Strength in numbers (and with lots of rest!)

"As a young lad of influential age, I was counselled to live by three rules... Get eight hours of sleep. Real men don't wear pink. And summer muscles are made in the winter." -- Achieving ODJ

When its strength phase, a partner is always appreciated. First and foremost as a spotter (safety first!) Then as a comic distraction during the long rest. Strength phase is a slow grind with short burst of excitement followed by three minutes of sitting around. Every exercise is five sets of five with 180 ticks between each. The worst math student would have little trouble surmising that four exercises can get a touch long in the tooth... so having a partner is key. For Jaron and I, a great deal of our raw material for the blog is produced during rest periods.

As stated in the last post, we had to clear up a matter of contention surrounding concentration curls. Long story short, my poor technique inflated my weight selection. To the excitement of Jaron, who held his composure, but admittedly felt concern over the possibility of a large gulf in bicep curl weight, we are still equals in the right arm. However, I am taking a 5lbs leap for my left. Jaron quickly resolved my look of confusion over the difference in weight. "You carry around babies!" He went on to state; "We're right-handers. We carry all the bulk in the left hand so the skilled operations are handled with the right." But I'm still not sure I believe his theory... he is strong in both arms. I guess some mysteries are not meant to be solved. Maybe we'll tackle that one in 2015.

To all our loyal readers who read in spite of our dribble, and to my partner in pain who writes with me in spite of our audience, I wish everyone a Happy New Year. May your resolutions make it past MLK Day. I end another great year of snark and self-deprecating humor with this quote: "Don't blame the holidays. You were fat in August!"   

Chest & Triceps                                                                      
Incline press - Hammer Strength       105lbs/side    
Decline press - Hammer Strength      125lbs/side
Tricep press - machine                           230lbs
Chest Fly - machine 2 arms                  190lbs

Back & Biceps
Pull ups - overhand grip                    
One arm rows - Hammer Strength      135lbs
Concentration curs                                   30lbs
Bent over one arm DB rows                    65lbs

Legs
Leg press - weighted sled                    540 + sled
18" box step ups with DB                    Two 40's
Front squats on Smith Machine       135lbs
Donkey Calf                                            135lbs

40 by 40

Common folk: "Hey Jaron, you were a swimmer? I was a swimmer too... in high school."
Jaron: "No. You swam. You were not a swimmer."

 The taper for my swim meet was fun; and getting fat while resting for the meet was even funner. My coach actually said to me after one of my more exciting races; "Could you imagine how face you could go if you lost weight and trained more!?!" I told him, "skinny Jarvis is not fun Jarvis." But in reality I need to trim 20 large off my score card to really get the most out of the pool and the weight room. So I guess it's time to buy a ticket for the wagon and get back to business.

This chubby boy is back on the wagon as of today! However, unlike years past this next go around of dieting, complaining, lifting, mocking, and blogging will be dedicated to Jaron's goal completion. Outside of a suicide challenge I am working toward, which will remain classified for the near future until we agree it is worth the pain and embarrassment, my efforts in the gym will be supportive. Jaron is turning the big "4-oh my gosh!" in April of 2015; and more importantly celebrating the occasion on a tropical beach. And as any loyal reader of this rag will recall, the Evangelist of Ego refuses to travel abroad without a firm base tan and solid summer muscles to impress the ladies. Hence 40 by 40!

kinda...

Since Jaron is a reformed fat guy who rarely relapses, there is no way for him to lose 40 pounds. But titling this entry "27 by 40" would be a bull in my fung shway china shop. Cue my supportive role. I will be covering the balance of his weight loss for this challenge. I am hoping his vanity carries him well past the 30 grape fruit mark. I'm good for a dime -- anything else could cause my obesity to flare up. I would prefer not to shock the system. I'm married, comfortable in my invisibility to the ladies, and I ain't got no dragons to slay this spin around the sun. Don't need to kill myself this year... Just focus on being a supportive workout partner for one of my brothers from another mother. Trim enough L-B's to get us to 40, keep the old lady on the verge of jealousy, and avoid man-boobs. Everything else will be gravy in Twenty-15.

Next blog will outline our current strength phase and progress to date. I made a game time decision to hold off on publishing this round's exercises that Jaron has laid forth. We need to clear up a point of doubt to ensure our code of ethics around full disclosure and crystal clear transparency is upheld. It's no minor point. There are possibly "student becomes the master" type implications. You'll just have to "concentrate" on the next blog.

Post script: Rumor has it ladies, Jaron "The ODJ" will be submitting a shirtless photo from his aforementioned beach trip.    

The original ODJ (raw and only slightly censored)

United States Department of Justice mandated disclaimer... The following views and opinions do not necessarily represent those of the creator of No Fat Jokes Please, that of the greater literary community, nor the free world.

"I don't always give ribbons for participants, but when I do, it's for the damn winners!"

                                              -The most ODJ man in the world

I can't begin to understand the thought process Ole JT endured to green light a Kraustian blog entry on a family holiday such as Thanksgiving!  The four letter words and spewed vitriol to come would shudder a lesser man!  In middle school, we would salivate at the opportunity to subjugate a substitute teacher to some evil treatment.  Can you imagine having to follow Jimmy Hendrix on stage in the 70's?  Often these subs followed a teacher we liked.  We reveled in our devilish treatment of those poor bastards!  This is how they must have felt.  Following Ole JT, might as well be some local bar reject following Jimmy Hendrix!  Mind you, it was my suggestion, as he will have his hands full with family and his annual reflection known as The Chronicles of a Lost Southerner.   New to the blog, or old guard, you must read this rag, and years past as well.  It's certified A-Plus and then some by yours truly!  Thanksgiving is a day for giving thanks (seems obvious), and I wish to do so today.  What is the ODJ thankful for?  Scotch, cigars, UNLV basketball, good friends, Archer on FX, internet adult entertainment, but most importantly today: This blog!

