I ain't no swine!

"Do as I say, not as I do, because I have done it already fool!"
                                                     -an excerpt from Achieving ODJ

As a member of Generation X I have seen, experienced and participated in the rise of the coddled ego. Insert your own examples of entitlement cliches. Getting called on the carpet for not getting things done is how changes are made; not by sofa sulking and sucking down a side of excuses. Excuses are why there are so many holes in modern belts and defense lawyers. Example of a recent conversation between the commander of crush and I.
    JBK: When was the last time you did a body fat test?
                      ...Need to monitor lean body mass.
    JT: I need to get on that... I'll report back.
    JBK: You know I mentioned this a while back...?
    JT: Yep. Just like my dentist mentioned flossing.
                      ...Slipping on both.
    JBK: Understandable on the flossing.
    (pause)
    JBK: You do what I say! Get on that.
    JT: Dayz a gett'n longer...
             Mass'r got me work'n...
                 Someday he set me free.
    JBK: Now you got the program!
For those just joining this blog, Jaron does not throw out exclamation points willy-nilly. Needless to say, I was in the gym the next morning logging my body fat and weight. See folks, even though Jaron and I are friends and contemporaries, he is an expert in his field and I ain't no swine. When pearls are cast before me, the ego is checked at the door and I get back on track to execute the plan set in place.

Post Script:
In time for beach and club scene season, the Shameless Commerce Division of NFJP is pleased to announce the arrival of our latest swag; The ODJ. Thanks you Jaron for modeling the tar sands black version. For a nominal fee you can have your very own... please contact us via the comment section for order details.

This ain't yo mama's double dutch

Cheap scotch and hip hop.

There's an apartment for rent,

inquire within.

When JT moves out,

let Jaron in!

 

When Jaron sent out the fourth phase of hypertrophy four weeks past, with an emphasis given to gaining vertical leap, I nearly LOL'd him out of the building when I read two weekly circuits of jump rope. Who the freak does he think I am; a third grader competing in the President's Fitness Challenge? Oh how wrong I have been... Black magic has nothing on the demonic spell he cast over my calves and knees. The devil's herd is currently knife fighting in my lower hinges.

 

At the end of the first and third workouts, a twenty minute jump roping set is the designated cardio. During the past eight workouts with jump rope assignments I have yet to make it more than two minutes straight with out stopping for either, a calf seizure, a near arch collapse, a shin-smacking rope miscue, or all of the above. Over the past month, my twenty minutes of jump rope has been subdivided into six rounds of three minutes. The first thirty seconds is a pre-set rest phase (to make sure the Pandora connections is solid). Then the trailing two-thirty is a monkey boy uncoordinated pogo. Laugh it up! Drop a comment if you make it more than one-thirty and cursing all things sacred.

 

Post Script

Next post will be the official launch of our merchandise line for The ODJ. Unlike earning your Insanity T-shirt, we are shamelessly selling swag to fund our citrus addiction.

 



Lesson in Bro

Spend enough time around the Homo Sapien sub-class of Lifter Erectus Neandertha TapOutcus, one can easily identify them in a crowded gym or an ultra dance club. My field studies are continually evolving as the body of research has yet to flush out a solid thesis statement on this group I have commonly nicknamed; Brotastic Liftard. However, my laziness has shortened the sub-class name down to Brotard (pronounced, bro-tard).

Good news! Legal counsel just sent me this text message... The Noble Prize committee has approved publishimg a portion of your research, it fits the poorly vetted blogosphere. Top Five!

1. The Brotard herd is drawn to the gym between the hours of 4:00-6:30 p.m. to maximize narcissistic buoy.
2. Individuals are protected from the common man's eye contact by their lightweight Under Armour hoodies.
3. To add another layer of D-baggery, Brotards walk around between sets with their Beats by Dr Dre headphones resting on their temples. A metaphor for the shock therapy needed to cure these knuckle dragging apes.
4. A sampling of the Chinese characters tattooed on their rib cages are loosely translated;  "Sucka!", "You Want More Beef and Broccoli?", "Bed Wetter", and "This Idiot Doesn't Know What I'm Tattooing!" 
5. Cardio is for chicks and dudes without back acne.

Happy Mother's Day to Mama JT and Mama ODJ!



The Ant King and the Elephant Court

I would not know what 37 years old felt like even if the Apple Store had a pod cast entitled "Growing Old for Dummies." But I can say with near certainty that age may be a state of mind to most, to me it is an angry demented compressed L7 and aching knees at 4:30 in the morning. Even though western culture is youth centric, it is a privilege to age. Hopefully not aging to the point of adult diapers, debating the Easter Bunny why the kids wont stop by, and screaming at the Nurse Ratched to alphabetize my meds. So as long as I'm still the ant king to the voices, lets enjoy this journey of words documenting personal greatness.

