According to my intuitive programming, yesterday was the last day before the USAPL meet July 31st to try a 1RM squat. I've been worried about walking out a big PR attempt, so I decided to squat with 40 pounds of chain on the bar. Chain is great stuff. It tries to jerk you around and is therefore good for working on stability, and since it de-loads at the bottom, it forces an explosive start. If you've got 385 pounds of bar weight at the bottom, and you apply 385 pounds of force, you're going to get stuck when links start coming off the floor.
I was again squatting with K.S. with C.H. assisting us.
It proceeded thusly:
45 x 5
45 + chains x 5
135 + chains x 5
185 + chains x 3 wrist wraps on
225 + chains x 3
275 + chains x 1
315 + chains x 1 belt on
345 + chains x 1 loose wraps on
375 + chains x 1 tight wraps on
(385 + chains x 1) missed on depth, I was about an inch high.
After months of training, which has been a grind at times, I have something to be happy about, and I was. The 415 top / 375 bottom squat was good, and while my last attempt was high, I felt good with 425 pounds on my back.
I think I can make the depth problem go away. I have stayed away from wraps in training, and I think my CNS is just trying to do its job of protecting me; it's trying to shut me down early because it doesn't know the wraps are going to give me a pop out of the bottom position.
C.H. asked me what I'm going to try at the meet, and when I told him 340, 370, 400, he didn't hesitate before saying simply, "410." With that attitude, which coincidentally is exactly the same as mine, I now have full faith in his ability to handle me at the meet. I'm still going to open 340, and I'm going to let him call my second and third attempts with the sole condition that no matter what happens on the second attempt, the third has to be at least 400. I've decided I don't even want to know what's on the bar. This will be the first time I'll be able to lift and not think, and I'm going to enjoy it thoroughly.
While I'm done with max effort singles, I will have a final high volume, high intensity day Sunday.
I have no idea what will happen at the meet. This time, however, I'm sure that I will be fully prepared for a big PR day when I'm on the platform.
Possibly, just possibly, people wonder what I'm thinking when I talk to the bar. Certainly not always, but more often than not I'm thinking about my heart rate and then nothing. I've learned that watching my heart rate gives me the easiest way to monitor my arousal level. What I'm happiest of all about this last session is that even with 425/385 my arousal level was right around 7 on a 0-10 scale. Absolutely perfect for training.
I haven't found the perfect level for a competition squat, but I suspect it's right about 9.25. Just like I do with you, I cue myself when squatting. I watch myself very carefully during every warm-up rep and see where the problems are. Sometimes, and the more I practice the more this happens, everything is right on, I'm in the groove, and I can just feel myself squat with no self-coaching. Still too frequently though, I will be falling forward, so my most frequent self - cues are the same "back" and "chest up" you hear from me. Not so many times now, and especially with knee wraps on, do I need to give myself, "knees out." At any rate, I've found I need to have room in my head for two cues, and trying to squat on 10 crowds all the thinking out. I think the two contributing factors in my near-death squat last November were unequally wound wraps, and trying to squat on 10.
I leave you with a profuse apology that I can't explain what I'm thinking about when I want to crank the arousal above 7. It's a non-verbal thing for me, and the best way I can describe it is unfocused aggression. I suppose it feels a bit like I'm bracing myself for the impact of the final, big meteor.
I'm worried now that my longer term thinking is drifting all over the place. I've caught myself thinking about what happens after I squat 455. Sometimes I think about how a mere 90 more pounds would be a triple body weight squat, and sometimes I think it would be both awesome and good for my rowing to increase my 20RM from its current 245 to 315. What I'm forgetting in all this, of course, is that I haven't squatted 400 yet.
Shut the fuck up, listen to C.H., and do my job which is to squat whatever is on the bar.
I don't control fate and yet I feel that something beautiful is about to happen.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Nullumficken
One of the downfalls of living in the United States is that for the most part we speak English. I like English - I majored in it - but it tries to make an entirely new, unique word for every idea that wants expressing. Often I'm partial to German with its tendency to take as many existing words as necessary, smash them together, and come up with a compound noun.
