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30 December 2010

You Screamed About It And You Got it: The Splendiferous David Goggins

As you all know, David Goggins recently went jogging in a couple of different places and has subsequently been in nearly every print and online exercise publication known to man, because jogging is apparently the coolest thing that's ever fucking happened, anywhere.  As such, there would seem to be little else one could learn about this former unknown, but I managed to pick up a few choice tidbits through careful research, and uncovered some startling photographs never before published online or otherwise.
The above picture was taken right after Goggins ran 43000 miles and then did a handstand while deadlifting a new world all-federation, all-time world record... with his cock.

His background:
Goggins was born Ingvar Xhosa Laval (later changed to David Goggins) on Feb 30th, 1876 to Tywanna Mosely, a maid from Zimbabwe and was of Hottentot/Tyrannasaur descent, and Gustaf de Laval, a well-known Swedish industrialist.  The two met in a hotel in Lisbon, Portugal, and after a whirlwind romance of sexual asphyxiation and a lengthy stint working adjacent glory holes in a back alley, conceived the future jogging champion.  They settled in the Seychelles Islands, where Goggins was born to much fanfare due to the popularity of the Swedish chef and dinosaurs in that region.
Shortly after birth, his parents were startled to discover that he was born with both the ability to speak and the ability to lift small objects with his mind.  As a child, Goggins was content to simply use his telepathy to make people eating near him allow him to partake of their meals, which caused his parents to put him in a burlap sack and beat him with reeds on a daily basis. At age 5, Goggins psychically overheard his parents calling him a "pain in the fucking ass" and "worse than a fucking Zambian peanut trader", and inadvertently caused his mother to die of an epileptic fit shortly thereafter.  Though Goggins did not realize he was responsible for this, he attracted the attention of two government agents, who then broke into his house in as his father was stuffing a recalcitrant Goggins into a burlap sack, beat his father to death with a large trout, and forced the child into a government-run brothel. There, Goggins spent the next 6 years developing immense telekinetic powers with his mind, the vast majority of which involved stretching his asshole to Goatse-sized proprtions and stimulating g-spots and prostates without physical touch.  By the time he was a teenager, he was invited to the White House to service the First Lady, whereupon he met the greatest American of all time, Teddy Roosevelt.
Roosevelt felt that Goggins' considerable mental and physical talents were not being fully exploited.  After nearly a decade of beatings and nearly continuous fucking, Goggins had built for himself a physique that displayed both his tremendous isometric strength (gained from holding various positions for extended periods of time) and nearly superhuman endurance.  As such, Roosevelt asked Goggins to volunteer for a top-secret defense project — Operation: Rebirth, which sought to develop a means of creating physically superior soldiers. Goggins volunteered for the research and, after a rigorous selection process, was chosen as the first human test subject for the Super-Soldier serum developed by the scientist Dr. Josef Reinstein.  As part of this program, Goggins received injections and oral doses of the Super-Soldier Serum. He was then exposed to a controlled burst of "Vita-Rays" that activated and stabilized the chemicals in his system. Although the process physically arduous, it successfully altered his physiology almost instantly from its thin but muscular form to the maximum of human potential, greatly enhancing his musculature and reflexes. Upon seeing the results, Teddy slapped Goggins on the back, handed him a cigar, and declared him to be the first of a new breed of man, a "nearly perfect human being."
At that point, Goggins was teamed with a variety of costumed superheros to combat local infestations of bovines, which frequently entered the homes of people living in the Washingtonian suburbs and gave birth to hybridized cattle with a taste for human blood.  The calves of these genetic mutants were born with their skeletal system on their exterior, allowing them the ability to easily cut their victims and drain them of their blood.  After working side by side with both Spider-Man and the Flash to combat this plague of mutant ruminants, Goggins enlisted in the US military to aid the Anarcho-Communists in the Spanish Civil War, declaring that "fascists are fucking... fascist.  And if there's one thing David Goggins can't fucking stand, it's that sort of nonsense."  Thereafter, Goggins would only refer to himself in the third person, despite the loss of his side in the Spanish Civil War and the triumph of his nemeses.
After returning home in defeat following the Spanish Civil War, Goggins was distraught.  In a fit of rage at their lack of effort by his fellow Commies, Goggins wrote the following scathing rebuke of the Communist movement to the editor of the New York Times:
There are times in a man's life when he needs to stand up on his own two feet and fight- like when you're in the grocery store and some pushy bitch tries to jump the line because she's "pregnant".  Fuck that shit, she's just fucking fat.  And lazy.  Just like the Communists in Spain.  They sit around all day, drinking wine and eating baguettes and speaking some nonsense language, and they expected me to do all of the work just because I'm awesome.  Well, fuck that- I thought we were all equal.  Isn't that the shit they try to tell us?  So here I am, thinking that I was going to be surrounded by fellow super-soldiers, all bad and buff and shit, and instead it's pack of dirty Spaniards with sticky fingers and a penchant for buggery who had the audacity to fucking die when they got shot.  Lazy, just lazy.  As such, I hereby renounce my affiliation with those beret-wearing poofters, and vow to strike down any of those pinko fuckfaces if I ever see them again.
Love,
David "I'm fucking awesome and I love to jog" Goggins

Immediately upon posting that letter, Goggins enlisted in the United States Army, from which he was transferred to a newly formed, extra-governmental squat called the G.I. Joe Team.  Using the codename Roadblock, Goggins dispense hot metal justice to Communists and assholes alike, all while making pithy rhymed statements like "Play it straight, or there's no doubt, I'll turn your eyeballs inside out."  Alternating in major conflicts between his affiliation with the Joes and the Army, he fought as both Captain America and Roadblock, serving meritoriously in World War I (as Roadblock), World War II and the Korean War (as Captain America) and finally in the Vietnam War rather anonymously as Sgt. Lincoln Osiris.  Wounded horribly in the last conflict, Goggins volunteered to be frozen in a block of ice until such a time as science could heal his wounds, and his medically exceptional case of herpes, which is currently being studied by the CDC as the most comprehensive amalgamations of all herpes viruses ever collected by a single human being, which Goggins has since attributed to his time as a male prostitute and his brief affair with a 13 year old Vietnamese ladyboy in the 1970s.
Goggins in WW2.