You see, when I was growing up, I wanted to write.  Despite my best intentions, I excelled at math, not English. I scored a paltry 560 on the verbal section of the SAT (out of a possible 800), saved by my exemplary 790 (same scale) on the math, 1350 total.  Most people would take that bitch to the bank! I felt slighted. Honestly, I was embarrassed to tell my college recruiter my score. I was self-conscious about by my perceived shortcomings. Later I came to learn this was actually really damn good.  See, I am mildly dyslexic. My reading speed back in those days was comical. I didn't even finish the section. In years since, I have taken an LSAT prep course which taught me to speed read. Bet I could pimp slap that test today! But despite my being a former nihilist, turned picaresque bovarist (look them up if you must; I would have had to with my 560 verbal as an 18 year old), I will accept my past shortcomings with grace.

This blog is a revelation.  It gives me the chance to write, but more importantly, it gives me a chance to bugle my bold, and possibly controversial opinions on fitness.  In the past, I have waited eagerly for the next blog post, so much that I would liken my anticipation to that of a meth addict picking at scabs in anticipation of a future fix!  Sometimes Ole JT claims to post when it's really gonna be another day or two.  Prime example, the post after he met his original weight loss goal (December 1, 2012, should have been days earlier).  He sent me a pic of the scale on the day of completion, but the post came days later.  I almost lost my mind on that one waiting for the post!  I got the eye twitch working, some fairly substantial DTs, and quasi-asthmatic hyperventilation working in those 72 hours!  I literally could have died.

Now, I must pull a Frank Costanza and air a few grievances.  You all know you got this coming and I want to hear no bitching...bitches!

Crossfit

I've said a lot in this rag to disparage this abomination to formalized proper exercise, but I recently had a friend hospitalized because of rabdomyolysis from crossfit!  Look it up, but here's the synopsis:  Exercise induced condition where your muscles are so damaged that they leech into the bloodstream and damage the kidneys. This is potentially fatal. 10 years ago this was incredibly uncommon.  Since the advent of crossfit, it has become remarkably common. I have even read blog posts from crossfit cultists bragging about blood in their stools (RHABDO), like it's a badge of honor.  They affectionately call it "Uncle Rhabdo", and are so proud; they seek approval of other cult members, which of course, they get!  What is wrong with these people?!

Fitness Classes

I affectionately refer to fitness classes as "the place where fitness dreams go to die".  That's kind.  Do you know who Shaun T designed Insanity for? Who Tony Horton designed P90X for? ...Shaun T and Tony Horton.  NOT YOU!  If there was one best way to get fit, everyone would do it.  There's not.  Fitness needs to be personalized to have any chance of success.

Running

"I run from bears and cops", excerpt from Achieving ODJ.  But loyal readers from Chechnya know this. I have heard from so many people that "I just need to run to shed the weight".  I...might...explode! I literally can't hear you over the sound of failure. Picture in your mind two runners: a marathon champion (from Kenya, of course), and an Olympic sprinter. Very different body types; right?  One does incessant amounts of solid state cardio, one interval trains at high intensity.  Keeping in mind that one pound of muscle burns 50-75 calories per day at rest, which body do you want?

So I want to thank our readers, even the accidental ones.  I want to thank anyone who has used our advice, or benefitted by our spite laden direction. So, probably just the one of you...

Ultimately, I am thankful to Jarvis Marlow, aka Ole JT, aka J mo'freaking T, and countless other nicknames I shouldn't share here. I hope everyone out there has a Happy Turkey Day!  And for our dwindling Eastern European contingent, Happy random Thursday, comrades!  Wish I could say that you are the blood that fuels this fire, but if you read regularly, you know that would be a load!  We write this despite you.  We appreciate you, but we'll be here long after you are gone.  God speed...

Dedicated follower of equal

"Everybody has won and all must have prizes."
                                                  - the dodo to Alice.

Here at No Fat Jokes Please we too love celebrating mundane. Like any upstanding paternalistic elitist professes -- mundane is the rabble's security blanket. We go over-board with the celebration, especially when that mundane is our's. Keeping with the trajectory of modern parenting, youth soccer leagues, higher education, civil discourse, and taco trucks, we want equality. Same equipment for all. Our love for equality is only slightly veiled by our disdain for those seeking equal outcomes. Please cease and desist carving out space for warm feelings and emotional stability in gyms. There is not enough Generation Equal Outcome propaganda to parcel out real estate along side actual success. This ain't Average Joe's gym! (Deep breath.) That felt good to get off my chest... Now where was I? Oh yeah, talking about myself.

Recently Jaron and I accomplished personal best on the bench press. In accordance with our mission statement to promote full disclosure; I would like to commend my trainer and friend for putting up his life time best weight... 195 lbs (13.92 stone). I was able toss up a humbling 205 lbs (14.64 stone). That might be a best for me. I'm not sure. I live in the present. The past is just fog; distant pricks of memory. Unfortunately, we failed to lift our current body weight: Jaron 201 lbs and yours truly 216 lbs. Our max lift capped off a grueling phase of circuit. In a paradox of progress, we are on a break from lifting while I tapper for a masters swim meet in early December, but we will continue to blog while I enjoy the rest. Writers will write, and fat guys will eat.

I've turned over the creative capacity to the master of muscular definition in order to focus full efforts toward writing my annual position paper Chronicles of a Lost Southerner. So I hope you enjoy Jaron's next installment of Achieving ODJ: The authorized and agitated journey through America's savage pursuit of thin. I fear the credibility of No Fat Jokes Please may never recover.