Thus we have "Nullumficken," which means, of course, zero fucking around.
I've been accused of many things: possessing animal intensity; shooting synthetic testosterone - yes this accusation has actually been made semi-publicly; being in general a jerk - which may not be entirely untrue; and more.
In truth, the only thing I do is access Nullumfickigkeit when it becomes necessary.
I've always been good at short duration Nullumfickigkeit, the stuff that let's me erg a sub 90 second 500 when a 1:40 would hurt me every bit as badly as it does anyone else, when I know that two hours later people will still be asking me if I'm okay, and when I know they'll walk away thinking I'm a jerk.
Like a twenty minute AMRAP, a 6,000 meter row, and other things I hate, longer duration Nullumfickigkeit is harder for me. What I've found is that registering for a competition and paying for it helps me find whatever Dauerhaftnullumfickigkeit I can.
After registering to compete at 181.75 July 31st, I was mortified to weigh myself at 188.6 this morning. Normally when people say, and they always do, that they want to lose ten pounds, I give them the soul-piercing gaze just long enough to ascertain that they're serious, then I walk away. Sure I'm a jerk, but weight loss goals only make sense for those few thousand people in the US who compete in body weight division sports.
So for the next three weeks I'll have to forgo the 33,000 calories I would have ingested in the form of heavy whipping cream, and eat the chicken, salmon, and broccoli. I won't enjoy this, and I'll probably be a jerk. You will do whatever it is you do, but I'd suggest you get close enough to me to feel the Nullumfickigkeit while staying far enough away to avoid the jerkiness.
Or you could do nothing.
Looking at my log, I see it's been 370 days since L5 went shooting across the room on a dead lift gone wrong. I've blocked that out as best I can, and therefore I can't exactly remember what I was doing a year ago, but knowing me I was probably trying to hit parallel on a squat with a 15 pound training bar. I'm sure I wasn't attempting the empty 45 pound bar yet.
I also see that on L5 day, my 1rm bench was 225 pounds. Yesterday I hit a paused 255. 30 pounds in a year, or 2.5 pounds a month. I admit it's tempting to scream at the sky and ask why not 50 pounds, but I've been doing this long enough to know that 30 pounds a year adds up, and that in any case it's better than regressing and adding to the obesity epidemic.
I think I'll not lift at the August meet, but concentrate on coaching which is really the more important part of my coach/athlete job.
All of which means let me know if you want to have pancakes, peanut butter cups, and root beer August 1st.
There is a limit to how much I can avoid fucking around, and if I hit 400, you might find me delightfully non-jerky.
Thus we have "Nullumficken," which means, of course, zero fucking around.
I've been accused of many things: possessing animal intensity; shooting synthetic testosterone - yes this accusation has actually been made semi-publicly; being in general a jerk - which may not be entirely untrue; and more.
In truth, the only thing I do is access Nullumfickigkeit when it becomes necessary.
I've always been good at short duration Nullumfickigkeit, the stuff that let's me erg a sub 90 second 500 when a 1:40 would hurt me every bit as badly as it does anyone else, when I know that two hours later people will still be asking me if I'm okay, and when I know they'll walk away thinking I'm a jerk.
Like a twenty minute AMRAP, a 6,000 meter row, and other things I hate, longer duration Nullumfickigkeit is harder for me. What I've found is that registering for a competition and paying for it helps me find whatever Dauerhaftnullumfickigkeit I can.
After registering to compete at 181.75 July 31st, I was mortified to weigh myself at 188.6 this morning. Normally when people say, and they always do, that they want to lose ten pounds, I give them the soul-piercing gaze just long enough to ascertain that they're serious, then I walk away. Sure I'm a jerk, but weight loss goals only make sense for those few thousand people in the US who compete in body weight division sports.