After receiving treatment for his wounds and venereal disease in the late 1990s, Goggins fell out of the public eye as he reentered the seedy underworld of sex slavery, serving as a willing participant in a Southern BDSM-themed sex ring that catered to hillbillies and policemen.  After his owner was brutally cut down by a professional boxer wielding a samurai sword in what Goggins described as a "horrible misunderstanding" between his owner, a friend, the boxer, and a large black man with ties to organized crime, Goggins decided to start jogging.  
Goggins' slave owner's alleged murder.  He is still at large.

Prior to his adoption of jogging, or yogging, (it might have a soft "j") he apparently powerlifted, although no record of his exploits in strength sports is still extant, and has presumably been expunged by the CIA as part of an elaborate coverup with links to the JFK assassination.  A mere 45 minutes after lacing his sneakers, Goggins decided to enter a bunch of long distance races, which he ran back to back and incurred a variety of injuries one would expect to incur when running hundreds of miles with little preparation.  He then became famous for overcoming those injuries and gave money to some charities or something.

His training regimen:
He just runs... for an extended period of time.  It's supposed to be wild.
I could not possibly care less about jogging, if you hadn't noticed.  Thus, there's something about which I do care, and which will actually raise, rather than lower your test levels.

28 December 2010

Get Your Fucking Head Right, Part Four: Goals Are For Soccer Players and Other Small Children

In a previous blog, I posted a quote from the seminal grindhouse film Planet Terror, in which a retardedly hot, pole-dancing, ass-kicking, peg-legged Rose McGowan stated that "goals become the thing you talk about, rather than the thing you do."  That's a fairly accurate summation of my opinion of goals with regard to weightlifting (an life in general), and I thus view the myriad posted goals on Bodyspace and similar sites just as I do a wheezing, sweaty, pre-diabetic, allegedly human mass of fat cells with eyeballs purchasing a supersize meal at McDonalds with a Diet Coke- they're laughable and pathetic.
Arild Haugen pities a fool.

Why?

Because most lifters will abandon lifting inside a year, and the vast majority of the rest will bag their goals in addition to whatever vogue program led to their creation long before they reach the ridiculous and hyper-accurate goals they've set for themselves, due to anything ranging from apathy to injury to outright sloth.  Think I'm bullshitting?  Consider this: gyms with contracts have them because they know, for a certainty, that roughly 75% of the members who sign up at a gym will quit going within 3 months.  The dropout rate for lifting makes South Central LA's public school systems look like bastions of excellence and efficiency.  As such, most lifters might as well keep their bullshit and usually disgraceful goals to themselves, consigning themselves to (at most) writing them in a journal they can consult when looking for a reason to open a vein while listing to This Mortal Coil's "It'll End In Tears" album while pounding Double Doubles in their parents basement.
This chick used to be a Suicide Girl... and then decided to hit KFC rather than the gym a few too many times.

Putting aside the obvious pointlessness of most goal setting with respect to lifting, the issue generally lies with the fact that most people set goals far beneath their actual capabilities.  Though one's initial inclination might be to consider this a good thing ("but, then you're always a winner!"), upon reconsideration you'll find this logic to be just about as sound as that with led batshit-crazy evil scientists to create the EATR battle robots.  In case you're unaware, the EATR robot is a heavily armed autonomous metal killing machine designed around a biomass engine that can convert copses into energy to continue their automated killing sprees.  Granted, robots that consume human flesh like bullet spitting whirlwinds of zombie death are a far worse idea than setting goals beneath one's potential, but setting pissant goals that prevent you from reaching greatness still might garner you some sort of conciliatory medal in the World Championships of Suck.  They'll prevent you from reaching greater goals due to the fact that humans have been conclusively shown to adjust their performance to their goals, motivating or demotivating themselves in according with perceived difficulty.  I can attest to the veracity of this claim, due to the fact that I managed to pull down a D and a B in Astronomy and Collegiate Algebra as a senior in college, in spite of the fact that I took both classes in the 8th grade.  Because they were pointless exercises in wasting my fucking time with shit I'd learned in middle school, I expended no effort whatsoever in those classes, and only avoided failing the Astronomy class by scoring perfect on the two tests.  As I'd never been to class otherwise, I'd never collected the syllabus and never learned that a college class had fucking homework, as if I'd suddenly become a fourth grader.
Cleanse.

Were you to lack the experience I've had, you might be tempted to set those kinds of goals... especially when you're surrounded by monuments to mediocrity erected by people entirely bereft of pride all over the internet. If you allow these idiots, who've posted their unbelievably embarrassing numbers online in a multitude of places, to program your subconscious into believing that those number are what you're likely to reach, you're fucked.  Their Facebox updates and forum signatures are the internet's equivalent of the Persian assault on the Greeks at Thermopylae.  They're repetitive, toothless, and generally fucking sad, but the sheer weight of numbers can leave you well and truly fucked if you're unprepared to deal with them.  Just as those hapless turbaned were driven onto the spear points of the Spartans by the swords of their officers and covered the Grecian landscape like locusts, so do the ambassadors of suck online.  Thus, it's important that you look to more inspirational sources and leave those idiots to their discussion of which brand of sock/briefs/shoes/supplements might pus them to a 400 lb shitfest of a back squat.  This is especially important at night, when the defenses your conscious mind erects to outside influence on your subconscience are at their weakest. (Van Fleet 54-55)
If only they were online posters... one can dream.

