I had reserved this post to give a little more information on me as a man, information necessary to know to understand all these crazy things I'm doing to myself over the next few weeks.
But then Jamie Lewis over at Chaos and Pain ( chaosandpain.blogspot.com ) uploaded a post on New Year's Resolutions. From the title, "Fuck New Year's Resolutions - I Portend Doom," it's pretty easy to guess Jamie's stance on them. His blog is mostly about the sport of powerlifting being bogged down by everything outside of a love for lifting heavy things and being strong. He criticizes the compartmentalization of the sport, and the dissonance between sects of lifters, amongst other things. He's an opinionated fella.
I'm not a powerlifter; I certainly am not as well-versed in the mechanics and experience of weight training as athletes or zealots. But I am a hobbyist, someone who simply enjoys getting stronger and better-looking.
The thing that Jamie and I share is a hatred for the common "New Year's Resolution." The thing that I hate the most about it, is that it is, in fact, NOT a resolution. The vast majority of resolutions fail quickly. The weeks and months after January 1st see gyms across the world filled with people that should have been making better decisions about their body and health decades before, only to abandon it after a few weeks (or days) for Honey Nut Cheerios or CinnaBon or whatever the fuck.
If a New Year's Resolution were exactly that, a RESOLUTE decision to change and improve, and if every person who resolved to change for the better, did, then it would be the most amazing, life-changing tradition known to man.
He said something that really stuck with me: "the go-getter, just rolled out of bed one day and said, "fuck it, it's time to get fucking brutal"" (http://chaosandpain.blogspot.com/2014/01/fuck-new-years-resolutions-i-portend.html)
To me this sounds, not like what we know of a New Year's Resolution, but like someone who has resolutely decided to change himself for the better.
I was always a fat kid, really obese, in fact, until midway through High School when insecurities and bullying made me decide to make some changes. I began to run, a horrible idea in retrospect, but yet better than remaining the Blob that I was. I ran and I ran and I ran and I ran, until I reached a stupid twelve miles a day. I just couldn't allow myself to eat without going for a several mile run afterward. I got so skinny and frail that my family was more worried about me than when I was wider than I was tall. My mom took me to doctors and tried to make them tell me to eat. From what I can remember, they were of little help, they were probably just impressed I wasn't another American fat kid.
I remained thin through college, body fat percentages vacillating up and down with the seasons, but always thin and frail. A few year's ago, something changed. I was driving to Austin from Crockett and fell asleep at the wheel. I was going 70 in a 3/4 ton Dodge truck.
I'm told I flipped the truck several times, through a nice family's yard, mowing down several yards of their fencing, before landing upright aligned perfectly within their driveway. The top of the truck had been ripped completely off, leaving me sitting straight up, still comfortably in the driver's seat. I was awake only for a second as they alerted me they would be pulling me from the wreckage, and I didn't wake up again until I was in the ambulance on the way to the hospital.
I had broken my thumb, my shin bone, tore my face up, cut my ear in two, received a concussion, but worst of all, I had snapped my shoulder loose. The tendons and connective tissue had cleanly separated, allowing my shoulder bone and clavicle to freely wander around my body, though most of the time they decided to protrude a few inches above the skin. This left me with very little movement for several months.
So I sat, through reconstructive surgery and physical therapy and I just watched my body atrophy away. My arms and chest and legs shrank into hollow caricatures of limbs, particularly my left arm, still bound in bandages and a sling.
After the therapist and surgeon cleared me for work and exercise, almost six months later, I had one of those moments when I rolled out of bed and just decided that things were going to change. I always had that spirit of wanting to be better, but it took a near-death robbery of my body function for a while to motivate me to aggressively seek out perfection.
In the last two years, I have increased my average body weight by 35-40 pounds while at a lower body fat percentage. I am not near where I want to be yet, but that's what the Brodyysey is all about. It's about education, inspiration, motivation, supplementation and, finally, and most importantly, rolling out of bed, getting fucking brutal, and taking action.
Thanks for tuning in.