So for the next three weeks I'll have to forgo the 33,000 calories I would have ingested in the form of heavy whipping cream, and eat the chicken, salmon, and broccoli. I won't enjoy this, and I'll probably be a jerk. You will do whatever it is you do, but I'd suggest you get close enough to me to feel the Nullumfickigkeit while staying far enough away to avoid the jerkiness.
Or you could do nothing.
Looking at my log, I see it's been 370 days since L5 went shooting across the room on a dead lift gone wrong. I've blocked that out as best I can, and therefore I can't exactly remember what I was doing a year ago, but knowing me I was probably trying to hit parallel on a squat with a 15 pound training bar. I'm sure I wasn't attempting the empty 45 pound bar yet.
I also see that on L5 day, my 1rm bench was 225 pounds. Yesterday I hit a paused 255. 30 pounds in a year, or 2.5 pounds a month. I admit it's tempting to scream at the sky and ask why not 50 pounds, but I've been doing this long enough to know that 30 pounds a year adds up, and that in any case it's better than regressing and adding to the obesity epidemic.
I think I'll not lift at the August meet, but concentrate on coaching which is really the more important part of my coach/athlete job.
All of which means let me know if you want to have pancakes, peanut butter cups, and root beer August 1st.
There is a limit to how much I can avoid fucking around, and if I hit 400, you might find me delightfully non-jerky.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Squatting, Sculling, and the RTD Project
After deciding to compete in the USAPL meet July 31st, I realized my current cycle is of course not set up to peak at the end of July. Because of that, I've left my program behind and I'm lifting intuitively which can actually work quite well if you have enough experience to feel what your body wants to do.
Tuesday I was squatting with K.S., and it went:
45 x 5
135 x 5
185 x 3
225 x 3 wrist wraps on
275 x 3
315 x 1 wrist wraps and belt
345 x 1
375 x 1 wrist wraps, belt and EFS Heavies on
375 was easy, and I quit with 400 in the tank. C.H. has agreed to handle me at the meet, and he's going to be good at it. On his first try he got the knee wraps tight enough to leave bruises, and he promises to improve before the meet.
I'm not sure what I'll do next week, but I might hit a single for 395-405, or if it feels right I might single 375 with one set of chains - 375 bottom, 415 top. I'm sure I can smash 400 at the meet, but the walk-out in wraps is death-defying. 375 with chains trying to knock me over might be the way to go.
On 7/17 I'm going to try a squat cluster, probably 340 x 25 in 2's and 3's trying to keep the time under 25 minutes. After that it's just eating ultra-clean and making sure I come in at 181 pounds.
Sculling was fantastic today. On reflection, I can't say my quad is good, but we're much less amateurish than we were two or three weeks ago. I think I'm a natural born stroke, but I rowed in three today which wasn't bad, and we're thinking about putting me in bow again. As a coach/athlete, I try to shut the hell up and do what I'm told in the boat, which I can usually do, but I'm also simultaneously critiquing Coach Deb McCabe. It is amazing to watch how the right cue can transform me from a monkey to a reasonably proficient sculler. I'm trying to catch some of this coaching voodoo and use it in my own practice.
I continue to be angry on a daily basis over things that shouldn't affect me. I'm sure the long term solution is to keep reading Marcus Aurelias and associating with the fantastic people around me. Since that might take a while, a lifetime or more, I've decided to launch the RTD project. With the way my body feels, I've been thinking about an early retirement from power lifting after I squat 455 at 181, but now I want to squat 500 and do it in a sheltered RTD bus stop.
If I can do one thing before I die, I want to show people that they don't need Five Fingers, Progenix, Max Muscle, carpeted toilet seats, chrome faucets, 3-D televisions, constant hand holding, endless shit talk, and so on. Seriously, just shut up and try anything. Preferably for more than two weeks.
Of course I'm aware that things are never as bad as I tend to think they are. I taught Finn Walden to head-bang today, and that's pretty good.