So, what should you do?  Aim for the fucking stars!  It might seem like some hokey bullshit, but it works.  As I've stated before, all it takes is one person to show that something's possible, and you're primed for success. Priming your brain with the knowledge that an achievement is doable turns your subconscious into an irrepressible, cold, calculating smashing machine hell-bent on victory.  Another tidbit with which you can program the T-1000 your subconscious has become is the fact that the "closer psychologists look at the careers of the gifted, the smaller the role of innate talent seems to play and the bigger the role preparation seems to play."(Gladwell 38)  Researchers have found that neither the people like the nerdy slacker in Roadtrip, nor the stereotypical, nose-to-the-grindstone, generally unintelligent, but well meaning pseudo-nerd in popular culture ever reaches an elite status in their respective fields... instead, it's the average person who busts their fucking ass inside out at whatever they're doing who kicks ass all over the fucking place in anything ranging from playing the violin to chess to computer programming.  (Gladwell 38-40)  That's the fucking secret- keeping your mouth shut and busting your ass inside out.  Posting bullshit on some forum about your plans is pointless- in fact, it's worse that fucking pointless.  Instead, you have to actually do the thing you've planned in your head, and keep your goals to your fucking self.

How much harder do you have to work?  Researchers have determine that the magic number for hours at a given activity to become elite is 10,000.  That's right- you have to spend ten thousand hours at lifting if you want to truly be elite.  In one study in Berlin, they broke down the levels of skill into hours spent at it, and it worked almost invariably:

Elite: ~10,000 hours
Good: ~8,000 hours
Future teachers: ~4,000 hours
Amateurs: ~2,000 hours

I guess you better turn off your fucking computer and go lift something, shouldn't you?

Sources:
Gladwell, Malcolm.  Outliers.
Langer, Ellen.  Counterclockwise.
Van Fleet, James K.  Hidden Power.

22 December 2010

Baddest Motherfuckers Ever #21- Brian Oldfield

Let the pissing and moaning commence! Another asshole, and this guy would probably laugh right along with me looking at pictures of people in death camps and various acts of genocide. Know why? He knows that people suck, and made a living out of humiliating people and generally acting like the greatest thing since sliced fucking bread.  Yeah, he was fucking awesome.
"When God invented man, He wanted him to look like me" - Brian Oldfield

Picture this- it's the early 1970s, some gigantic, jacked, tan, blond haired guy looking like a freakish amalgamation of Cali surfer and NFL defensive lineman rolls up to a local track and field meet, smoking a cigarette and smelling like stripper perfume.  He changes, and 5 minutes later sets an unofficial world record in the shot put, using a technique later named after him because the man was not only freakishly strong and cocky as fuck, but an innovator.
Some pertinent facts about Brian Oldfield:
  • He beat Lou Ferrigno in a weightlifting competition in a 1976 Superstars competition with a jerk of 310. Nothing monumental, but it was enough to chump the Incredible Hulk on national TV.
  • He competed in the 1972 Olympics.
  • He set three world records.  Two unofficial (70' 10 1/2" in 1973) and (75 feet in 1975) and one official throw of 70+ at age 40, which still stands as a record for his age group.
  • He set the American Record of 72' 9" in 1984 at the Bruce Jenner Invitational.
That's all well and good, but frankly, I could give a fuck about how far he could throw a stone ball.  That shit really only matters to guys who played offensive line in high school and who now sport goatees.  As I'm neither, his shot put numbers mean about as much to me as the speed at which Oldfield types, though I'd imagine the motherfucker was even good at that in his prime.  What makes Oldfield interesting is the fact that he appears to have been awesome at everything, was a strength athlete who was pretty fucking lean at 280+, and who was essentially the strength athlete cognate for Nikola Tesla, an innovator who left a badass legacy although he was fucked hard by circumstance and denied the respect he deserved at his prime.
He even had a great metal face.

From the New York Times:
"Brian Oldfield put the shot 75-feet -inch in a meet at El Paso in May of 1975. That didn't break the existing world record, it obliterated it. Unfortunately, Brian was competing for something called the International Track Assn. at the time. It was, you should pardon the expression, a professional organization, it--come closer, you wouldn't want the kids to hear this--paid its athletes.
What the ITA did was charge admission to its track meets and distributed the proceeds among the competitors. If you can't see any difference between that and what TAC or the NCAA, for all of that, does, go to the head of the class. The difference is the ITA did it openly. They subtracted the hypocrisy. This, of course, was unforgivable to the reigning "amateur" associations.
Somebody had to pay. And Brian was as good a candidate as any. "Say," someone said at a federation meeting, "didn't he smoke on the field at the Olympics once?"
So, Brian's record throw, which was made under allowable conditions, scrupulously measured and calibrated, was not only disallowed, it was ignored. It never happened. Track and field, which falls all over itself certifying some mysterious mark set in the bowels of Siberia by a Soviet vaulter nobody ever heard of, before an audience of two KGB colonels and a guy in a fur hat, threw Oldfield's record as far as it would go. It was not quite far enough. It made the Guinness Book of Records, albeit in the--ha, ha--section right by the goldfish swallowing and the number of students who could pack into a Volkswagen.
In the weird half-life of amateur athletics, Brian was eligible domestically but not internationally. So, he dropped over to a meet in San Jose in 1983 and casually tossed a new American record of 72-feet 9 3/4-inches, only one inch short of the world record.
Brian Oldfield will be highly visible at the shotput ring at the ARCO Coliseum track meet next Saturday. He'll be the one smoking."
So, Oldfield got fucked in about every way he possibly could have been, despite the fact that he was for all intents and purposes the Chuck Norris of track and field.  But how Chuck Norris-ey was he, you ask?

