Senior RKC Mark "Rif" Riefkind posted this on his blog. It got me to thinkin'. Arnold was the single most influential fitness figure in my young mind from the earliest years I can remember until, well, I read The Russian Kettlebell Challenge. The guy had some swagger, and some size on him, which was amplified by the smile he always wore, content like a statue, knowing that what he did for a living was lift weights. Say what you will about his Gubernatorial savvy, the guy had it made for many years. And while these days I search for safe and effective methods to bring strength and health and sexy parts to my clientele, rather than the 'traditional' aim of straight up cosmetic exercise, I remain one of the million kids who was turned onto bodybuilding, and ultimately health/fitness, by the Oak. I used to own a copy of the movie this clip was taken from. It was titled "Pumping Iron" and followed the lives of 4 bodybuilders, Lou Ferrigno and Frank Zane, to name two, en route to the , I believe '76 Mr. Olympia. Spoiler ALERT! Arnold wins. I passed it on and never was it seen again. If you have not seen this film, go to it. Do it, DO IT NOW!

Be the fire only Marley could catch

This weekend was tough for we North easterners. It was raining. Men. Today's 0600 Kettlebell Class at the Summit in Chester Springs PA was three gentlemen. Last Saturday 1000 class was two men (the 0900 class saw a dozen folks getting their swing on). This evening, I followed up on an offer to perform a kettlebell demonstration at a martial arts studio in Coshohocken PA. Of the 17 who trained this eve 14 were men, young and old, from Grandpa kettle to Lil' Johnny Meddle. Unreal. I teach at fitness facilities and perform In-home Training. When the weather permits, and if you live in the Atlantic Northeast you know what I mean when I say "Who the hell knows what that means?", I teach at parks and empty fields. 85% of my clients are women. Through Brian Petty RKC I linked up with a local Emergency Response Team (tactical unit comprised of officers from a dozen local police departments in Chester County PA), and on to a local fire rescue company. Mostly dudes. But these last few days have been solid. I enjoy training a group of ages and sexes both various and sundry, but a crows of dudes brings back the feeling of training with other young Jarheads so many years ago. In 9 days I will have been discharged from my beloved Marine Corps for 5 years. Which means it will also be the 9Th full year following my entry in to USMC recruit training. After the RKC Sarah and I are flying to California, and as we saunter south to Baja California, we'll pass through my previous, and only permanent duty station, of Camp Pendleton.

Woah, that was a tangent. It's late and I'm listening to a sick, SICK Tool play list.
If you have the means, put on Lateralus, both album and song.

I have designed quite the grim looking snatch workout for next week's RKC weekend. it is NOT looking good for the participants. They'll just have to earn, as they always do.

Noches
W2

Underwater Love (And hate)

I finally, after almost 6.5 years of spouting (First chance I have I'm going to get the Hydrostatic weighing done, but blah blah blah [insert excuse]). Well, a client of mine found a guy who does it locally, and that guy ended up driving his dunk tank up to the gym I maintain a membership with. Well, I did it. And, I sent the gentleman about 6 people as well. He gave me discount as a trainer. I told him that was nice.

So I'm not bummed, but I do need to shed some body fat. Wait, let me back up. let me tell you why I started working out in the first place.

Haverford Middle School, crica 1991. Clad in black Nirvana T-Shirt and Chuck Taylor's, a young, not quite innocent Eric Williams Jr. gets dumped by his first girlfriend because the "guy up the street has such a nice body". For the first time ever I examine my own physique. Not yet of hairy body parts and certainly still of the virginal persuasion, it becomes clear to me that muscles = chicks. I have very little muscle and have not yet kissed a girl. The quest begins. All winter long, I grapple with the idea that though I am a "Rocker" and not a "Jock", I need to lift weights. So, in between bouts of playing air guitar in my basement and stealing cigarettes from my dad, I perform bent Rows, push ups, jumping jacks and sit ups on the dirty, crowded floor of my grandmother's basement (my family were working poor, we lived with my Mom's Mom, Rest In Peace NANA!) Well, after one summer of sweat and
effort in my subterranean hangout, I gave up. It turns out you can get just as many, if not more girls, playing in a band, as you can playing football.

Haverford Senior High School, crica 1995. A tall and emotionally stunted Eric "Willy" Williams asks his JV lacrosse coach "Why did McCarthy beat me out for the starting position?" Coach sez, I smoke too much dope, have no weak side stick handling ability, and I am terribly out of shape. UGH. Back to the gym. This time it lasts for about 18 months. After high school I cannot afford a gym membership so I get my strong on while delivering kitchen appliances. Yes, 20 cubic foot refrigerators are heavy. My truck partner is an amateur, drug free body builder who gives me all the knowledge in the world to lose weight. The USMC recruiter said, and I quote "You smoke too much dope, you have no Military Bearing, and you are terribly out of shape. Start running 3 miles a day, and lose 35 lbs. by August." OK!