Tuesday I was squatting with K.S., and it went:
45 x 5
135 x 5
185 x 3
225 x 3 wrist wraps on
275 x 3
315 x 1 wrist wraps and belt
345 x 1
375 x 1 wrist wraps, belt and EFS Heavies on
375 was easy, and I quit with 400 in the tank. C.H. has agreed to handle me at the meet, and he's going to be good at it. On his first try he got the knee wraps tight enough to leave bruises, and he promises to improve before the meet.
I'm not sure what I'll do next week, but I might hit a single for 395-405, or if it feels right I might single 375 with one set of chains - 375 bottom, 415 top. I'm sure I can smash 400 at the meet, but the walk-out in wraps is death-defying. 375 with chains trying to knock me over might be the way to go.
On 7/17 I'm going to try a squat cluster, probably 340 x 25 in 2's and 3's trying to keep the time under 25 minutes. After that it's just eating ultra-clean and making sure I come in at 181 pounds.
Sculling was fantastic today. On reflection, I can't say my quad is good, but we're much less amateurish than we were two or three weeks ago. I think I'm a natural born stroke, but I rowed in three today which wasn't bad, and we're thinking about putting me in bow again. As a coach/athlete, I try to shut the hell up and do what I'm told in the boat, which I can usually do, but I'm also simultaneously critiquing Coach Deb McCabe. It is amazing to watch how the right cue can transform me from a monkey to a reasonably proficient sculler. I'm trying to catch some of this coaching voodoo and use it in my own practice.
I continue to be angry on a daily basis over things that shouldn't affect me. I'm sure the long term solution is to keep reading Marcus Aurelias and associating with the fantastic people around me. Since that might take a while, a lifetime or more, I've decided to launch the RTD project. With the way my body feels, I've been thinking about an early retirement from power lifting after I squat 455 at 181, but now I want to squat 500 and do it in a sheltered RTD bus stop.
If I can do one thing before I die, I want to show people that they don't need Five Fingers, Progenix, Max Muscle, carpeted toilet seats, chrome faucets, 3-D televisions, constant hand holding, endless shit talk, and so on. Seriously, just shut up and try anything. Preferably for more than two weeks.
Of course I'm aware that things are never as bad as I tend to think they are. I taught Finn Walden to head-bang today, and that's pretty good.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Surfing
Miyamoto Musashi said, "There is no Way that can be approached and petitioned for immediate gratification. The Universe does not work that way. How could it and at the same time expect any perfection to develop?"
Which explains why, when the guy pulled next to me at 287 and 45th in Loveland and said, "dude, I dream of that mustache," I replied, "no problem, it just takes a year." True I have an innate talent for not shaving, but even so a year is not bad. Sometimes I wish everything were that easy, but then I couldn't rightfully expect any awesomeness to develop, and I'd have to trade my Musashi for coca-cola and reality TV.
And sometimes too I read my Herman Melville. Specifically the part about it being a cold rainy November of the soul and needing to go whaling.
And while I'd like to go whaling, or at least go back to sea for a year or two, that's impractical, so I try to figure things out.
Just about when E.W. linked the CrossFit Lisbeth blog about training alone on my Facebook page, I knew it was time to ditch my partners and squat again. Over time you learn that Dave Tate is right: there are only three ways a lift can go wrong; physiological, technical, or mental. I kept putting weight on the bar until I was sure my problem is entirely mental.
I'm going to continue my solitary dialog with my demons. Sorry, the public is not invited.
I could live with most of the demons, but that motherfucker who asks why I get out of bed and even try doing anything is killing me.
And that's why I had to go surfing. I don't surf, although I'm sure I will when my two years at sea end with me in Rio de Janeiro, but the jiu-jitsu guys in Rio surf, so with my perhaps perverted logic I'm sure I can get the same restorative benefits by playing some jiu-jitsu.
I learned I can still beat white belts, and that I'm still not a dick because after using my arm-drag fan sweep at will a few times, I taught my partner how to do it and had him try it on me.