Tomorrow: starting stats from Day 1 and concrete goals.
But then Jamie Lewis over at Chaos and Pain ( chaosandpain.blogspot.com ) uploaded a post on New Year's Resolutions. From the title, "Fuck New Year's Resolutions - I Portend Doom," it's pretty easy to guess Jamie's stance on them. His blog is mostly about the sport of powerlifting being bogged down by everything outside of a love for lifting heavy things and being strong. He criticizes the compartmentalization of the sport, and the dissonance between sects of lifters, amongst other things. He's an opinionated fella.
I'm not a powerlifter; I certainly am not as well-versed in the mechanics and experience of weight training as athletes or zealots. But I am a hobbyist, someone who simply enjoys getting stronger and better-looking.
The thing that Jamie and I share is a hatred for the common "New Year's Resolution." The thing that I hate the most about it, is that it is, in fact, NOT a resolution. The vast majority of resolutions fail quickly. The weeks and months after January 1st see gyms across the world filled with people that should have been making better decisions about their body and health decades before, only to abandon it after a few weeks (or days) for Honey Nut Cheerios or CinnaBon or whatever the fuck.
If a New Year's Resolution were exactly that, a RESOLUTE decision to change and improve, and if every person who resolved to change for the better, did, then it would be the most amazing, life-changing tradition known to man.
He said something that really stuck with me: "the go-getter, just rolled out of bed one day and said, "fuck it, it's time to get fucking brutal"" (http://chaosandpain.blogspot.com/2014/01/fuck-new-years-resolutions-i-portend.html)
To me this sounds, not like what we know of a New Year's Resolution, but like someone who has resolutely decided to change himself for the better.
I was always a fat kid, really obese, in fact, until midway through High School when insecurities and bullying made me decide to make some changes. I began to run, a horrible idea in retrospect, but yet better than remaining the Blob that I was. I ran and I ran and I ran and I ran, until I reached a stupid twelve miles a day. I just couldn't allow myself to eat without going for a several mile run afterward. I got so skinny and frail that my family was more worried about me than when I was wider than I was tall. My mom took me to doctors and tried to make them tell me to eat. From what I can remember, they were of little help, they were probably just impressed I wasn't another American fat kid.
I remained thin through college, body fat percentages vacillating up and down with the seasons, but always thin and frail. A few year's ago, something changed. I was driving to Austin from Crockett and fell asleep at the wheel. I was going 70 in a 3/4 ton Dodge truck.
I'm told I flipped the truck several times, through a nice family's yard, mowing down several yards of their fencing, before landing upright aligned perfectly within their driveway. The top of the truck had been ripped completely off, leaving me sitting straight up, still comfortably in the driver's seat. I was awake only for a second as they alerted me they would be pulling me from the wreckage, and I didn't wake up again until I was in the ambulance on the way to the hospital.
I had broken my thumb, my shin bone, tore my face up, cut my ear in two, received a concussion, but worst of all, I had snapped my shoulder loose. The tendons and connective tissue had cleanly separated, allowing my shoulder bone and clavicle to freely wander around my body, though most of the time they decided to protrude a few inches above the skin. This left me with very little movement for several months.
So I sat, through reconstructive surgery and physical therapy and I just watched my body atrophy away. My arms and chest and legs shrank into hollow caricatures of limbs, particularly my left arm, still bound in bandages and a sling.
After the therapist and surgeon cleared me for work and exercise, almost six months later, I had one of those moments when I rolled out of bed and just decided that things were going to change. I always had that spirit of wanting to be better, but it took a near-death robbery of my body function for a while to motivate me to aggressively seek out perfection.
In the last two years, I have increased my average body weight by 35-40 pounds while at a lower body fat percentage. I am not near where I want to be yet, but that's what the Brodyysey is all about. It's about education, inspiration, motivation, supplementation and, finally, and most importantly, rolling out of bed, getting fucking brutal, and taking action.
Thanks for tuning in.
Tomorrow: starting stats from Day 1 and concrete goals.
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