So my truck partner helps me understand what good nutrition is, and I start pounding water like a madman. Running, push ups, sit ups. All that shit. Father's Day 1997, violent car accident on the freeway at 0430. Myself and two buddies ejected from Jeep while doing 90. Roadrash all over my backside, 2 broken scapulae, a broken clavicle, and some cracked ribs. Not sexy. 4 months on the couch eating Chef Boyardee and watching the X Files on VHS. Just imagine how your physique would look. Yikes, right?

I entered the United States Marine Corps recruit training depot at Parris Island, South Carolina on 26 April, 1998. I ended my active service with an honorable discharge on 26 April, 2002. Today is 17 April, 2007. Health and fitness has been a part of my life since the day I got dumped. Whether as a means to achieve a selfish, cosmetic goal, or as a means to reach others and teach them the discipline that my Marine Corps taught me. It is IN me, as the commercials say.

So at the Fitness Wave site, I weighed in at 269 lbs, with a body fat of 13.7%. Higher than I wanted to be, but I didn't cry about it. My lean body mas is, get this, 232 lbs. That is than most human beings weigh. Also, I have my health, my home, my family. And in these times, when learning institutions become slaughter houses and the war we're fighting has either divided or united this nation (I'm not sure), I'm thankful for everything.

So in order to lose about 1+ pound of fat per week I need to consume 3800 calories per day. I broke that # down 40-30-30 style (Proteins-Carbs-Fats), and it looks like some pretty hefty eating. My problem is portion control. I can't stop once I start. I eat healthy food non-stop. We shop at Whole Foods, Trader Joe's, all that shit. But for me, dinner is 3 tuna steaks and 4 cups of rice. I'm working on toning it down a wee bit. Also, with the high rep kettlebell training I've been doing lately, my metabolism has been revved a bit. In the week since I got dunked, I've leaned out a bit, and given up caffeine almost entirely (again). I'm motivated to stay on track by the number 3800. Shit, there are people out there, MEN, who would get sick off of 4000 calories a day. I need to honor that idea, and keep the fork at bay.

Next time around I'll detail how my first post-USMC relationship went horribly sour and I lost 7 pounds in two days! Yeah! Just kidding.

And now, a moment of silence. Don't ask what for, just turn the radio down, bow your head, and say thank you.

For you are alive.

Welcome to the Monkey House

You may have heard about the passing of American Author Kurt Vonnegut. Well, above is the cover of the book you may want to read to introduce your self to him. And if you think Vonnegut is an easy read, try Thomas Pynchon for size. If you think Pynchon is an easy read, go back tot eh planet you came from, freak.


So why do I need new stuff all the time? Why must I constantly inject new-ness into my life to prevent boredom/insanity/criminal behavior? I don't know, but what I HAVE figured out is that the search for new stuff has gotten me just as much trouble as it has on the road to new growth and development.

For example, in the quest to find new music of the punk/metal/garage punk-rock-metal ilk I began purchasing music from the land of Vodka and Handlebells, RUSSIA. Paying .15 per song and getting very high quality files was great, until a website that offered me sexy Russian Ladies for companionship and marriage (I had to follow the pop-up, I just HAD to) turned my fancy Thinkin' Box into a contaminated area only the CDC could debug. So Five weeks later and I'm back, with a clean slate and some new Anti-Spyware, ready to take on the world and it's tangled web of dis/information.

As I previously mentioned, the GS/Hard-Style split has gotten me thinking about quite a many things in my life and career. See, when Pavel began writing for Muscle Media, and I began applying the methods to my workouts, my mind appointed Pavel to superstar status right away. The simple principles of high tension techniques and "Garbage in, Garbage Out" made so much sense to me that I REFUSED to question anything he said. This was good for many reasons, yet bad for one good reason (ya' follow?) I began to see changes in my body within a few weeks, and my workouts were
transformed from 90 minute Chest-Ab-Cardio marathons to 45 minute Practice Sessions where I felt I was training to get better at lifting weights, not training to buff and puff up in the hope of impressing unattainable females who, as I, frequented the Orange County Club Scene circa 1998-2002. Not anymore. I felt my grip, legs, back, abdomen, and shoulders harden up and watched them get sliced. I took a count of how many fellow Jarheads asked me for advice on the gym floor (and on the dance floor, for this 6'2" 270 lb. slab of humanity is quite a money maker shaker), and how many times my Platoon Sergeant placed me as the Marine in charge of Remedial Physical Training (fat and weak Marines who were made to OVERTRAIN [there, I said it! Still Love you USMC] in hopes of losing weight and scoring higher on the PFT). It was working. And for Christmas of 2003, when I received my first Handlebell, a 16kg Dragon Door delight, it was really, truly ON.