But more importantly, I learned that 280 pound purple-belt Big Richie can still beat me just as effortlessly. Probably sometime I'll compete in another tournament, but regardless I still train as if I'm getting ready for a competition which means while I don't do anything completely idiotic, I don't immediately tap out when I'm caught in a submission. So even after Big Richie beat my attempt to posture out of his triangle choke, I tried to hang on. If you've been here as many times as I have, you can be completely calm while you're being strangled. I felt the familiar dizziness come back and watched my peripheral vision blacken in ever tightening circles as I stared down the tunnel.
And there you remember you don't have problems. You only have a problem. While it's not today, you're going to die.
You can take the demons out for a 64 ounce dumb-fucker gulp and listen to their soothing lies about how being spherical is entirely normal, or you can meet them on your own ground where you might, possibly, be a hero just for one day.
Which explains why, when the guy pulled next to me at 287 and 45th in Loveland and said, "dude, I dream of that mustache," I replied, "no problem, it just takes a year." True I have an innate talent for not shaving, but even so a year is not bad. Sometimes I wish everything were that easy, but then I couldn't rightfully expect any awesomeness to develop, and I'd have to trade my Musashi for coca-cola and reality TV.
And sometimes too I read my Herman Melville. Specifically the part about it being a cold rainy November of the soul and needing to go whaling.
And while I'd like to go whaling, or at least go back to sea for a year or two, that's impractical, so I try to figure things out.
Just about when E.W. linked the CrossFit Lisbeth blog about training alone on my Facebook page, I knew it was time to ditch my partners and squat again. Over time you learn that Dave Tate is right: there are only three ways a lift can go wrong; physiological, technical, or mental. I kept putting weight on the bar until I was sure my problem is entirely mental.
I'm going to continue my solitary dialog with my demons. Sorry, the public is not invited.
I could live with most of the demons, but that motherfucker who asks why I get out of bed and even try doing anything is killing me.
And that's why I had to go surfing. I don't surf, although I'm sure I will when my two years at sea end with me in Rio de Janeiro, but the jiu-jitsu guys in Rio surf, so with my perhaps perverted logic I'm sure I can get the same restorative benefits by playing some jiu-jitsu.
I learned I can still beat white belts, and that I'm still not a dick because after using my arm-drag fan sweep at will a few times, I taught my partner how to do it and had him try it on me.
But more importantly, I learned that 280 pound purple-belt Big Richie can still beat me just as effortlessly. Probably sometime I'll compete in another tournament, but regardless I still train as if I'm getting ready for a competition which means while I don't do anything completely idiotic, I don't immediately tap out when I'm caught in a submission. So even after Big Richie beat my attempt to posture out of his triangle choke, I tried to hang on. If you've been here as many times as I have, you can be completely calm while you're being strangled. I felt the familiar dizziness come back and watched my peripheral vision blacken in ever tightening circles as I stared down the tunnel.
And there you remember you don't have problems. You only have a problem. While it's not today, you're going to die.
You can take the demons out for a 64 ounce dumb-fucker gulp and listen to their soothing lies about how being spherical is entirely normal, or you can meet them on your own ground where you might, possibly, be a hero just for one day.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Things I Hate, Two Rules and an Afterthought
Yes, there are things I hate:
lifting at 6:30 am,
the creatine-coffee cocktail,
the cattle prod to the hips sensation,
the cattle prod to the low back sensation; that one is just scary,
the sensation of pvc on IT band, although in a masochistic way I like this one,
the feeling that my right wrist is going to break,
being in knee wraps one second too long,
drinking enough water,
going to bed on time,
eating enough when it gets hot, which to me is now already,
eating one pound of Greek yogurt after lifting,
eating the quarter pound of Greek yogurt from my mustache; that's 11 grams of protein,
eating half a doughnut when I want two and know that even though this is a rare abuse, I should stop at a quarter doughnut,
walking up a flight of stairs and feeling like a normal person does halfway through 100 overhead squats at 75 pounds,
eating two cans of Spam because I blew my cooking and I still need protein,
getting advice from the guy who took his squat from 100 to 150 pounds; that's great man, I stopped being able to drive up my squat by walking to the mailbox a few years ago. Could you maybe experience the intermediate grind for a year or more and then maybe actually do a pull-up before you help me out?
people who don't understand lifts are performed on a platform in front of three judges,
and so on.