Déjà vu all over again

If you ever desire to mess with a creature of habit; first find out where they park their car in the lot of their employer. Show up extra early, because they are the ones usually arriving to work on or near the exact same time each day. Park in their spot for two weeks. And then suddenly stop. Creatures of habit will lose their mind! Because by the time you stop, they will have begun nesting elsewhere. Getting their structured life back in order. In the eyes of the rest of humanity something as simple as a different daily parking spot doesn't even register. But to a creature of habit the tweak ripples through their anal retentive day. Side note... You don't need to be a co-worker to pull off this stupid prank, because if you are the type of person to put this time and effort into the prank you are the same type of person who puts a premium on naps, lunch breaks, and childish behavior.

The gym is populated with all breeds of the creature of habit (50% of this blog covers one or more types.) I have come to love the guys who have set lockers. Sorry ladies, you'll have to add a comment on locker room personalities, since no upstanding fitness queen will be caught contributing to this rag. The locker room is just like the aforementioned parking lot. I'll spice things up by rushing in front of the lumbering creature of habit with a history of poorly planned artwork traveling up his arm, and take his locker. Holy cow! If looks could kill, I'd be a dead man walking.

Jaron and I have a standing weekly early morning workout. And going to the gym early in the A.M. is Groundhog Day every day. Same cast characters. Wearing the same outfits. Lifting the same weights. Talking the same mind numbing drivel. If you look at the dynamic duo of snark we are minus the drivel and do not lift the same weights, but Jaron and I fit into the re-run perfectly. Allowing us to duck blind around the natives without bringing attention to our ongoing research project.   

Psycho Billy loco motive

The music of Johnny Cash reminds me of a steam engine revving up to speed. (For better effect put on his 1976 "One Piece at a Time" while reading this entry.) Of late my workouts have been resembling a steam engine. It doesn't matter how hot the boiler gets before leaving the station there ain't going to be any speed for miles. During my college days in the pool I excelled in sprint backstroke. But these days I'm labelled a distance swimmer. Not because I am thick in the middle and slightly askew mentally, those are mere coincidences. Rather because it takes me a quarter of a mile to just wake up in most races. In the gym is no different.

When Jaron, the Anthony Bourdain of body parts unknown, writes a strength phase with five sets I get excited. The first two sets are brutal as my body pops and cracks. By the last set I am in the zone. In stride. Full steam. Jaron and I are planning on a max weight lift in the coming weeks. I am fully aware real men don't plan something as simple as a max lift. But with a professional-personal schedule that resembles a Looney Tunes fight cloud I need to have mundane task calendared... "Home by 5:30." "Set alarm for 4:30a.m. alarm." "Get gainzzz!" I need reminders for my reminders. I digress. When we go for our max weight lift Jaron told me that five reps at 135lbs will be his warm up. I will have to hit the elliptical for :20 minutes, drop a few sets of ten push-ups, and then progress through a ladder of bench press sets starting at 135lbs to be ready for my best effort. Can you hear the train a coming!?! Whhhhhooooeeeooooooheeeooohh.

 

There's no option #2

"Ten years I devoted to you, but you deceived me! You hid the manual's true meaning. I never improved but your progress was limitless." Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon

I would like to submit a foundational principle Jaron has taught me that may seem surface level elementary to dedicated work out folk. All great fitness regiments provide a healthy mix of individualized exercises. Obvious, right? Even though a wonderful program adapts to our evolving person, what's not revealed by the great ones is the formation of our programs are not a democratic process. In the hands of a craftsman we should never have a choice. Our choice should be to show up and do work, or not. This is especially true for myself. With two years' worth of repetition in strength training, circuits, and cardio sets I am my own worst enemy. It's zeal without knowledge.

My files contain great program sheets full of Jaron's excellence. I could easily set out on my own and devote years to Jaron's manual. The possibility of success would still be there since that is driven by my choice to show up and do work. But the probability of success would surely diminish on my own. Put aside for a moment motivation and varying amounts of vanity. Without a coach to see the long view and continually tweak and retool my program objectively I would eventually fall back into the path of least resistance. Never to improve. Then eventually fail. 

Are we human, or are we work out?

"Your demons can chase you, or you can exercise with them."
                                                                       -- Achieving ODJ

I recently sat down with a longtime friend, who more importantly is an old UNLV Swimming teammate, to catch up and break bread. These days when we reminisce about the by-gone years in the pool it sounds more and more like an inspirational Nike commercial. We seem to forget a majority of the time our training program resembled the Old Testament... When swimmer was in Egypt's land. Let my swimmer go!

No matter how many years it's been since our glory days in the pool, inevitably our conversation passes through the land of current personal fitness efforts. We have similar lives; both with multiple young children, strong to very strong stay at home moms for our progeny, and sales based corporate American jobs. (The latter can make or break one's waste line if precautions are not taken when entertaining or being entertained.) We compare notes looking to gain additional workout insight. At this station in life I am looking for fitness truths, and my obstinate ego long suppressed by epic fails. I seek to gain from anyone. We discuss what I'm doing to stay thin(ner). What his workouts look like. What is the best bang for the buck when time is at a premium. An the crucial component; is there an external motivation source. The minister of muscle manipulation will have an interesting perspective. (See comment section.)

I am currently training for an adult swim meet in December. This upcoming meet has ensured a good amount of motivation to swim three days per week and hit JBK’s program another three days. On the seventh day so he rested. My dear friend said he did not have a road race on the books to prepare for so he was going through the motions during his daily runs. JBK will admit that without a pending beach trip or work sponsored weight loss contest he too will “go through the motions.” For me, if it ain’t written down or shook on then it is just a pipe dream and the slide toward Fat Jarvis has already begun. My hat goes off to people who can work out for vanity’s sake. Oh, excuse me… I meant, "for health’s sake." Nudge, nudge. Wink wink.

O Circuits! My Circuits!