  • HE BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF A BEAR WITH HIS BARE HANDS.  "The minute I got into the ring Little Smokey knew he was in trouble.  He was looking over at the crowd thinking this would be easy meat, and here I came.  Well, the bear threw me a forearm in the neck, which made me mad right away.  I picked him up and threw him through the ropes.  Now the bear wanted no part of me, but I jumped on him and beat him backward.  I was going to wishbone the SOB and break his sternum in half, but his handlers must have realized my adrenaline was flowing.  They came in and took the bear away."
  • Oldfield was on the cover of SI and Playgirl in the same fucking year.
  • He starred in a movie in the 1980s that rivals Troll 2 for utter shit show quality, in which he starred as some jacked guy who ran around and headbutted people to death while rocking a spiked helmet.  If that's not enough awesomely cheesy suck for a film about some suburban broad who battles backwoods drug smugglers in a post-apocalyptic jungle, the tagline for the film is: "Born to shop, she learned to kill!"  
  • assed and he wore nothing but a Speedo.
  • He outraced a top female sprinter in the 60 yard dash, and then threw her over his shoulder like a rag doll.  
  • He broke a guy's upper and lower jaw with one punch... with his left hand.  (Oldfield was right-handed)
  • Coined the phrase "I just had a throwgasm" on national TV.
  • In another race against a chick sprinter, he smoked her for 70 yards, then turned and ran backwards for the last 30, mocking her gender the entire way.
  • Missing his fucking calling in the NFL entirely, Oldfield high jumped 6' 6"; ran the 100M in 10.5; ran the 40 yard dash in 4.3 seconds.  For the purposes of comparison, Dwight Freeney only runs a 4.5 40 at a paltry bodyweight of 268.  (Oldfield was 6'5" 275)
  • After receiving a royal fucking in track and field, Oldfield moved to Highland Games, which he apparently dominated like he was fucking Cobra Commander. Utilizing his eponymous shot put technique, Oldfield was able to set a record in the stone put that remains nearly 40 years after he set it- 63'2" in the light stone.
  • Ever out to show he could hang with anyone, Oldfield went to to toe with Muhammad "Fuck you cracka" Ali and rolled with ultra-mega-superstar wrestler Verne Gagne.
  • He picked up a spare while bowling with a move where he chucked the ball one-handed between his legs... one more "fuck you" to the athletes of a sport who he could beat while acting like a total dick and demeaning their sport entirely.
  • HE DUNKED A FUCKING 16 LB (7kg and some change in metric nonsense) SHOT PUT.


My apologies for the shit music there, but I had nothing to do with making the video.

His workout's likely irrelevant, as the man was a born athlete and kicked ass all over the place without even trying.  Despite that fact, here's some tips (in his words) on how he trained:


1. Lift twice a week, but do full body, explosive, heavy stuff
2. Train with overweight implements
3. Take your minerals
4. Sprint training or hills is very important
5. Become a true student of your event and try to think through every single aspect of what you do
6. Discover what foods you are allergic to
7. Complicate the movement with drills to simplify it in the ring
8. Enjoy yourself...have some fun!


...and here are some of his training weights:

(Pre-Olympics)
C&J – 365
BP – 400
Front Squat – 465 (3 reps)
Push Press – 450 (3 reps)


His (alleged, for you whiny motherfuckers) best lifts were eventually: 
Front Squat 600 x 10 reps
Back squats 600 x 25 reps


25 REPS WITH 600 ON THE BACK SQUAT... and he was a fan of kettlebells.

The key to Oldfield's success appears to have been massive self-confidence, the desire to fuck, fight, or generally own anything or anyone that crossed his path, and a disdain for the ordinary.  Life lessons?  You bet your ass.

20 December 2010

The Only Thing You Have To Fear #2

Fear- the bullshit emotion that dogs even the most intrepid amongst us.  Unless you're completely, batshit, certifiably I-just-made-a-lampshade-out-of-human-skin crazy, you've felt its effects and had it fuck you over more than once.  Feeling the fear isn't the shitty thing, though, it's what fear does to you- it causes you to avoid doing shit, and it's that avoidance that leads to humiliation and regret later on.
Fear is occasionally justified.

Fear inevitably leads to failure, due to the avoidance factor listed above- it's what drives armies from battlefields and leaves dudes unfucked at the end of the night.  Although it's fear of death that's what keeps us from trying to pet a pissed off viper (and quite rightly), it's fear of failure that is what's generally manifested, and it's this type of fear that we've got to combat tooth and fucking nail.  95 out of 100 people fail to achieve anything of importance in life because it's easier not to strive for success due to a fear of failure.(Van Fleet 51)  That's fucking bullshit.  And I'm not talking about the Alex P. Keaton monetary success, since we're not a pack of bloodthirsty bean-counters, I'm talking about the "progressive realization of a worthwhile goal."  The counterpoint, then, is failure- "someone who has the talent and ability to accomplish much more than he has."(Ibid.)  We've all been there- pussed out on a single that we felt was within our reach, and then left the gym pissed at ourselves despite the rest of the workout's awesome.  It's that kind of shit we need to avoid, because it's an evil, insidious, disgusting slithery thing that coils inside your mind and keeps you up at night, whether it's due to some guy/girl at whom you didn't spit game, some douche left unbloodied and unbeaten in a parking lot, or some loaded barbell from which you walked away.  You'll rarely regret the shit you've done, but you'll almost always regret the shit you've left undone.
Could you respect yourself if you saw this in front of you and said nothing to either of them?  I sure as fuck hope not.