What I hate more than anything is never having turned around and seen three white lights on a 2.5 x body weight squat.
Yet.
And so here I am.
Rule #1: if you're not training with me, don't talk to me.
Exception to rule #1: look at the barbell. If you're comfortable with that much weight being dropped on your face, I'm comfortable with your chatter.
Rule #2: I touch the barbell, I lift the barbell. That's my job. It's the barbell's job to prove me wrong if it can. That is the real difference between me and most other people. They tell tell the barbell why they can't lift it, and I demand the barbell tell me why I can't lift it.
Afterthought: don't take me as arrogant. Part of the job of the intermediate is to know who the experts are. I know. Those guys cost a lot, more than I do, and when I can find a way, I'll be off to see them.
lifting at 6:30 am,
the creatine-coffee cocktail,
the cattle prod to the hips sensation,
the cattle prod to the low back sensation; that one is just scary,
the sensation of pvc on IT band, although in a masochistic way I like this one,
the feeling that my right wrist is going to break,
being in knee wraps one second too long,
drinking enough water,
going to bed on time,
eating enough when it gets hot, which to me is now already,
eating one pound of Greek yogurt after lifting,
eating the quarter pound of Greek yogurt from my mustache; that's 11 grams of protein,
eating half a doughnut when I want two and know that even though this is a rare abuse, I should stop at a quarter doughnut,
walking up a flight of stairs and feeling like a normal person does halfway through 100 overhead squats at 75 pounds,
eating two cans of Spam because I blew my cooking and I still need protein,
getting advice from the guy who took his squat from 100 to 150 pounds; that's great man, I stopped being able to drive up my squat by walking to the mailbox a few years ago. Could you maybe experience the intermediate grind for a year or more and then maybe actually do a pull-up before you help me out?
people who don't understand lifts are performed on a platform in front of three judges,
and so on.
What I hate more than anything is never having turned around and seen three white lights on a 2.5 x body weight squat.
Yet.
And so here I am.
Rule #1: if you're not training with me, don't talk to me.
Exception to rule #1: look at the barbell. If you're comfortable with that much weight being dropped on your face, I'm comfortable with your chatter.
Rule #2: I touch the barbell, I lift the barbell. That's my job. It's the barbell's job to prove me wrong if it can. That is the real difference between me and most other people. They tell tell the barbell why they can't lift it, and I demand the barbell tell me why I can't lift it.
Afterthought: don't take me as arrogant. Part of the job of the intermediate is to know who the experts are. I know. Those guys cost a lot, more than I do, and when I can find a way, I'll be off to see them.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Beginners
I've been thinking it was time for a blog, and I've had plenty on my mind lately. Unfortunately it's mostly been angry stuff dealing mainly with people who can't differentiate between running their mouths incessantly and actually doing something. I have to admit though, that as yet I have nothing constructive to say, so perhaps I can be an example of shutting up and trying something, indeed anything.
I used to think that loyalty was my only character flaw; if I like you, that's it, we're down for life. I realize now that I'm also too honest. When someone completely fails to perform a clean, for example, and asks me if I'm laughing at them, I have to admit I am.
Here's the thing: you're a beginner, I see the universal beginner in you, and believe me, I remember when I was a beginner. And sometimes when I'm lucky I get to be a beginner still.
I've been learning to scull which in theory should be almost the same as rowing an erg, but in practice at times feels hopeless to me. It's the same legs, back, arms three part movement as erging but with a few minor tweaks that are more than enough to render me incompetent. If coach wants me to do something with my hands, I forget I have a back and legs. If she wants me to do something with my back, I forget I have arms and legs, and of course if she wants me to do something with my legs I forget I have back and arms.