On a dietary note; I have been off the hard stuff, sugary sodas for nine months. Caffeine got dropped in 2007. However, I drank A&W Root Beer and Sprite by the tanker. When the mad scientist of body building set up my list of "to don'ts," the fully leaded drinks were top of the list. Fearing that my only remaining vice would be subjugated to Minute Maid Lemonade Lite (10 calories per 8oz serving) and water, Jaron convinced me to try diet versions of my favorites. He saved my sanity! Now I have a few menu: Sprite Zero, Diet A&W Root Beer, and the classic Caffeine Free Diet Coke. For three point five decades I had avoided the weak sauce of the soda world, but now that my eyes are opened to new things; what else could I experiment with? Country music!?!... I'll be right back.

 

No way in hel-icopter! There is no life changing event that will ever get me to consume that garbage. Worse than drinking a Limburger cheese shake through a toe jam straw.

 

Post script:

In two weeks the "5-Minute Wall Sit" challenge will be attempted. A challenge not sponsored or commissioned through the Body by ODJ program; but one that he condones. This will be a non-man-card challenge. No points can be gained or deducted for success or failure. But I will be damned if I fail! If I do, you can bet a week's lunch money on me trying and trying and trying to hide all evidence the challenge was ever attempted... destroying DVR evidence and paying off weight room staff.  

135 pound time bomb (the Skrillex Remix)

Bucket List Item #124:
Answer this question: What is it like to live with out knees?

Ever since Saturday's leg workout my body's lower half has physiologically revolted. I am now a threat to myself. Unable to climb or descend stairs upright, unable to out run a parked car, or bend over to pick up any object affected by gravity. All because of two sets of fifteen squats with 135 pounds on my shoulders. The mad man of physical fitness has dialed my number on this hypertrophy phase. Night sweats and bathroom screams.

I fear adult protective services will get a call from concerned neighbors as I moan in a zombie like shuffle from the front door to the mail box over the next few weeks. No right minded, tax paying suburanite will allow my daily death march to go unpunished. Those ninnies are going to sick the unholy HOA on me!

To make matters worse, just today I had to take a running head-start to clear the 6" curb in front of Office Depot. Imagine the Tin Man with a Forest Gump accent stiff legging across a parking lot, trying not to draw attention to a home grown involuntary Parkour. That feat of embarrassment was only matched by the evil stink-eye Mr. Suburban Strip Mall rent-a-cop gave me as I whiniest in accomplishment. I better get out of here before this pig-faced screw puts me under arrest for suspicion of public intoxication!

Does that donut pillow come in Rebel Red?

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."

Jump the Shark

Jaron and I recently launched a new business venture to compete with the gluten free equivalent to endurance competitions; the Tough Mudder. We're calling it, "The ODJ: More of a mindset than a cult." Instead of paying $100 dollars to get an ice cube enema and commando crawling through Mother Nature's intestinal fluid with four of your best friends; we're offering a free gauntlet of pointless yuppie accomplishments. Bring your own GoPro to capture a YouTube worthy counter view point to our heavily doctored footage and overly dubbed heckling of your team's performance. (Think, Mysterious Science Theater 3000 meets The Gong Show.)

Google the obstacles we will be featuring; not responsible for any HR or marital troubles the images may bring.

• The Awkward Man-on-Man bear hug relay... a timed event, scored on duration and level of deferred embarrassment.
• Reverse Rio Grande drug mule swim with the optional coyote upgrade.
• Blindfold Roman candle dueling.
• Midget tossing. (so politically incorrect it requires a liability waiver and pre-race sensitivity training.)
• A fun run through Riverside County's meth villages with life-time supply vouchers for Sudafed, Drano, brake fluid and Ether, duct taped to your day-glow metallic jump suit. Them dirt people are attracted to shiny objects.
• (All ties will be settled by the Electronic White Rabbit Kool-Aid Spa Challenge... winner goes to the person who's heart stops last after the radio drops)  

Remember folks, a squirrelly person can learn to cope with things like seeing their buddy crawling up a river of pooh with a plastic knife in his teeth, but nobody should be asked to handle this corporate trip. Tough Mudder is what the whole hip world would be doing every Saturday morning if the British had won the war. Union Jacks and poor dental hygiene.

post script... I was trapped in a LAX hotel all last week with crappy food, piss poor work out equipment, and a ton of day dreaming time to work on our new venture.