Given this fact, you've got to find a way to master your fear... or fear will be your master. James K. Van Fleet, author of a pretty cool little book called Hidden Power has 4 steps to ridding ones self of fear, and I've found that they're remarkably apt, and shit you likely do as a matter of course.(Van Fleet 107-116)  Nevertheless, they bear repeating, as I've noticed there's a tremendous amount of shit that I do unconsciously that I should consciously do a hell of a lot more of, and this is one of those instances.

1) Admit it.  You can't beat what you can't see, and burying your fucking head in the sand will simply make you a weak pussy.  Therefore, if you fear something, simply admit to yourself that you do.  Pretend you're in Sex Addicts Anonymous, simply to get laid, and you've got to admit you're a freak to reel in the nut you've been eyeballing since the meeting began.
I'm a sex addict. It's my cross to bear. It's a real disease with doctors and medicine and everything!

2)  Analyze your fear to see if it's justified.  You planning on trying to fuck that viper I mentioned before?  If so, you might want to rethink your position, as the cost to benefit ratio on that plan fucking blows.  If you're simply afraid of back squatting, consider why that is.  How many people have you seen getting injured doing so?  Were their injuries avoidable?  That sort of shit.  If you find that you're simply manufacturing reasons to shit your pants about it, rather than thinking critically about it, do some research and some up with a solid thesis for why you shouldn't.  Present that idea to someone you respect.  If they spit on you, you're being a fucking pussy and you should probably go do whatever it is you were avoiding.  If they tell you that you're reasonable in your fear of fucking a snake, you can pay your fear a bit more heed.

3) Take necessary actions to rid yourself of your fear.  Here's where it gets fun, in two parts.

    1. Don't concentrate on your fear.  First, worrying about shit is fucking pointless- it's a waste of time, ages you prematurely, and that fear has a snowball effect.  Be the captain of your fucking ship and Blackbeard up-your conscious mind is like the captain of your ship, and your subconscious is the crew.(Van Fleet 6)  If your captains screaming like a woman and running about in terror, your subconscious will do so, doubletime.  If you concentrate on your fear, you will become it.  Therefore, acknowledge it and then hit step two.
    2. Do the thing you fear, and you'll gain power over it.  This isn't just some hokey bullshit- it's backed by science.  Chronic stress response to any given activity decreases markedly over time, to the point where your body will adapt and respond by flushing your body with hormones only at the precise moment you need it.  (Lehrer)  Cognitive behavioral treatment always involves confronting that which one fears to harness this precise response, and as you gain control over your fear and remain calm in the face of it, you literally force your subgenual anterior cingulate cortex into "hero mode", where you can become Sargent Fucking York at the drop of a hat and do insane, awesome shit for the fuck of it.  This means get under that weight that scares the shit out of you, or more.  If your mind's going to fuck with you, fuck with it right back.  I like to call this "doing something to spite myself", but then, I've got a lot of George Constanza shit going on and love screaming "SERENITY NOW!" at the top of my lungs and doing all sorts of random shit out of spite.  However you motivate yourself into doing something you fear, however, make it fucking happen.  You'll benefit therefrom.
4)  Prepare for the worst.  This isn't actually going to compound your fear.  Instead, it allows you to relax because you've already accepted the worst case scenario.

I realize that step 3 is by and large easier said than done, but it will be worth the effort.  Here are a couple of methods for gettin' 'er dun, as a certain fat redneck poser would say:
Doesn't work with tits, but then, who cares?  If you can touch them, they're real

1) Fake it til you make it.  This adage exists for a reason- it works.  By consciously focusing on being a badass, you will gradually force your subconscious mind to work with instead of against you.  This can be done with something as simple as a change in posture.  I'm not saying you should flare your lats and walk into the gym like the overly tan, air-lat douches that seem to populate New Jersey.  Instead, I mean simply walking around, everywhere, making a conscious effort to keep your head up, chest full, and shoulders squared.  Eventually, your mind will be tricked into confidence by your physiology.  Other people (men in particular, since women notice far more nuance in body language than do men) will pick up on your aura of confidence and treat you like the confident person you're pretending to be.  (Pease 27)
2) Become more aggressive.  Testosterone is positively correlated with aggression, helps to overcome the effects of fear, and fuels impulsiveness and physical strength.(Macrae)  It's what makes great men what they are, and without aggression, we'd still be living in caves, afraid of everything and nibbling on bamboo shoots.  To become more aggressive, all you really have to do is surround yourself with aggressive things.  Some studies have shown that violent sports and other entertainments increase one's levels of aggression, and likewise exposure to other aggressive people increases aggression.  (Flora 190)  Thus, listening to metal/punk/hardcore, watching violent movies, and hanging out with people into the same shit will increase your levels of aggression and thereby make you far more immune to fear.  If you're curious as to how aggressive you are, you can take this online quiz.  If you're on the low side and are sucking in the gym, you might want to think about investing in test boosters, the Devil's Rejects, and the new Man Must Die cd.