It's great to be back! I enjoyed my unscheduled hiatus from the blog. Hopefully you read the stand-in blog produced by our very own Jaron "JBK" Krause. It was his first solo piece; "The lunatic has taken over asylum." I was well pleased with his maturity and filtered thought. (Still not 100% sure he didn't bribe a morally straight ghost writer.)

During my writer's block induced break we finished strength phase in early September, moving right into circuits. In bygone phases when circuit time comes around I look forward to combining short rest with repetitious exercises that run from start to finish under :30 minutes. This round of circuits on paper is merely blissful echoes of circuits past. That's until we come to the cardio portion of the day. The warlord of waistlines has whipped up a nasty second course on the elliptical. Five minute warm up and then one minute at 90 rpms on a 8-9 level resistance, then three minutes off. It's balls to the walls on the 5:00, 9:00, 13:00, 17:00, 21:00 and 25:00 minute mark -- ending with a cool down to the 30:00. If you ever want to walk in the shoes of a marionette with providence issues, jump on this elliptical party and enjoy spasmodic muscle twitches for an hour hence.

Leg day

3 rounds :30 seconds rest each set

Prison squats    20ea

Jumping lungs   16ea

Speed Skaters  :45 sec

2:00 minute break

3 rounds... second verse same as the first.

Squat to press  16ea   45lbs BB
18" box jumps  12ea
Single leg squats 6ea   opposite leg on bench with two 20 lbs DB

Upper body day
3 rounds :30 seconds rest each set
Bench press  10ea   155lbs
Bent-over underhand rows  15ea 70lbs BB
21's  45lbs BB
2:00 minute break
3 rounds... yada, yada, yada.
Pushups 20ea
Reverse pushups 20ea
Plank pushups 15ea

Core day
3 rounds of :45 seconds with :30 seconds rest each set
Burpies
Crossover Mountain Climbers
Knee tucks with mat
2:00 minute break
3 rounds... blah, blah, blah.
Planks
V-ups
Roll-outs   feet 6" off ground 

The lunatic has taken over the asylum!!!

Legal disclaimer... The following views and opinions do not necessarily represent those of the creator of No Fat Jokes Please, or that of legitimate blog posters.

"I'm a do as I say, not as I do kinda trainer"  Achieving ODJ

Just over two years and over 100 blog posts, and finally the day has come! This is the first, and quite possibly the last time, Ole JT and I are reversing roles. I find myself torn between publishing an outright rant centered around the absurdity of spending up to 10 hours a day in a place most people avoid like the plague, or proffering sage fitness advice (the original direction of the blog). Anyone who believes that last sentence is clearly a first time reader! We all know where this is going.

You see, I arrived in this industry via a very different route than most 20 somethings who've always been fit, and grew up wanting to work in fitness. Deep down, I'm more like the leery potential members in those awesome Planet Fitness commercials. I cringe, daily, at the idiosyncratic gym experience. It's not an unfair stereotype, if it's always true. This was a second career direction for me. I chose to capitalize on the spiraling American obesity trend, knowing it meant job security. Just as it is not in your doctor's best interest for you to be healthy, it is not in a trainer's best interest for you to be fit. The differentiator; sick people will continue to go to the doctor, clients that are not succeeding will stop paying their trainer. If only we could be paid by insurance companies... Depending on which studies you believe, there are about 600 million people in this country considered obese, so don't cry for us, Argentina. We trainers won't go wanting for new clients any time soon.

I honestly believe there needs to be a place like Planet Fitness, that discourages gym guys from being gym guys. There's a large segment of society that needs to be in the gym, but won't go because they are intimidated by the knuckle draggers. That said, they are the gym equivalent of having a Diet Coke with your chocolate cake. Life in a real gym is a whole other animal. Being a cynical person, stuck in this bizarre world, I have seen more than I care to recall. Some things cannot be unseen. Like the sight of a smarmy unkempt eastern European rinsing off in the deck shower of the pool, naked. Like the waist-height hole in the wall between shower stalls in the men's locker room, that, no matter how many times it was filled, kept getting re-bore. Like the septuagenarian female client who insisted on working out in a tacky 80's era G-string leotard with control top pantyhose and heels (yep).

And then there's the opposite end of the spectrum, fad exercise concept gyms. Most prevalent and egregious of the lot, and favorite goat of this forum, is crossfit, of course, but there are hordes of others. New on the scene, but rapidly gaining followers, I mean members, is Orange Theory. It's billed as a safer version of crossfit. That's like having a pet Tiger that's been declawed. If there were any science behind it, wouldn't they call it Orange Method? After giving it some thought, it's not so much that I don't respect these ill conceived programs, it's that I don't respect the cult members that succumb to their propaganda. And I will unfriend you if you post crossfit videos more than three times a week! Which they all do. The first rule of crossfit is you must constantly talk about crossfit.

Born on third ain't a triple

Coming of age in the nineties produced two lasting traits; an affinity for alternative rock and skeptical conformity. The former of which I enjoy while keyboard prophesying, as a sound garden while driving for a living, and especially as a mental crutch during workouts. I use skeptical conformity professionally to secure middle-class station, which has the similar DNA to a "yes man," while picking up on the echoes of anything that is complete manure. A prime example of lock-stepping with de facto is the swilling of undigested inspirational mantras. "If you work hard, dream big, anything you desire will be yours," or "anything is possible" or "mind over matter." Complete CRAP! Wake up cattle, get the golden ring out of your nose. It is the big three that get you to the promise land... Birth. Circumstance. Timing.

