Challenge: Spartan 300 Workout... Round Deuce!

Ignorance was bliss as I walked into the gym on December 24th, 2012. The maitre d' of madness did his best to prepare me for the soup du jour. But on that day, I ate humble pie with a side of "what the heck did I get myself into" at the hands of the Spartan 300 Workout.

33 minutes and 24 seconds later, Hell had no fury like forearms set ablaze, ego crushed, and brain fluid leaking from my eyes -- A good 8 minutes past our goal time of 25 minutes. Damn those Spartans! With their chiseled abs and Jersey Shore spray on tans -- GTL! You broke me, stole my man card, and heckled me like a herd of bullies set loose at Comic-Con!

Unlike my failed attempts at Broadway musicals, organizing a travelling midget review, and mastering the English language; the "300" would not become the bain of my existence. Jaron took it to heart, swore on his never-to-be-firstborn that we would avenge all those spaghetti armed Rudy Ruettigers left in the wake of this unholy workout routine.

Over the next eight weeks, all focus shifted toward preparation for a full frontal assault. Our PR firm came up with a great marketing campaign and a tag line for this epic battle... Round Deuce: Quitters Attend Meetings, Chicks Dig Scars! I put on lean muscle, grew a par, and began a daily ritual of sleep deprived road rage (the first part was compliments of a four month old, teething baby girl). With the help of an old fashioned swimming inspired taper, my 37th birthday on February 15, 2013 marked the day I concurred the Spartan 300 Workout. A margin of victory that would've given Maximus Decimus Meridius nightmares and bed-sweats; 24 minutes and 22 seconds... 38 seconds under the mark.

Post script... It would be nice if the FDA approved bovine grade Ibuprofen for human consumption. Nearly had to pay the wife to take dictation for this entry; keyboard not friendly to claw hands.

There is no crying in Hypertrophy!

In preparation for round deuce of the Spartan 300 Workout, the mad genius of the Wasatch Range just emailed me hypertrophy phase three (aka, 300 prep!). Now I did not cry at the gym when the stopwatch read 33 minutes and some change after the first 300 challenge. I did not cry on the stretching floor when the psycho of Sandy, Utah agreed to the Valley of Death, 20! Push-up challenge, which nearly left me paralyzed from the pectorals up. I did not cry in the cardio area when I realized the treadmill 6-minute mile was a freaking Trojan Horse. So I ain't about to start tearing up when Monday arrives. I neb'r said nutt'n bout da car though! Thank goodness for tinted windows. Here is a preview of this phase's 300 prep sets...

50 push ups, 5 sets.
Kettle bell clean & press, 25 per arm, 3 sets.
24" box jumps, 10 reps, 5 sets.
Floor wipers while bench pressing 135lbs, 20 reps, 4 sets.
Pull ups with a 25lb weight belt, 5 sets, each set to failure. Nearly soiled the draws when I read that one!

This is just the round robin mixture of 300 prep goodies. I still have other exercises, some of which are fitness equivalents to sand in the Speedo. Such as 25lb back extensions and dumb bell incline press. And then there is the reverse people watcher; wall sits with a 45lbs plate over head. This will continue to high light my tourettes laden, pain distraction technique... monkey-waffle-grape soda. Curse carnivals. RYAN SEACREST IS SATAN!!!  

After getting slapped around at the buffet of insanity, then comes the real work out -- INTERVALS! Slap on a heart monitor and program Pandora to 1990's techno, cuz its bout to get all crazy up in here! Spike heart rate over 160bpm (beats per minute) for sixty seconds. Then slow way down to let the heart rate get to 125bpm (this is known as active recovery). As soon as the old ticker's rpm touches 125, spike it back up to 160bpm. Repeat for twenty minutes! I might need a rash guard, because interval training has caused greater men to crawl out on their bellies.