Hypertrophy -- Horizontal Loading

Time will vindicate the mad genius of the gym. Either as a mad man, or as genius!

I have yet to air on the side of caution when posting Jaron's work outs. Mainly because hardly anyone outside of the NSA or the Russian Olympic Federation are reading this rag. Also, I don't fear the plagiarism of his craft, because in the hands of an unskilled trainer the genius will be neglected and lost in translation. And any unscrupulous skilled trainer would pick and choose just enough to avoid the scarlet mark of being outed as a hack. We notice the peeping toms memorizing our routines. Reverse engineering has built the Chinese economy; there is no reason why Jaron's creations won't show up on a poorly produced YouTube work out series in the coming years.

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5 sets of 5 with :60 seconds of rest

Followed by :20 - :30 minutes of slow grind cardio

Chest & Triceps

Hammer Strength Incline press -- 90-105 lbs per side
Hammer Strength Decline press -- 115-125 lbs per side
Skull crushers – barbell    65lbs bar
Dips – body weight (go to failure)

Legs

Seated Leg Press – 540 lbs
Walking lunges with dumbbell – 25lbs 16 lunges per set
Standing 1-leg curls Hammer Strength -- 80 lbs
Seated 1-leg extension Hammer Strength -- 80-90 lbs

Back & Biceps

Lat Pulldowns – wide overhand grip – 140 lbs
Reverse flys – machine – 135 lbs
Incline bench wide dumbbell curls – 30 lbs
1-arm curls Hammer Strength -- 45 lbs

 Core & Shoulders

Standing cable raises (rope) -- 110 lbs
Front shoulder raises dumbbell -- 25 lbs
1-arm cable pull -- 60 lbs
Planks :60 seconds on :60 seconds off
Plank pike ups on stability ball 10 reps

Devil carbs... How I love thee!

Salad? Oh, you mean my food's food.

If "vegetarian" is an old Native American word for bad hunter, "carbohydrate" is an old scientific word for fat guy's happy place. 

I support P.E.T.A. and the humane treatment of animals. No Fat Jokes Please takes very little serious in life, except for serious matters, of which we try and avoid like the plague. I will not be on their mailing list congratulating me on going vegan in the not so ever future. However, animals for consumption should be treated with respect, never placed in torment, and dispatched quickly. Their loss gives me an enriched life. Their protein is highly favored. Their meet in moderation should sustain my life for decades to come. Wish I could say that about carbohydrates.

Carbohydrates, aka Carbs, are the food pyramid's playground dime-bag pushers. I got hooked on their goodness before the first word of the English language crossed my lips. Sugar addiction makes heroin addiction seem like bubble gum and rose peddle farts. Sugar coats my double helix with multiple generations of sucrose in the veins. To make matters worse I have bread in the head all the time.

Bread is on my mind morning, noon, and night! So when a longtime best friend introduced me to man salads, food went from fun to fuel. Not to minimize things; there are hardy portions of protein, tasty vegetables, and cheese mixed with a little sauce. By substituting the carbohydrate for a bed of mixed greens I get a wonderfully, and overtly grown up man salad. The concoctions are really good. Who is this person I've become?!? I hope time travel is not invented anytime soon... which could prevent future me traveling back in time to goat past me into kicking present me's butt for eating salads. Who am I kidding? Carbs have rewritten my core instincts. The reptile part of my brain has gone from fight, flight or freeze to white, wheat, or six-cheese. Doomed from the start!

Fat ain't the new Fun.

If you are injured go see the trainer.
          If you are hurting get back in and keep going.
                    If you are fat you earned what you missed out.

Happy 100th blog post during the Era of ODJ... I am excited to read what the proprietor of pectoral pain has to offer below. His professional retort is the only thing that separates us from the apes. Jaron has been a wonderful addition to Team No Fat Jokes Please, and we hope he signs on for another 100 plus post. Lord knows we need his expertise, devilish wit, and grammar skills.

Recently I competed in a masters swimming meet down in the People's Republic of California... That's a state manufacturing America's green ribbon culture. The Orange Curtain is in tatters, and the new commies will have us all competing with no timing system or score board shortly. My fat self would be fine with that. Not the Communist; they don't smile when screwing you out of progress. I would be fine with no timing systems. Unlike team sports that defend territory and go on the offensive -- competing against other teams; swimming is a timed sport. The stopwatch is a heartless winch. Born without a soul.

