We may lose every reader during this journey, but it will be one heck of a slide to the land of blog mediocrity. So be it! As Cortez was once misquoted moments after storming the shore; "Burn the boats. Turn up the EDM. Weez gonna get weird!"
This past week saw the ushering in of phase IV of hypertrophy; a.k.a. "Led Legs and Nightmares." The master of ceremonies has crafted this phase of calf burning jump rope sessions, box jumps, and piano cords shirring squats. Five straight days of some serious goodies. There have been extinction level events that put less fear in me compared to excruciating pain that sitting down in the coming days will bring.
Here is a sampling of the leg hurt locker:
* 20 minute jump rope. (giggle now... I dare you to try it for more than 3 minutes!)
* 45 minutes on Stair Master.
* Seated 24" box jumps followed by reverse box jumps.
It has begun. My long slow march toward glory above the rim. A journey that goes through hurt town, population me. He is building castles in my legs, and there is currently a massive war between the dragons and kings set to the sweet sweet sounds of Swedish House Mafia. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1y6smkh6c-0 Bengay and road flares!
As noted in previous post, the next ten months are dedicated to training for the 38th birthday celebratory dunk. However, to keep in good standing with our publishing house and venture capitalist funding this twisted road trip, we have obligations to meet. It goes without mentioning that our love for postulation, bloviation, and pontification, fuels me and Jaron . So we're proud to announce the near completion of a tell all memoir; "Destinies Stepchild: White Men Who Can't Jump and the Women Who Love to Tolerate Them."
Not to put too fine a point on it, but I believe it to be a "near tell all". Some of that shit's going to the grave with me! And the women don't, in fact, tolerate me. That's why I am 38 and single. That, and my eternal disdain for the concept of marriage. Topic for another day. As a trainer, I have a not so secret sadistic side that gets giddy at the mention, and now sight, of standing poopers. This phase is not for the faint of heart. It takes a strong constitution to handle the relentless leg beat down I've mandated. No interval training pity parties in the forseeable future. Nuh uh, not this time. We got us a deadline again. Don't you worry child, Krause has got a plan for you. If we haven't lost 50% of our readership over the last two blog posts, I am happy, if not slightly confused. Though we did drive one pathetic bastard to buy foot gloves, not the intended outcome. God help us if sign ups for "Tough Mudders" increased accordingly. I may have to hang it up.
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