Almost exactly the same way you can do all the parts of a clean progression and still fail miserably to clean.
But this should be fun, guys. You'll never make faster progress than when you first start, and as long as you're not injuring yourself, you're doing your body good. Consider if you will, and you must because this is after all my blog, the squat. I've put a good part of my body, mind, and soul into learning the squat for close to two years now. I am good, but I'm far from perfect and still working on my technique. If I work with you one hour, I'll probably laugh at you, but you will already have 85% of my technique and be able to squat safely and effectively. If you want to work with me a second hour, you'll have 95% of what I know and probably add an instant 20-50 pounds to your squat. There's really no point in doing a third hour. You might as well sign up for two years.
You will have enjoyed your two hours as a beginner.
I'll love you.
I'm loyal.
I used to think that loyalty was my only character flaw; if I like you, that's it, we're down for life. I realize now that I'm also too honest. When someone completely fails to perform a clean, for example, and asks me if I'm laughing at them, I have to admit I am.
Here's the thing: you're a beginner, I see the universal beginner in you, and believe me, I remember when I was a beginner. And sometimes when I'm lucky I get to be a beginner still.
I've been learning to scull which in theory should be almost the same as rowing an erg, but in practice at times feels hopeless to me. It's the same legs, back, arms three part movement as erging but with a few minor tweaks that are more than enough to render me incompetent. If coach wants me to do something with my hands, I forget I have a back and legs. If she wants me to do something with my back, I forget I have arms and legs, and of course if she wants me to do something with my legs I forget I have back and arms.
Almost exactly the same way you can do all the parts of a clean progression and still fail miserably to clean.
But this should be fun, guys. You'll never make faster progress than when you first start, and as long as you're not injuring yourself, you're doing your body good. Consider if you will, and you must because this is after all my blog, the squat. I've put a good part of my body, mind, and soul into learning the squat for close to two years now. I am good, but I'm far from perfect and still working on my technique. If I work with you one hour, I'll probably laugh at you, but you will already have 85% of my technique and be able to squat safely and effectively. If you want to work with me a second hour, you'll have 95% of what I know and probably add an instant 20-50 pounds to your squat. There's really no point in doing a third hour. You might as well sign up for two years.
You will have enjoyed your two hours as a beginner.
I'll love you.
I'm loyal.
Friday, May 20, 2011
267,082 Meters
From the C2 online log:
James Drebenstedt's Logbook
267,082m
Sorry, I was going to stop cleanly at a quarter million meters, but then I got the idea to row a half-marathon and I overshot by seventeen thousand. But that's not such a horrible margin of error for an advanced beginner.
I've done each of these meters since last October when I decided to get good at indoor rowing, and in the process I've learned a few things.
I've learned, for instance, that: the damper goes on 7; optimal cruising rate is 27 strokes per minute; I can keep decent form and generate power at 41 strokes per minute for 30 seconds or so; most of a 500 meter piece will be rowed in the mid - thirties per minute range; the last 150 meters of anything will be rowed at 22 strokes per minute which is where my power output is highest and it's nearly lethal to sustain that for 150 meters; nothing, absolutely nothing, hurts as bad as a maximal effort 500 meter sprint, and, yes, there really is probably something wrong with me for making this my chosen art form; and so on.
And all this of course means nothing unless you happen to be 5'10", weigh 190 - though claiming 181, can make an honest claim to be an anaerobic bad ass yet have to concede you're an aerobic wimp, and so on.
You'll have to row your own quarter million meters if you want to be an advanced beginner like me.
Probably and properly the subject here should be power lifting, but it would take me a long time to figure out how many tons I've lifted in the last half year or so, and I'm sure it wouldn't be 250,000 which sounds so good.
So here's what I propose - figure out what you want to be better at, figure out how to get better, and start doing it. I have to warn you that you'll have to make concessions to get good at something, and you can likely only get good at one thing though I admit I am attempting to take on two simultaneously.