The key to success is to "act as if it's impossible to fail"... and unless you're fucking fearless, you cannot attain success.  (Van Fleet 53)  This doesn't include temporary defeats and setbacks- we're talking wars.  If the Viet Cong could manage to lose every fucking battle and still win the war, we can all hit 700 lb. squats.

Show no fear.


Link to Part 1, if you want a refresher: right here.
Sources:
Flora, Stephen Ray.  The Power of Reinforcement.  New York: SUNY Press, 2004.
Lehrer, J.  Under Pressure: The Search for a Stress Vaccine.  Wired.  October 2010.
Macrae, F.  Say goodbye to fear of snakes and other phobias thanks to the new pill that gives courage.  Daily Mail.  24 June 2010.  http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sciencetech/article-1289011/Say-goodbye-fear-snakes-phobias-thanks-new-pill-gives-courage.html
Pease, Allen and Barbara.  The Definitive Book of Body Language.  New York:  Bantam Dell, 2004.
Van Fleet, James K.  Hidden Power: How To Unleash the Power of Your Subconscious Mind.  Paramus:  Prentice Hall, 1987.

16 December 2010

Dude, So and So Got SO Fucking Jacked For That Movie: Sylvester Stallone

Few figures are as iconic and meaningful to American males between the ages of 20 and 40 than Sylvester Stallone.  He, along with Schwarzenegger, Van Damme, Seagal, and Willis, set the standard for manliness through their epic films featuring naught but death and destruction, delivered with witty quips for which we all waited with bated breath.  Their films were the stuff from which UGLs since have distilled their testosterone suspensions, and on which future superheros, lumberjacks and Forrest Griffins will be weaned.  In other words, their films were the stuff of all that is awesome... like unicorns, if unicorns did nothing but gore small children and feast on their entrails while boasting rock hard cocks and carrying naked fitness models on their backs.



Of those three, the only one who's managed to stay in the type of shape we'd expect of them to be rocking is Sylvester Motherfucking Stallone.  Though most would posit that it's because he's jacking shitloads of GH and test, they do so only because they're sloppy fucking ninnies with no conception of how hard it is to get to 4% bodyfat, much less while carrying serious muscular bodyweight and at THE AGE OF 62.  In other words, anyone who talks shit on Stallone can get fucked, and might as well donate their testicles to science so that someone can get a first-hand look at the devolution of the American male.
Ninny.

On that note, I shall delve into the workout routines that Stallone uses to get into the kind of shape to make half of the people reading this want to leave their shirts on when they're about to lay wood.  Though they've varied over time, Stallone's go-to workout's remained basically unchanged since Franco Columbu designed it for him to get him ready for Rambo: First Blood, Part II.  This was when Stallone first showed up onscreen in the condition to which poofters on Bodyspace refer as "peeled".
Brace yourselves, fuckers, as he did not, and I repeat, DID NOT, use 5/3/1 or Starting Strength to achieve that condition.[Note: As this comment has got peoples' panties in a bunch, this is to say that there are indeed, denizens of the internet, other workable programs on Earth.  To those parties horribly offended by this statement, settle the fuck down.]  Shocking, I know.  Instead, he actually lifted weights.  A fucking lot of them.  Very often.  Instead of shriveling up into a condition that would preface the appearance of Smigel years later in the LOTR series, he showed up looking like his skin was replaced by orange saran wrap after receiving full-body lipo and having every muscle in his body replaced by a hyper-striated stone.

Rocky Balboa had the best training montage ever- nothing but mothafuckas liftin heavy-ass weight, to channel my inner Ronnie Coleman.


The workout that got him there was a 6 day double split, broken down like this:


Monday/Wednesday/Friday
Morning
Chest
Back
Abs

Afternoon
Shoulders
Arms
Abs

Tuesday/Thursday/Saturday
Morning
Calves
Thighs

Afternoon
Rear Delts
Traps
Abs

He didn't have a specific set/rep scheme to which he adhered, but apparently stuck with the tried-and-true bodybuilder set and rep scheme of 6-12 reps for 3-4 sets of 3-4 exercises.  Given that Franco trained him, I'm sure low reps also reared their head, as Franco was a big fan of low reps on the powerlifts (For a refresher, go here.)  In addition to that craziness, Stallone did between 500 and 1000 reps of abs a day, giving him the six pack that will forever make the rest of us look like fat fucks, no matter what kind of condition we're in.  According to Franco, he "trained four different ab and torso exercises: sit-ups, leg raises, side leg raises, and side bends. We did 50 reps of each, one exercise right after another, and five sets of this cycle. And wait until you see the results. Sly has great abs, intercostals, serratus, everything."  With that batshit Sardinian midget nipping at his heels, Sly pretty much emplyed the bull-in-a-china-shop approach we all love so much.  He went balls to the fucking wall, every workout, and added sets, reps, and exercises whenever humanly possible.

When he originally utilized that program to prep for Rambo II, "Sylvester gained just about 10 pounds in six and a half weeks," Franco says. "He has great structure, with a waist only about 29 inches. When we started, he had a 44-inch chest. At the end, his chest was almost 50 inches. And his arms went from 16 ½ inches to 18 inches. He was bigger, harder and much more muscular. Wait until you see him in the movie. He's going to shock a lot of people by how good he looks."
When was the last time you broke your ass to add 10 lbs of rip in 6 weeks?  I'm betting the 7th of never.