Well. From that afternoon until my 28th birthday (1-22-07), the day when I read that both Steve Maxwell and Steve Cotter had resigned from the DD Senior RKC billet, DD was it for me. No other source of information was vaild, nor was any other strength tool appropriate for me. It was kettlebells and more kettlebells. I still employed free weights and aerobic conditioning means such as jump-rope and running as tools within my client's workouts, however I had not touched anything other than a kettlebell or a barbell for over 3 years. The one reason my staunch allegiance to DD may have been holding me back is this: Though after recent ventures into other realms of fitness i STILL believe DD is the Number One Spot for fitness and health info, I had made that call without truly weighing it against any other competitor. I felt like I just KNEW that they were the dog's bollocks, and I did not need to prove it to myself or anyone else with anything other than a set of swings or a dose of Forced Relaxation. And as i said, I still think the highest of Dragon Door Publications and all affiliated authors/trainers, but now I have more in my arsenal to use as proof that they are what I, and many others, believe they are. The SHIT.

Since January I've taken a trip back to the weight room, and into some aerobics studios, and to a Bosu Ball seminar, and I've gazed upon the current state of fitness information, taken a sip, swished it around, swallowed it and said "No Thanks", went back to kettlebells, and said "Oh Yeah". Bought an Olympic Weightlifting set from Randy Hauer RKC, took a lesson from him, read his manual, and said "Hell yeah". Watched some of the rookies who've walked into my class fall in love with the iron, watched some damn near crumple and wreck thier shoulders with terrible form and no attention to saftey, watched them, leave classes early and never some back. Watched my own body change as the Yoga has helped me get stronger and leaner. Watched the weights in my garage get dusty as the absolutely shitty weather has prevented me from lifting in my garage for the last four weeks (it is still not spring in southeastern PA). I watched, listened, learned, drank up, spit out, and absorbed more in the last three months than I did all of last year. Why? Because I opened my eyes and ears once again. With new points of reference and comparison which have elevated kettlebells even further in my heart and mind, I am ready to redesign a d reinvent my
toolbox.

The following is my opinion which is always subject to criticism and will be changed as I grow and develop and is welcome to your scrutiny and attack, and reflects only what I have seen here in my short time on Third Stone. If you can help me learn more, then fire away my friend!

I noticed that people who lift free weights, and follow eating plans which allow leanness and muscularity to show, for the most part, have more aesthetically pleasing figures and some more eye-popping beach muscle. For the most part, anyway. But upon further inspection, it has come to my attention that though MOST of these folks do not use full range of motion, perform the same drills over and over, wear the same psuedosexy workout clothes to the gym all the time, drink the same energy drink all the time, and don't incorporate compound movements into their routines and use sloppy, if not straight up harmful form. They look nice, and probably smell nice too, but I believe that if the shit went down, their joints wouldn't withstand a compromised position, nor would their Sexiness ave their backs from exploding if they lifted their child/suitcase/depilatory device the wrong way. So, am I done baking the average gym-rat? Yes. Am I about to wrap this rant up with some seriously non-Tarantinoesque explanation of what I've learned? Hell yes. Here we go.

Pavel and John Ducane have changed my life. I will thank them in any way I can for the good they have brought to me and the people I train. They are pioneers, and I am
waving people onto the trail they've blazed for us. OOH RAH Sirs, and thank you.

Kettlebells are the shit. And while the purists may be onto something, in respect to respecting the origin of the handlebell and touting the high rep snatch and yurk as the REAL way to train with bells (or whatever), I am an American and we bastardize the stuff we like and make it our own. So the barbell snatch is better for power than the KB snatch. OK. So the kettlebell floor press might be fluff and you should just bench instead. OK MAYBE. So the guy who has touched all of our lives and made us all seek improvement in our careers as humans and weightlifters, the guy who has made us all better athletes and mom's and trainers and firemen and IT Geeks is now a self professed "Running Capitalist Dog" and is trying to make a living while helping others, SO WHAT? This IS the land of opportunity, eh? I get it. I get it all. Now I've put it all in perspective. A bicep curl/triceps press down to make your arms pop isn't the worst thing you can do for yourself, so long as it is not the only thing you do for your arms. A little cardio every now and then on the elliptical or the treadmill/stationary bike isn't a terrible tragedy, as long as you are a girl. . .
A little break from swings and get-ups to explore other means is healthy, and even necessary, so long as you come back to what you know and love, and love what you know. And lastly, we CAN all get along. We CAN all reap the benefits of kettlebells, stretching, BOSU balls, spinning, etc., etc. My oldest friend, and the most gifted artist I have ever met said this to me one late night in South Philly, where he lives (I'm from the suburbs bitch!) "If you want to taste sweet, brother, you've gotta eat bitter". Jim Comey said that, and he is also the guy who introduced me to Vonnegut and Pynchon. Good night.