"Time rules over us without mercy. Not caring if we’re healthy or ill. Hungry or drunk. Russian, American, beings from Mars. It’s like a fire, it could either destroy us or it could keep us warm...We never turn our back on it and we never ever allow ourselves the sin of losing track of time. " -- Cast Away

The preparation for the meet began back in May. At the time my estimation of six months of weights and swimming seemed well padded for work travel, illnesses, and bouts of laziness. The plan laid out gave me enough training to break below a mark that has been alluding me for years; sub 18:00 for 1500 Freestyle short course meters. Last year I swam in a slow heat, crushed the other seven heat mates, but did not get pushed. The stopwatch clocked me at 18:25.13 (averaging 1:13.5 per 100 meters).

Tapering, resting and shaving were all givens. I figured out if my first 100 meters was under one minute and twelve seconds (1:12) and then I held one minute and twelve seconds for the subsequent fourteen 100 meter splits I would be sub 18:00. Great training through the summer and fall. Jaron challenged me in the gym. I was ready! Except for one minor detail... The extra 15 grape fruits stored around the spar tire section of my gut. Fat may float, but it sure as heck doesn't come with it's own propulsion. I was in T.R.O.U.B.L.E.

I finished the 1500 meters in an underwhelming 18:44.27. That is holding just a hair under 1:15 per 100 meters. Major take away after wasting six months of early mornings and exhausted evenings... STOP GETTING FAT, FATSO!!!

Chop'n wood and carry'n water.

"No one told us life gets pretty routine after 33..."
                                                - Patrick "Wagon" McCann

Variety might be the spice of life, but routine is sanity's insurance policy. I quickly disregard anyone who says they live life on the edge -- flying through existence by the winds of chaos. No one can hold a knife to the neck of routine for an extended period. Except for the occasional well financed trust fund babies with amazing beards. Those fools are multi-generational lottery winning protagonists in Father Smith's The Wealth of Nations.

The human mind strives for predictable results. Of late, many in the "all are equal" camp are not only striving for predictability, but duplicable and $15 an hour type of results. If absent of quality the mind will generate it's own results. Truly crafty minds seek out patterns in results, which is why conspiracy theories grow like ivy up mankind's social think... pretty to look at, but takes over and is hard as hell to rid. They are usually the folk that suck on the Federal milk sake like a 7-Eleven Big Gulp in Robin's hood.

I am a fan of getting results through life's ruts. Wake, work, sleep, repeat. That's how the Hoover Dam rose from the canyon's floor. Man reached the moon by people doing repetitious work. We would never have all-you-can-eat buffets or tattoo parlors in suburban strip malls if the lazy Commies had won the Cold War. Not everyone can have the shallow pleasure of farting in the ADHD skillet to fry up creative nonsense. (Yours truly included!) Chasing after every little shinny object in the hopes of wealth through ease has been commoditized by every snake oil salesmen trolling late night infomercial circuit for decades. Make millions in days! Learn Latin in two weeks! Lose 35lbs watching television!

Let's get ready to chop wood and carry water. Because all we do is pick up heavy weights and put down heavy weights. Many, many times!

We share because we care.

"Without context these workouts are merely one long series of 90 second rests broken up by slow motion twelves. The herd has no clue why you're sweating like a pig at a barbecue and sucking more air than a Hoover vacuum." - Achieving ODJ

We at No Fat Jokes Please pride ourselves on an open book policy. The public needs to know, and we subscribe to full transparency. We also believe in dancing with the grenade before tossing it to the masses. It is crucial that all workouts Jaron organize are fully implemented, ridiculed, tweaked, cursed upon, and vetted for potential discrimination violations. Jaron and I have ran through the following four workouts since late June; dialing in the weight selection, erasing the impossible, and horse trading the 4-2-1 count sets. Because in the gospel of ODJ when something is in writing we shall not deviate. The stagecoach only knows one path, and if that path is off the cliff call the coroner because weez going over!     