The more and more time I spend in the gym, the more and more I see natural selection and physiological birthright at play. Even though some fools believe they can chemically codify reality, billions of years won't be dammed by a few shots in the butt cheeks. I was born with the coding to grow to 6'-2" (1.89 meters), but it was not in the genetic soup to give me basketball hops. What I did come equipped with was the ability to quickly recover anaerobically, which helped me as college swimmer to handle practices with fast intervals on short rest. To this day I still enjoy the rapid lowering of my heart rate during cardio sets -- going from 170 bpm to under 110 bpm in less than :30 seconds on most interval sets. But I completely accept the fact that because of my genetic cocktail no matter the multiple arrows in Jaron's workout quiver I will never have twenty-two inch (56 cm) biceps or dunk a basketball.

Equally important to birthright is for me to acknowledge the circumstances to which I have enjoyed great gains in the gym. I have a personal trainer who commands $100 to $125 per hour to the rest of the population write and mentor me for the unfair amount of zero dollars. The value of his training is not lost on the monetary absence, he still holds me to the highest standard and calls me on any stupid corner cutting excuse I employee. I check my privilege to the transparency that I'm enjoying the fruits of Jaron's dedication to his craft just because we have been friends for over two decades. Circumstances people. Circumstances. Horatio, there is no struggling valiantly against adversity here.

And lastly, timing. In a future post I'll discuss the male phases loosely defining the trail through adolescents, the destructive years, and the catalyst for change for those in the bell curve. Timing plays a vital role in determining when to start taking control of health and wellness. For me it meant owning the results and controlling expectations on a journey that really has no destination. A destination denotes an end point that only serves Double Doubles and chicken wings at 1:00 a.m.

Flying Dutchman's wallpaper!

For a year in the mid-1960's Hunter S. Thompson kept close quarters with the Hells Angels in order to capture the world few dared to know up close. In September 1976 Joseph Dominick Pistone walked out of the FBI for six years, returning in 1981 with enough evidence to take down the Bonanno crime family. In August 2012 I walked into Gold's Gym to trim off an extra chin and shave the gut down a few inches. Hunter, Joseph, and I are linked by a common thread... Our journeys took us into a subculture existing in plain sight of the larger body complete. And changed us all forever.

The gym has a vast array of characters flowing in and out daily with all sorts of motivations for being there. Over time, and with the guidance provided by the Sherpa of Strength, I have been able to identify different species of exercisers, of which most of the common breeds have been documented in this rag.

• The Novice - squeaky clean shoes, fat as a hippo, and aimlessly walking around the gym looking for the magic machine.
• Insanity - "doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."
• Tourist - those who go to the gym because it's the trend of the week. Usually appearing shortly after a gym sells it's soul for the W.O.D. crowd.
• Weekend Warriors - Saturday morning dudes scrambling through every body party and station to make up for lost time like the gym is their teenage bastard child's monthly visit.

The latest group Jaron and I have classified are those fitness freaks who spend more time in the gym than any other place on earth. They are known as "Flying Dutchman's wallpaper." Over time these permanent fixtures in the weight room or on the cardio equipment start to blend into the surroundings like living wallpaper. One would think they would have a common language, or a sly hand gesture like the low flung hand of stranger outlaw bikers passing on the byways. Nope! Narcissism is a lone ranger in a wilderness of lessers. (Cue melodramatic music at will.)

Two-minutes of rest! Oh so the best!

Moving into the strength phase is best analogized by visualizing dragging a bull moose carcass up a mountainside and ever five feet you get a pit-stop for two minutes to enjoy the scenery. Hands down the strength phase is the greatest chapter in Captain Chaos's playbook... manly exercises with plenty of grunting and strutting around, and then long pauses of rest. There is a great deal of comic value in seeing a chicken-legged thirty-something struggle to lift 175 lbs, but until the gym's management loosens their antiquated stance on GoPro usage in the cardio room we'll have to stick with observing the locals for blog material.

When Jaron and I have two-minutes of rest in between twenty to twenty-five collective sets our minds begin to churn out some interesting stuff. Such as the "Aftermarket ladies" with so much plastic surgery they have very little OEM (original equipment manufacturer) parts. Observing body dysmorphic disorder in real time is a discomforting unspoken shared experience with the others around me. Part pity gaze. Part freak show amusement. Part rubber-necking to see the twisted human flesh.

 

So I don't end on a depressed note (that until you read the strength work outs below), another of Jaron's favorites are the various "Cardio Queens" in the general population. There are the queens that camp out on the tread mill with multiple fluid bottles, magazines, bedazzled iPhone, and surrounded by their gossip court. And the costly manicured queens coming to the gym with more fine apparel than a British royal wedding. The queens of speed cardio... visualize anorexia in a 5-Hour Energy shot.

Legs
5 sets of 5
Dead lifts 205lbs
Hack Squats 135lbs
Leg Extensions 80lbs per leg

Back & Arms
5 sets of 5
Pull ups
Pivot bar rows (narrow grip)
Bar bell curls 70lbs
Wide grip overhand lat pull downs
5 sets of 10 revers flies 20lb dumb bells

Chest & Tris
5 sets of 5
Bench press 175lbs
Standing shoulder press 35lbs
Dips
3 sets of 10 Opposing cable chest press 80lbs with 10 pushups

Those are wrong dimensions

“His cathedral is enough for him. It was peopled with marble figures of kings, saints and bishops who at least did not laugh in his face and looked at him with only tranquillity and benevolence. The other statues, those of monsters and demons, had no hatred for him – he resembled them too closely for that. It was rather the rest of mankind that they jeered at.” ― Victor Hugo, The Hunchback of Notre-Dame

The magic juice flows.

The purple people grows.

Thru the little hole in the arm,

Goes the magic juice of harm. 

The gym is an amazing place for people-watching. But it's important to master the art of multiple mirror gazing if you decide to make this an avenue for dealing with a workout's mental time suck. Key point to remember, if you can see the persons eyes they can see yours. And if they've perfected the reverse triangulation technique your duck blind will be exposed.

