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.

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.