For those partaking in ODJ, it has come to our attention that the leg day is a pain boomerang... hurts while doing the sets, and then the pain comes back around two or three days later. The Pee-wee Hermans are sleeping killers. The heart red-lines and sweat pours out of my eyes. And that is just set number one of three.

Then there is anything associated with the stability ball. Slap me in the face, call me Sally, and kick sand in my shorts! Such an inviting accessory. Almost looks out of place. Don't let it's cuteness fool you -- this rollie pollie is the harbinger of death. The seventh level of hell is decorated with stability balls.

Without further belly aching and self-loathing, I present to our reading audience... Stability Redux.

Back & Biceps
(4-2-1 count on all)
3x12 Weighted assisted pull ups wide grip 120 lbs
3x12 Reverse push ups on Smith machine
4x12 One leg dumb bell bicep curls
3x12 Reverse fly on lower back horse

Chest & Tricep
(4-2-1 count on all except plank push ups)
3x12 Dumb bell press on stability ball
3x12 Stability ball push ups narrow hands
3x12 Bench push ups wide hands
3x15 Plank push ups

Legs
3x12 Hack squat machine 90 lbs  (4-2-1 count)
3x12 One leg standing reach with dumb bell (no 4-2-1 count)
3x12 Pee-wee Hermans (no 4-2-1)
3x12 Ball squats (4-2-1 count)

Core
(No 4-2-1 count)
3x12 Pike ups feet on stability ball in push up position
3x12 Plank roll-outs arms on stability ball with narrow forearms
3xea  One-minute planks
3x12 V-ups

My obesity is acting up again.

"Two words, Mr. President. Plausible Deniability."
                                                  -- Independence Day

When the scales creep up toward 235 lbs... aka Blogpocalypse, it is very important that Jaron; my friend, my trainer, and my dedicated chop buster is distracted by hot women or really ignorant gym patrons when I step on the scales. Because if he doesn't see the number, the number doesn't exist.

I am bound by the 5th Amendment and a middle school fear of habeas corpus in an orange jump suit. So I cannot confirm or deny that a few tenths of a pound are keeping me under 235 lbs. The existence of this blog is teetering on the verge of nuclear holocaust. We are in the throes of the 1962 Cuban missile crisis and JBK is playing the part of JFK. Unlike the beloved Catholic and Marilyn Monroe loving President, our protagonist in this crisis has less hair, the DTs, and little tolerance for communist cramping his vacation plans. Freaking commies are always trying to tell us what to do.

If the good doctor finds out I've slid all the way back to my 2012 weigh... bye, bye to the venerable institution know as No Fat Jokes Please. There is good news to report during these smoggy times. We are looking strong in our resurrection of the Stability Phase. Hopefully the next post will come... we live day by day under the constant threat of digital annihilation. If my fat cells can come to a collective bargaining agreement with metabolism, the next blog post should paint a wonderful picture of the hell that is stability.   



4-2-1 got lost in translation!

Destination 195 is officially rebooted. The hashtag will be #D195-3.0 for those following The ODJ on his Twitter @The_ODJ or those on the open road can catch updates via our CB radio handle Psycho Billy Cadillac. Everyone else is invited to continue checking in on this circus blog.

This week things got serious quickly! I arrived to the gym to find Jaron's evil series of stability workouts crept out of the black hole they were exiled to in late 2012. When Destination 195 2.0 launched in August of that same year, my first workouts were all stability. I am a man of few curse words during this season of my life, but I combo dropped them on multiple occasions during stability phase. When pressed to describe to the layman I usually liken it to full body straining to poop while clinching the butt cheeks together on a partially deflated beach ball.  (Experiences may vary).

In reality Body by ODJ calls for stability every six months. As Jaron preaches; "You have to reintroduce your new body to your old mind every so often." I'll leave the science to the professional
(check out his comment.) Unlike 2012, this go around of "back to the basics" workouts include Jaron in town. It's nice to have him walk me through each exercise for proper form and weight selection. I am able to ramp up form and technique quicker with his coaching. However, this go around uncovered a massive miscommunication from 2012... 4-2-1.