Of course, you're saying to yourself, he must have employed the GOMAD approach.  He must've kept entire dairies in business all of his own accord, he was drinking so much milk.  Not so much, fuckers.  In fact, Stallone ate the way a sane person would if he wanted to get jacked and still be able to be proudly shirtless in public- he ate a shitload of lean meat and veggies, took all of the protein supplements on which he could lay hands, and brooked no fucking nonsense out of anyone.
"Sly is the most disciplined man that you'll ever meet in any walk of life," says his personal bodyguard Gary Compton. "He doesn't eat real late, he doesn't snack, and he doesn't eat much. Pasta? Yes, but not too often, and only when it's made with a special flour. Fish and brown rice are staples. He even eats fish for breakfast. He drinks little alcohol, but occasionally enjoys champagne. Quick energy? Would you believe oatmeal cookies? Of course, without processed sugar of preservatives."
Although he eventually decided the above was the best way to go, and utilized that program for Rocky Balboa and the Expendables, he wasn't above a bit of experimentation, in the most extreme fucking way possible.  "When making Rocky III, Sly would begin the day with a two mile jog, then go straight into 18 rounds of sparring, 2 hours of weightlifting and jumping rope. After all this, he would take a nap in the afternoon, then go running again! He would finish the day with a swim."  For whatever reason, Stallone decided to get lean first, and then put on a shitload of muscle thereafter for that film, so he dieted down to a ridiculous 155 on nothing but 10 egg whites and a piece of burnt toast a day, and then used a more or less paleo diet to get his bodyweight up to 175 for filming.   



Utter fucking lunacy.  Though he didn't go in for all of that ridiculous running to prep for Rambo, the sultan of shred decided to do something that sucks far, far more: "I have to live up to the last film. That makes it a little bit harder to get in shape. I have a machine like an escalator with the steps coming down, and I pile 40 to 50 pounds of weight on my back and start climbing those endless steps."


There you have it- all you need to do to get into 62 year old badass shape is to train 12 times a week on an essentially paleo diet ("I follow a high-protein diet: Anything with a face, that’s what I eat, with something green next to it,”) and throw in 1000 reps of abs and weights stairclimbing into the mix.  Easy as pie, right?  


If a 62 year old man can do it, so can fucking you.  Go lift something.


Sources:
http://www.ironmagazineforums.com/bodybuilding-gossip/67221-body-sylvester-stallone.html
http://www.bodybuilding.com/fun/jaimefiler2.htm
http://sylvesterstalloneworkout.net/
http://www.askmen.com/sports/bodybuilding/58_fitness_tip.html

15 December 2010

Apparently, some of you are getting into trouble due to all of the awesome on this site

So here's a link utility to download so that you can view pages on the Internet without images.  I'm going to throw this into a sidebar as well, so future readers can use this.

Note- I've not tested this utility, since I hate IE and don't use it, but once installed it should block images in IE.

http://inetexplorer.mvps.org/answers/34.html

Parting shot.

13 December 2010

Get Your Fucking Head Right, #3- Be Positive, Or You'll Positively Suck

Being that we live in the "Information Age", we're generally buried assneck deep in a massive pile of information, of which the vast majority fucking sucks.  Unless you've got an bullshit destroying Israeli killdozer, it's hard to tell fact from fiction, especially with a variety of hacks and general fuckfaces preying upon your doubts and amplifying that shitty little voice in your ear that occasionally tells you that you suck.  Everyone has the voice, but it's what you do with and to that voice that determines your lot in life.  If you listen to that voice, you end up digging ditches for a living and taking a break from drinking Pabst in your trailer just long enough to knock one of the few remaining teeth in your morbidly obese wife's head onto the floor for mouthing off.  If you don't you end up living whatever you consider to be the good life, basically bending life over and assraping it, and then following it with a bit of ATM before you head off to another day of awesome with a predatory grin on your face.

Given the gape there, I think it's a clear-cut case that she was just ATM'd.  Good for her.

Due to the span and depth of information to which we're exposed on a daily basis, we generally use a variety of diagnostic labels to lend a bit of clarity to your personal fog of war.  Any system of classification up with 
which you come, however, is going to have its positives and negatives, based on a wide array of factors and your overall mindset.(Brafman 74-75)  Additionally, life itself, or the people therein, will likewise place labels on the things and people around them, and you'll get caught up in that system.  This is nothing so organized as the Dewey Decimal System, but is rather a nearly arbitrary system that's by and large predicated upon the astonishing amount of suck most people generate as a matter of course in a given day.  Though you know they suck, and that they're opinions are likely (at best) arbitrary, the labels they place upon you can affect you 
greatly.
Hannibal calls "Bullshit."

I'm sure you are at this point screaming "Bullshit!" in your head and vowing never to read this blog again, as I've asserted that everyone on Earth falls prey to the judgement and labels of others, no matter how mentally tough.  Even the toughest motherfucker on Earth, however, can have his own personal Alamo.  No matter how tightly you seal yourself up in a fortress and massacre the opinions of the teeming unwashed hordes of mealy-mouthed shittalkers walking the Earth, finding yourself covered in gore from stabbing those roly-poly shitbirds to death, you can end up losing.  This is because psychologists have shown across the board that even the toughest snake-eating, Carlos Hathcock motherfuckers can lose subconsciously to societal labels, and that being labelled with  harsh terms like "bipolar" can reduce formerly chipper students into weepy bitches.  Luckily, this shit works both ways, and positive labels like "high-achiever" give you a leg up in life, and generally leads to a much higher success rate on everything from physical to mental tests.  (Brafman 98-99)  Sounds ridiculous, right?  It might, but it's been proven in everything from high schools to the military to the workplace, and works mysteriously both for and against those being labelled.  The phenomenon's called the Pygmalian effect when it's positive, and the Golem effect when it's negative, but it all boils down to the same thing- when we brand or label people, they take on the characteristics of the diagnosis. (100-101) 
(For those of you who are poorly read, Pygmalion was a sculptor in Greek myth who fell in love with his own statue, and eventually wished it into a live woman (not unlike the movie Mannequin), who he fucked and gave birth to an entire city thereafter.  Golems, on the other hand, are unthinking mud-men made by Jewish wizards to do their evil bidding.)
If you wished this thing to life, you'd fuck the hell out of it as well.