Two years ago I was heavily into CrossFit and running 25 or so miles a week also. I weighed 167 pounds, and I have never felt better physically in my life. It was a huge concession for me to push my body weight up while becoming slower and feeling worse physically. On the other hand, I feel great psychologically; while I can't run away from as many threats as I used to, I'm capable of picking up, twisting, and casting aside more threats. I just had to make a decision which way I wanted it and then pursue my course of action relentlessly.
More things I've learned in 18 months of heavy lifting, and half a year of indoor rowing:
you might have to do your shit at 6:30am, or some equally inconvenient time
no one will ever quite understand why you do your shit
there will always be a few people who are so into their own awesome shit, that they will recognize your drive and help you out even though they won't quite understand you
yes, they will even do this at 6:30am
grow the mustache, the people who like you like you for who you are, and anyway, they don't notice the mustache until they first see the Greek yogurt smeared across your hoodie and the chalk on your sweats
chalk is good, ammonia is better
coffee and creatine ethyl-ester don't mix - it doesn't matter; it's 6:30 am, you don't know what you're ingesting, and you're on your way to being an awesome advanced beginner which is a fuck of a lot better than hanging out with your critics in continued mediocrity.
James Drebenstedt's Logbook
267,082m
Sorry, I was going to stop cleanly at a quarter million meters, but then I got the idea to row a half-marathon and I overshot by seventeen thousand. But that's not such a horrible margin of error for an advanced beginner.
I've done each of these meters since last October when I decided to get good at indoor rowing, and in the process I've learned a few things.
I've learned, for instance, that: the damper goes on 7; optimal cruising rate is 27 strokes per minute; I can keep decent form and generate power at 41 strokes per minute for 30 seconds or so; most of a 500 meter piece will be rowed in the mid - thirties per minute range; the last 150 meters of anything will be rowed at 22 strokes per minute which is where my power output is highest and it's nearly lethal to sustain that for 150 meters; nothing, absolutely nothing, hurts as bad as a maximal effort 500 meter sprint, and, yes, there really is probably something wrong with me for making this my chosen art form; and so on.
And all this of course means nothing unless you happen to be 5'10", weigh 190 - though claiming 181, can make an honest claim to be an anaerobic bad ass yet have to concede you're an aerobic wimp, and so on.
You'll have to row your own quarter million meters if you want to be an advanced beginner like me.
Probably and properly the subject here should be power lifting, but it would take me a long time to figure out how many tons I've lifted in the last half year or so, and I'm sure it wouldn't be 250,000 which sounds so good.
So here's what I propose - figure out what you want to be better at, figure out how to get better, and start doing it. I have to warn you that you'll have to make concessions to get good at something, and you can likely only get good at one thing though I admit I am attempting to take on two simultaneously.
Two years ago I was heavily into CrossFit and running 25 or so miles a week also. I weighed 167 pounds, and I have never felt better physically in my life. It was a huge concession for me to push my body weight up while becoming slower and feeling worse physically. On the other hand, I feel great psychologically; while I can't run away from as many threats as I used to, I'm capable of picking up, twisting, and casting aside more threats. I just had to make a decision which way I wanted it and then pursue my course of action relentlessly.
More things I've learned in 18 months of heavy lifting, and half a year of indoor rowing:
you might have to do your shit at 6:30am, or some equally inconvenient time
no one will ever quite understand why you do your shit
there will always be a few people who are so into their own awesome shit, that they will recognize your drive and help you out even though they won't quite understand you
yes, they will even do this at 6:30am
grow the mustache, the people who like you like you for who you are, and anyway, they don't notice the mustache until they first see the Greek yogurt smeared across your hoodie and the chalk on your sweats
chalk is good, ammonia is better
coffee and creatine ethyl-ester don't mix - it doesn't matter; it's 6:30 am, you don't know what you're ingesting, and you're on your way to being an awesome advanced beginner which is a fuck of a lot better than hanging out with your critics in continued mediocrity.
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