The first official morning back felt good; I had recently bought my ticket for the wagon, the diet train was firing up, and Jaron had a formal workout on paper to keep us honest. That honeymoon sure went sour quick. Each rep in stability is done in a 4-2-1 pattern. 4 count down, 2 count hold at top, and a 1 count to get to the top. OH. M. GOODNIGHT!!! This might be first world pain, but it is brain aneurysm in the near future pain. Here comes night sweats and the fear.

Manternity pants and oatmeal pies

We're back and many pounds to the heavier!!!

Oh man was it a great spring to early summer break. Jaron celebrated his 40th birthday in classy Mexican resort style and then sustained a major thumb injury playing Tim "The Toolman" Taylor with a power something-something tool. I on the other hand slacked off from weights, swimming, blogging, and proper portion control. The proven formula for a rising scale. 231 lbs. as of last weigh in. That number is inexcusably high for a recovering fat guy. To make matters worse, it is four pounds shy of the mandated death sentence to this digital rag. Supposedly Jaron put a clause in the No Fat Jokes Please contract that gave him the right to nuke the blog if I again balloon to a plump 235. I'll trust his memory -- Heaven knows I have the retention capacity of the All-American Alzheimer spelling bee team.

In all honesty I kinda like Fat Jarvis. He is jollier between the ranges of 210-225. Unfortunately, Jaron, the prince of peer pressure, drops beat downs like Iron Mike Tyson (pre-face tattoo.) To add to the ego bruising the ole lady starts to give me the universal "this thing is gaining gravitational strength" belly rubs. The accompanying facial expression is kind of a sarcastic duck face with a "just saying" eye roll. That's when Fat Jarvis flees to the individually wrapped arms of another woman. Oh sweet Little Debbie!

Debbie has never judged me! She knows me. She loves me for who I am. Unlike my dear wife, who cares for my health and refuses to be seen with a fatty, Debbie's discs of oatmeal and cream are unrelenting. She usually takes me over the 230 mark; forcing Fun Jarvis to dust off his manternity pants.

Fat Jarvis's wardrobe stash is the last line of defense before buying larger sizes. I can handle the wife's sneers. I can even handle the harassing text messages from Jaron. But I cannot stomach buying more clothes. I'm a middle-class, middle-aged American male! We don't buy more clothes than we need to have in a three week wash cycle. Our founding fathers did not fight the tyranny of the king to have it all lost to the sirens song of a devil temptress... I SHALL TREAD ON THEE DEBBIE!!! 

The trainer turns 4-oh!

"Living ODJ is whittling on dynamite while night bathing in a lightening storm. It's only a matter of time before that white rabbit hits you with one massive grape fruit." -- Achieving ODJ
 
The universe has a wonderful sense of humor. Prime example is our very own free-range trainer was born on April 1st. This past April Fools Jaron turned 40. To prepare for his milestone birthday, the maestro of muscle set out to lose 30 pounds. I ponied up for losing 10 pounds to try and do a "40 by 40" contest. I'll let Jaron give you his final tally on weight loss, which far exceeded my grand total of one pound lost. I'm possibly the worst training partner ever. Thank goodness there was no wager or public shaming tide to my AWOL behavior.

This is Jaron's time to shine... Check out his comment. I know his great insight on his first 40 will be comical and worth the wait until he gets back to his fighting blood level. Enjoy it while you can, because a man of his intake will not be celebrating his next 40 year milestone. For all its worth he strives to live life in order to burn out of this existence way in advance of the diaper years.

Happy 40th birthday to The ODJ!

Post script... He is a man of his word. A photo from his birthday and the final day of the weight loss journey.

"Starting Monday!"

Monday, Monday, so good to me.

Monday morning, it was all I hoped it would be.
But Monday morning, Monday morning couldn't guarantee...
                                              - The Mamas & the Papas
 

If the road to Hell is paved with good intention, Monday is when more millage gets added to the highway. Just look at my little world of snark; cult fad diets, running, jumping on the health food bandwagon, dusting off gym memberships, Crossfit, Orange Theory, breaking the sealed T25 DVD from last Christmas, and or any combination of the above for super awesome extra fast results. All launched on Mondays. Second only to the annual spectacle of New Year's resolutions, starting a new life on Mondays is steeped in good ole fashion American middle class mediocrity. "Starting Monday..." roles off the tongue with such shallow ease; rivaled only by slick politicians, Wall Street executives, and 2:00a.m. infomercial pitchmen.     