Multiple mirror gazing is most commonly used to check out hot chicks and abnormally huge dudes. The chicks are accustomed to an awkwardly long peep from men and or jealous women, but the abnormally huge dudes get paranoid when common folk stare to long... It's a Quasimodo trigger, and one of the many side effects to steroid use. (Not really. But who cares? My observations are backed by Dr. Frankenstein himself.)

During one of our many training sessions I turned to Jaron and asked what it would take for me to be huge and ripped liked one of the knuckle draggers. "Steroids!" So simple. Yet so profound of a plural. I'll leave the physiological break down for the professional... he has the iron stomach to tackle purple skin and back acne. SNAIL TRAIL! To make a long story even longer; Jaron said with my body type the best I could achieve is a Matthew McConaughey body in Sahara. A reachable goal if I kept things au naturel. Followed by his favorite McConaughey  quote as David Wooderson in Dazed and Confused; "I keep getting older and they stay the same age."

Before I end, it is important that I get something of my chest. I LOATH THE SCALES! That vile, wretched, unforgiving messenger of emotional torment is messing with my mind like a jaded ex-girlfriend. Rhetorical question to the universe: How can I cinch up my belt three holes and only be down six pounds? DEATH TO THE SCALE!





Can someone please get Pheidippides a horse!

"We continue on this fool's errand attempting to freeze time from cradle to casket. Ironically, the quickest route to death's door stoop is on the back of exercises employed as freezing agents."  -- Achieving ODJ

A half dozen years back Jaron and I were conversing about good cardio options for long term health, joint longevity, and overall system
sustainability. He listed off a full catalogue of exercises; stationary bike, road cycling, hiking, incline treadmill, swimming, Stair Master, elliptical, rowing machine, speed mall walking... not really the last one, that one is an inside joke. "Wait!" Said I, so smugly the tourist in the land of fitness I was in those days; "What about running?" In his deadpan sense of humor he said, "I only run from bears and cops." Luckily his rough and rowdy past has aged out of the latter's necessity and presently all he must worry about is the former escaping our circus act.

In the two years under his wing Jaron has only assigned a few brief running speed interval sets. I will let the Master of Muscle Mayhem address his logic. (Make sure you read his comment, it'll be worth the price of the ticket!) Running to me is a high that I can live without -- even though I have experienced a runner's high it is an exercise that beats my body to a pulp. The return on running's investment holds as much value in my long view fitness play as a Confederate nickel on Time Square. In no way does that dampen my desire to run a marathon in the next few years, I just know now that I could be repaying that debt until my dirt nap.

Jaron will give you a funny, but coincidentally scary, anecdote on the finite heart beat theory. It'll make you rethink that dream of training for, and conquering the Badwater Ultramarathon. 

People we got more stories than the Empire State Building!   

Assumption of risk.

"Middle age white guy problems, but a third world life ain't one."

If our readership has not figured out for themselves that Jaron and I do not take ourselves serious, let me clarify; "Jaron and I do not take ourselves serious!" This blog is meant to poke fun at fitness fads, our personal hypocrisy, Crossfit disciples, and anything we find down-right idiotic (vis-à-vis the entire product line of BeachBody, Jenny Craig, and body wraps to name a few.) In no way does this take away from Jaron's professional aptitude and extensive knowledge of the fitness industry. Nor does it take away from our years as NCAA Division I swimmers either. We are just abdicating people think for themselves, listen to your body, go to a professional and get off the unholy swill those snake oil salesmen are pushing on early morning infomercials.

I look forward to my daily gym visit, and not because I crave the endorphin rush, but because gyms are a cultured petri dish of Ponce de León descendants, unapologetic douche bags, and a full spectrum of seekers. All parties giving me inspiration to stay in the clichéd "moment," and to continue on with my work out program to see if the fertile land sprouts up an observation to pass along in this digital rag. Having Jaron as the inside man pulling back the curtain on the Great Oz we plan to spit out this dribble for a long time. So buy the ticket, take the ride.

The Ole Dirty Dozen tour

“Like the Founding Fathers of this here United States of America, I set forth with full expectation of burning bridges with the powers that be. But when the rabble failed to notice the genius I invited the local coed blind fire twirlers to our little matchstick party to wake up the rankless.”  -- Achieving ODJ

I find great inspiration watching the synergy of all-star teams as they overcome individual egos to vanquish a task. Take the majesty of the 1992 U.S.A Olympic basketball team's (a.k.a. “Dream Team”) historic smack down on the rest of the world. Then there was the 1977 benzoylmethyl ecogonine fuelled comic juggernaut cast of Saturday Night Live. And my personal all-time favorite all-star lineup of historical fiction superheroes... The Dirty Dozen. It’s judgment day, sinners! Come out, come out wherever you are! This ragtag band of criminals and miscreants came together under a common cause, and the fear of military firing squad, to save the free world by party crashing a lavish Nazi shindig.

In a spark of inspiration at the beginning of our current phase Jaron had a foggy vision that we needed to take an all-star trip through the past two years; pulling from the best of the best work out sets. More like, "let's build a bigger better torture devise and then test it on ourselves!" The following is not for the faint of heart or those looking for a glowing endorsement from the makers of T25 at BeachBody.

Chest & Triceps

Dumbbell press – 65lb 5x5
Decline pushups – 5x20

Body weight dips– 5x5

Skull crushers – 65lb bar 5x5

Back & Arms

Pull ups – 5x5
Reverse pushups on smith machine – 5x10
Preacher curl -- 5x10 (second half forced negative)
Dumb bell revers fly -- 20lbs 5x10

Legs
Sling press -- 5x5 (think Salem witch dunking, without the water)
Pee Wee Herman step ups -- 40lbs 3x16
Speed skaters -- 25
Prison squats -- 20

Merely working, they don't live.