In any event, it's enough to make you want to build a fucking hut in the woods and mail nailbombs to people.  There's not much you can do against this type of sway, however, as humans are social animals, and our unconscious is programmed to absorb those labels and adapt to them.  That is, of course, unless you understand the source and discount it.  I, as usual, have more than my personal experience to go on for this.  The philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer stated that one "must be able to observe that other people are badly disposed towards him, ... [and] straightway ascribe them, ...to the defective knowledge of the speaker." (Pessimism)  That's certainly worked for me, and it's easy, because most people are unbelievably stupid cows with little reason and even less knowledge.  Additionally, there's really no point sitting around like a bitch and crying into your soup because a pack of lazy, insipid, fat people are trying to will you into being as lazy, fat, and insipid as they are, so you might as well put up a staunch mental defense against the teeming hordes of fuckheads and sally the fuck forth.
"JOIN USSSSSSS!"

The main way society gets over on the average lifter these days is by telling people they suck right from the outset.  The main format for the delivery of this is the myth of the "hardgainer".  A hardgainer, for those of you who are blissfully unaware, is a person who has trouble putting on size and strength.  This, of course, means EVERYONE ON EARTH.  This theory is so fucking stupid that it defies description, and really only exists to apply salve to the wounded egos of a bunch of weepy bitches who want everything right now and throw tantrums in their parents' basement because they've been training a whole 6 weeks and don't look like Ronnie Coleman yet.  It's the quintessential example of the instant-gratification craze that's swept the modern world, and it's fucking disgusting.  To back this load of Stygian stables-sized bullshit is the completely disproven and academically-mocked theory of somatotyping, which is still only clung to by mouth-breathing asshats in the bodybuilding world.  Continued adherence to the theory of somatotyping is akin to a continued belief that masturbating will give you hairy palms, or that JFK was actually shot by Lee Harvey Oswald.  In other words, you quite literally have to be a waterhead to place any credence in it whatsoever.  
 
Endomorph, or is there something far worse at issue?

If you've got doubts, consider this- pure ectomorphs and endomorphs (if they existed) would comprise 2/100  and 1/100th of a percent of the population, respectively.(Sheldon 30)  That means that in the US, there's 6140 and 3070 terminally skinny and terminally fat motherfuckers in the entire United States of America.  This fucking nonsense makes me literally want to stab anyone who utters the words endomorph and ectomorph, because even if they existed, it's almost guaranteed the person bitching was not one.  Neverthelkess, they don't exist, except in the minds of people who want to sell people a bunch of shit that doesn't work anyway, and then  turn around and blame that person's somatotype for their failure.  (If you'd like to read more about this fantastic pseudoscience, go here)  In other words, if you've classified yourself by somatotype, punch yourself in the fucking face, immediately.  Then, remember that when people feel as though they're qualified to make a diagnosis (like after reading a poorly written article about a debunked pseudoscientific theory written by a person who hasn't even read a primary source on the subject), people "become overly confident in [their] predictive abilities", and completely fuck up any progress they might make because "we often ignore all evidence that contradicts what we want to believe."  (Brafman 88)  Therefore, you'll go off half-cocked with bullshit information, and ignore anything to the contrary, which means you'll go on believing you're a bitch and can't gain any muscle and you're doomed to be fat and have a shitty squat and that you can't get laid.


FUCK THAT.


If someone else told you that you were an endo or an ectomorph, rip off their fucking face, wear it as a mask to gain entry to his girlfriend's house, and then smash the fucking granny out of her in front of her parents during their Sunday dinner.  According to the Necronomicon, that's the only way to cleanse yourself of evil magic.
Klaatu, verata, nictu, motherfucker.

To add insult to injury, you might recall that the only reason the hardgainer theory exists is to excuse failure in the weightroom.  This is fucking ridiculous- FAILURE IS NOT AN OPTION.  A winner accepts responsibility for himself, rather than pawning responsibility off on others, and immediately takes charge of shit, even when he has absolutely no authority to do so.  Even if you've no idea what you're doing, a strong belief in victory will serve you far better than the mealy-mouthed defeatist bullshit coming from anyone who labels you a failure before you've even started.  Pessimism is the sole purview of losers, and belief that one's a hardgainer is nothing but pessimism.  (Van Fleet 64-66)  Though the above quoted philosopher, Schopenhauer, might believe that man lowers himself to a simple member of the animal kingdom by allowing will to triumph over reason, one will never see a lion fail to catch a gazelle because he didn't believe in himself.
  
Let nothing stand in your fucking way.  


Brafman, Ori and Rom Brafman.  Sway: The Irresistable Pull of Irrational Behavior.  New York: Doubletree, 2008.
Sheldon, William. Atlas of Men: A Guide for Somatotyping the Adult Male at All Ages. New York: Gramercy Publishing Company, 1954.
Schopenhauer, Arthur.  Studies in Pessimism.  2007.  http://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/s/schopenhauer/arthur/pessimism/chapter5.html
Van Fleet, James K.  Hidden Power: How To Unleash the Power of Your Subconscious Mind.  Paramus:  Prentice Hall, 1987.