 

The largest population segment of our comic reservoir spends all weekend proclamating about the converting power of Mondays. I would speculate that Beach Body, Jillian Micheals, and the "lets frown upon real workout" crew at Planet Fitness spend extra marketing dollars over the weekend armed with mountains of data supporting Monday life-changers. We are talking about cash cow levels of potential consumers. Who needs the coveted 18-34 year old demographic... Give me a six-minute abs commercial on prime time slots on the networks of E!, TLC and Bravo for 90 days and I'll be the Warren Buffet of fitness.      

 

I was once guilty of starting my new life on Mondays. It’s the mental reset button to months if not years of doing the same thing day in and day out. What amazes me, I believed that Monday morning had some mystical bonding agent between my grandiose intentions to change and reality's cold reality.

 

May your Mondays be all that your weekend self-proclaims it will be!

The year of 1975... slightly above mediocre.

"If this was an art show we'd call it Sleepwalking Through Life: a series of marginal decisions. There is little doubt the artist is from another planet; merely hitching a ride on our interstellar freighter."

I have to apologize to our readers for my lack of blog production; it has been a crazy wild few weeks for yours truly -- all of which assisted in my expanding waistline and the reptilian portion of my brain desiring to flee into the arms of Mistress Comfort Food. But I shall repent and request leniency as the wagon comes back around to punch my ticket. However, it has been a great month for Jaron! With his weight loss and muscle development he is down 11. He looks on track to drop the last 16 in the five week balance.

It takes little math or Wal-Mart focus group mental horsepower to realize I have become the dead weight on the contest, which I shall spare the readership my "I already got the cow and the milk" excuses. Attention needs to stay on Jaron! He will hit his personal goal, and our female followers are not going to be disappointed with the April 1st photo of our Guru of Gainzzz. Even though he enjoys word-smithing a wonderful response to my drivel, I hope he gives our audience a look behind the curtain of his program. There are few soon-to-be 40 year olds who get in this kind of shape for a commoditized birthday and a yearly beach vacation. Vanity shall arrest!


   
 

Cockamamie team efforts

"Norm!....What's up Norm? My ideal weight if I was eleven feet tall."                                                                    -- Norm Peterson; Cheers

There are two types of athletes in my universe: those who play team sports, and those who don't rely on others to succeed or fail. Jaron and I were the latter. Thank goodness the statute of limitations on coach beat downs have expired, because for most of my athletic career the only competitor I really raced was the stopwatch. "We live and we die by time, and we must not commit the sin of turning our back on time." 

Don't get me wrong, I love training with others. The shared struggle of competitive training. Mingling in the common ground of human endurance. Complaining that we did more before six a.m. than most Americans did in a lifetime. All great things. And it helped me through many a long, grueling work out. But when it came to racing... relay events were the closest thing I ever wanted to get to a team effort. Working out for twenty-two weeks to light up the clock and shave off a few seconds toward personal glory did me just right. The blunt skulls can keep their shared purpose.

So it makes completely no sense why Jaron and I have dropped our standards and are going second class to become teammates. Our hypocrisy knows no limits. We are teaming up to combine our weight loss results to lose 40 pounds by April 1st.


WARNING! Pending cliche... There is no "I" in "TEAM". A mantra of high school coaches and bush-league sales managers stretching back to the early 1960's. Jaron and I are no different. Our results directly impact the overall success of the goal. But in no way would the green ribbon hordes ever allow for negative impact. It's one thing to lose a game -- it's a totally different thing to have points taken away and your family's good name drug through the mud. Jaron and I are on a positive loss (7.7 lbs in two weeks), which we celebrate in the same vein as our blogging... in spite of the audience's validation. However, we accept the possibility of sliding backwards. I'm not suggesting we will ever go into negative numbers and cause a complete melt down of Body by Jaron. What I am saying, we accept Jaron's weight lifting could net gain a few pounds while my fat boy past has the real possibility of sneaking in and returning a few previously deleted pounds.