Is it too much to ask the world around me for a few simple pleasures in life? Double ply in the men's locker room. Fully functional cardio equipment in the gym. And the big piece of chicken at family dinner. Since the upgraded version of MyFitnessPal app has a new system to praise or scorn in a manner reserved for the most passive aggressive computer programs on the market, I'll be enjoying many pieces of ground fowl during my race to sub-200 pounds.

Those using this app will be familiar with the new color coded alerts after each entry is logged: green for good job fat boy, yellow for sliding toward sloth phase, and red for "you're one Oreo away from extinction." I am hoping this will fill an emotional void hollowed out by years of rejection. Being a traveling salesman I spend all day getting the door slammed on me, which in turn frequently triggers a brief conversation with inanimate objects in my car to relieve the cold harsh realities of peddling product. The radio has to be getting sick of me yelling into the CD slot, "FIND. GARY. BUSEY!" Now I can seek validation through my little pal in the MyFitnessPal app who rates me green for great job. There should be no questioning the correlation between green in the app and the green ribbon culture infecting modern middle class society... Equal opportunity went on a love bender with political correctness spawning a sadistic child named equal outcome.

I will admit in the court of the blogosphere that I desire, and I also find great pleasure, receiving my green ranking after each food entry with equal parts shame when red appears. Encouragement from trainers and work out partners is wonderful, but relying on cold programs is anti-social and plays into every dystopian critique of society's trajectory since WWII. Those in our readership pool who came of age in the 1990's will remember the scene in Demolition Man when the emotional weak citizen turns to a sidewalk computer for emotional reinforcement and positive affirmations. I guess we'll be seeing in the near future an option at the ATM for $20 bills or a daily positive conversation with Max Headroom's therapeutic virtual cousin. "You are beautiful. You are amazing. You deserve to be great!"

What's our vision and plan?

"It appears my hypocrisy knows no bound."
                                   -Doc Holiday

As mentioned in the previous post my local medical professional suggested trimming pounds off the old fat banks in order to calm the savage heart burn beast. But what I failed to mention was his strong recommendation to end my love affair with diet caffeine free sodas (I'll leave the grizzly details of embalming ourselves one Big Gulp at a time to the professional.) Now that I'm on a 12-step program to cut my aspartame dependency it notches my transformation toward a healthy eater one step closer to a lock stepping Whole Foods fascist... I AM, ROBOT!

Where to go now? What is the vision for this final stage of gastric reckoning? Can my hypocrisy truly handle the pressures of healthy living? Is there anyone out there? All valid and introspective questions, of which I dare not attempt to answer 1400 calories into a day with only 400 left on the menu -- greater men have buckled under more optimistic near future prospects. What I do know at this moment to be truth is the simple fact that fat sheds when I put less in the pie-hole and then pick the dumb bell up and put it down a bunch of times. And also with the occasional cardiovascular set to allow me time to think up these cathartic written exercises. 

100th post!

"The self has a common origin with characteristics key to fooling anyone; vanity, vanity, vanity."- Achieving ODJ

My oh my our dear friends, it has been a wild and exciting three months on sabbatical... Jaron traveled the Caribbean seeking out perspective as I enjoyed sleeping in late and catching up on my culinary vices. It is exciting that the 100th blog post comes on the hills of a full scale repentance for my dietary infidelity and re-commitment to all things healthy. (It also helps that my 20th high school class reunion is scheduled for September 20th of this year.)

For our loyal followers of the past half decade of readership, you will be pleased to know that I settled my loss of the weight contest with Jaron; one all-you-can-eat sushi for the winner (minus paying for the booze!) Thankfully an amendment to the original contract language was approved -- instead of having me lose 20 lbs prior to the lunch taking place we agreed it would happen after Jaron reached his goal. I unofficially lost zero grapefruit, with a few liberal judges recording a two pound gain by the end of the contest. Either way, it was a great lunch! I'm glad we finished our lunch prior to the sushi chef and my partner engaging in a bizarre, yet comforting, cross culture bonding rite through broken English and a tradition of warm plum sake shots.

Now that schedules are back to the mundane, the Practitioner of Pain and I will continue to poke fun at the herd mentality in fitness (look out Crossfit snake oil salesmen, we have a mission to prove its a gross distortion of truth and doctored results.) And we'll continue making numerous visits to the comic well that keeps on giving; Western Society's pursuit for the shorter, faster magic formula for weight loss. So until #101, we at No Fat Jokes Please want to thank you for putting up with us for the past few years and hope the next 100 will be as confusing and bush league as the first 100. 

Just a good injury away from the glue factory.

"And I heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts. And I looked, and behold a pale horse, and his name that sat on him was Death, and hell followed with him." -- Johnny Cash

What do you get when you give your trainer the nod to revise the weekly workout and he has a demented mind and discretionary time? I advise you to not tempt fate seeking out the answer. I did, and I'm scarred. In what the patriarch of paralysis billed as a mash-up workout to get my creative blogging juices flowing turned out to be a muscle Cuisinart of full body smack down. At one point I contemplated taking off my shoes, maybe a sock to draw the meat-head native's attention away from my crying.

With the weight loss competition locked up by Jaron and his win just mere academics we needed to find something that'd give our loyal readership inspiration to scroll through more than just blah, blah, narcissism, blah, blah, self-deprecation. I wanna get better at the craft of fitness and chronicle the journey, but this workout served up perspective like a deranged taxi driver screaming through the center of town blasting the straights with a fire hose. Cross fit is looking more tantalizing every day.

3 rounds of 1:00 on :30 off.

Stability ball mountain climbers
Floor wipers (knee tucks with a mat to slide feet)
Oblique twists on the ball with 20lb dumb-bell twist

3:00 rest

Second verse same rest and sets as the first, but next level of discomfort.
45lb sleds on a mat for 50 yards
One-arm Turkish squats, 8 per arm with 20lb. (I'll leave this one to the expert)
18" box jumps, 12 jumps.

