the world not doing a damn thing to make, or even keep, their bodies strong. When I see people who are physically weak and don’t strength train, I actually feel bad for them. The concept of, “feeling strong,” is completely unknown to them They have no idea about the potential within themselves and the positive effect strength training has on one’s mind, body, spirit, and soul.

Physical strength training not only allows a person to maintain independence and have unfettered access to all kinds of enjoyable activities, but it also has a huge positive impact on mental health. I don’t have any studies to cite, and I’m far from a psychologist or neuroscience expert, but my personal experiences with myself and others who strength train leads me to believe that not only does maintaining strength allow for more independence, but doing something physically challenging on a daily basis teaches a person things about themselves and the world that he/she just cannot learn anywhere else. Lifting weights in an effort to get stronger takes discipline. No one can do it for you. It’s hard. You’re going to struggle. There is always a chance of failure. Setbacks and “start-overs” will happen. Other people are going to be better at it than you. All of this is exactly why it’s such a beautiful thing and such a perfect metaphor for life. If you' are an Average Joe or Jane, right in the meaty part of that bell curve (like George Costanza’s choice for the Susan Ross Scholarship), there is no free lunch when it comes to lifting. It’s hard, objective, and every day will be a gut check.

I just listened to one of Mark Rippetoe’s podcasts where he was talking about a heavy set of five squats. Sometimes the fourth rep feels heavy as hell and there is a thought in your head that if you go down with the fifth rep, you may not come back up with it. This effort, this forging on when a task is physically and mentally challenging and uncertain, is not something the average person gets to experience during a typical day. Sitting in a car on the drive to work, sitting at a desk all day, sitting in a car on the drive home from work, sitting on the couch watching TV before going to bed to start the cycle all over again. That’s it. There are many people in the world who have conditioned their bodies to be capable of handling those activities and nothing more. That is heartbreaking. Our bodies want to move, strain, and be strong. They want to be challenged and capable of adapting to changing environments and completing daily tasks. I am so grateful for the body I have and know there are many who would give anything to have the physical strength and mobility that I possess. Not taking care of what I have and enjoying all of the things my body lets me do would be a terrible waste of the undisputed best gift I have ever received.

As I write this post, I am 35 years old, and believe me, I know my day is coming. Maybe I’ll read this 40 years from now and laugh at what a dumbass I was to really belief all of this stuff. I am guaranteed to end up in the ground just like everybody else, and I may be in a nursing home for 15 years before that finally happens. But let me tell you this…I will fight tooth and nail to maintain strength every step of the way. I will do everything I can to stay strong, vital, healthy, and independent. When my day inevitably comes, I want the Grim Reaper to think to himself, “Jeez, this guy was a real pain in the ass. He just wouldn’t go quietly.”