Full transparency:
JBK: 186.2 & 16.4%
Me: 218.2 & 20.0%

Failure is an option.

"Clearly the toxic fumes of commercialized exceptionalism continues to pollute the view of failure's rocky shore. Just because whole hearted attempts are made the rubric's justice shall not be mocked."         --Achieving ODJ

In 2013 I failed two challenges; "6-minute Treadmill Mile" and "20/15/4 Slow Grind." For those just joining our happy parade of fitness, the "6-minute Treadmill Mile" was a pretty simple challenge on paper -- run at a 10 miles per hour pace for six minutes. The combination of my 200 plus pound structure and my gym's loosely regulated maintenance schedule for the treadmill I threw in the towel rather quickly.

Unlike the 6-minute challenge, the "20/15/4 Slow Grind" became the hangnail in my work out routine for months. 20 minutes on the treadmill at a 15% incline at a 4 miles per hour pace, and with no hand holding the sissy bar. Conceptwise the challenge seemed to have a process based formula for achievement; start with the 20 minutes and 15% incline each time, set a minimum miles per hour (3.2 was the base line) and then each week notch up the miles per hour. Unfortunately for me, once I reached 3.5 my heart rate spiked to VO2 levels (a.k.a. the maximal aerobic capacity). For every tenth of a mile per hour I increased the less I could handle the incline. At 3.5 I could make the 20 minutes with an average heart rate of 140. At 3.6 I made the entire 20 minutes three times (out of 25 attempts) with an average heart rate of 165. At 4.0 I was only able to make 4 minutes one time maxing out my heart rate in the 175-180 range. Epic fail!

2014 is going to see double if not triple the number of failures now that Jaron is in the same area code. I don't get to accept failures, they don't need my validation. This ain't about a score card, number of ribbons, times dropped, or mudders completed... we pick up heavy weights and put heavy weights down a whole bunch of times.

Post script... Jaron is kicking my butt!
Jaron: 190.1 & 17.3%
Me: 220.5 & 20.3%

Testing. Testing. 1-2-3!

"YOU TELL ME! If a tree falls in the woods do you really think that it cares if it made a freaking sound? It just flat backed to the ground for a dirt nap and the last thing it cares about is if some granola eating PEDA slug can hear it come crashing down."            
-- The author of Achieving ODJ answering claims of inflated readership, circa 1982.               

It has come to our attention at No Fat Jokes Please that our readership numbers have been skewed by a spammer outfit located in one of the breakaway countries of the former U.S.S.R. I can vouch for the information because it came from the Internet - and the world wide web does not lie... so says Wikipedia. We are very proud of the devout readers of our blog and we have taken a blood oath to see this thing to the bitter end. Cuz in the immortal words of Dr. H.S. Thompson, "When the going gets weird, the weird go pro."

As we near the yearly dumping point for all the fitness tourist I am glad to be in a phase of work out that requires little thought and a whole crap ton of moxie. The circuit phase is living up to all the hype in prior post. This past combined training session Krause and I took on the chest & tricep sets like lambs to the slaughter. A total of one hundred and eighty military push ups and one hundred and eighty over-head machine presses broke me. The Duke of Delts called it a success because we reached muscle failure. After three minutes of rest we dropped a few more nails in the coffin by doing a set of dips and pec flys. In a twist of fate the only lingering pain was my swollen triceps. They felt like concrete flowed through the vascular system and hardened in them there meat sacks. HERE I COME SUMMER MUSCLES!!!

Now if I could just get my nutrition to kick in and help a brother shed a few pounds. Krause would like to have his sushi dinner before the ocean has no mo fish. (Yep... we are still in the marathon crawl of "Two Score No More")

Weekly numbers never lie:
JBK 193.4 17.6%
Moi 221.7 19.5%

One man's routine is another man's rut

I have come to accept that Body By Krause is a fluctuating sliding scale of muscle misery that is designed to keep me from truly enjoying work out routines. I get a nice rut carved into life's road map and the puppet master pulls the rug out from under me like that psycho brunette yanking the ball away just as Charlie Brown attempts to kick the football . It's a pretty simple process; new phase full of pain and suffering turns to just pain and then gradually becomes easy. Then bam! New set of work outs come over the wire and the pain-suffering cycle regenerates. I should serious consider abandoning my honesty for some lower moral accounting. Unfortunately Krause has just designed the weapon that will kill both of us... This phase is STUUUUPID!!!

I accept full responsibility for taking a nutritional break during our three week Christmas/BCS Bowl Championship vacation, which is why a circuit set makes complete since to carve pounds. Just not this type of depraved Guantanamo Bay circus. I'm going to leave the color commentary to the architect of this chaos.

Legs:
3 rounds of :60 seconds on :30 seconds rest
Prison squats
Burpies
20lbs dumbbell swings - alternate arms
   *rest 3 minutes*
3 rounds of :60 seconds on :30 seconds rest
Linebacker squats
Simulate jump rope
Speed skaters

Chest-Arms-Shoulders
alternate
Machine overhead press - 50-30lbs
Military pushups
40, 35, 30, 25, 20, 15, 10, 5 (total of 180 reps each)
 *rest 3 minutes*
alternate 5 sets of 10 reps
Pec Flys
Bench dips

Back/Biceps
alternate 3 rounds
Reverse pushups (15)
Bent over straight bar rows (15)
French bar 21's - 30lbs
 *rest 3 minutes*
alternate 3 rounds
Weight assisted pull ups wide grip (20)
Resistance band bicep curls (30)

Post script:
This weeks stats... truth in reporting!
JBK: 193.4 & 17.1
Me: 222.0 & 20.1