In case you haven’t noticed, I quit blogging.

MopeilityWOD has launched. Update your bookmarks and RSS feeds, I’ve officially quit lifting and found my new hobby.

At a 24 Hour Fitness, my friend Josh and I get in a pretty decent barbell workout. We press, do some kind of oly lift (on iron plates no less, I power snatched, Josh did a complex of power clean, front squat, push press), and back squat. We’re just two guys doing barbell lifts. We’re just two guys in a sea of virgins who can’t incline bench without lifting their hips off the bench and who start their workouts doing synchronized dumbbell rows while facing each other. A guy takes his girlfriend through his leg routine, from which barbell squats are completely absent. None of this should be surprising. This is all perfectly normal, perfectly healthy. It’s called going to the gym. Real athletes don’t go to 24 Hour Fitness.

This lady with too much rouge and eye shadow and a disproportionate amount of lower belly fat which is probably related to a lifestyle of too much caffeine and not enough sleep appears. Which is fine. I’m not saying she has to be pretty. I’m just saying she’s a character in this story.

There are four pairs in this story.

There is me and Josh. Josh and I met over livejournal while trolling a community which was supposedly focused on going to the gym except only like six people in the community actually lifted. Everyone else had a thyroid problem or was injured or some bullshit and just talked about lifting. Josh offered me money to train him, which I scoffed at and declined and we met up IRL and became training buddies. Now one of our favorite past times is to lift, buy each other dinner, and go take a walk at a nearby park to catch some vitamin D. Strong no homo.

There is the guy taking his girlfriend through his leg routine. He makes a real big fucking deal out of doing lunges in the Smith rack. I hope they’re happy with each other, because I’d have fucking killed myself three years ago if I were him.

There are the guys who start their workout doing synchronized dumbbell rows. I can’t tell if they’re joking. Doesn’t matter if they are. They ask Josh if he’s done using a bench for dumbbell benching because they want to start their next set together. I wonder if they are JO buddies. Have you guys heard of JO buddies? You can find ads for this on Craigslist. Some guys just want to be in a room with another guy to jerk off together. They don’t want to touch the other guy. They just want someone to jerk off with. It’s not gay, though the appearance of their JO partner is very specific and important. But there is no gay stuff allowed. Just two dudes sitting next to each other, but not close enough to touch, jerking off.

Then there are these two adonises, sandy-haired and tan, wearing tanktops and basketball shorts, with a lifetime of curls and front raises behind them. They’re not huge but they’re about as jacked as you could possibly be at 165lbs. I hate everything about them, because I am not them. They probably lost their virginity when they were 14 (feel free to guess how old I was when I lost mine).

So we come back to Cake-face Katrina. She decides she wants to do Smith machine squats, which, again, is fine. This is what you do at the gym. What the fuck else would it be there for? But the guy showing his girlfriend his leg routine neglected to take the 45lbs plates off and she doesn’t have the upper body strength to do so.

She has to make a decision. Who does she ask for help?

Can’t ask the guy doing his leg routine. He’s busy chastising the girlfriend for not doing more reps. Can’t ask the guys doing synchronized dumbbell rows – they’re JO buddies. Don’t really want to get between that kind of friendship. She looks at us, me with an unkempt excuse of an afro with a raincloud following me everywhere I go, Josh who’s favorite past-time is reading Bukowski at bars, thinks to herself, “Do you even lift?” and immediately and desperately avoids eye contact. Then she turns to the two Roman sculptures who do a lot of curls and tri extensions and giggles, hey, could you two strapping young gents help a lady out? They come over and unload all 90lbs of 45lbs plates from the Smith machine for her.

Later she sees me squatting my last set at 380lbs for my volume day and thinks I’m a try-hard asshole. Not the guys who synchronized their db rows together and will later share a stall in the men’s room to jerk off together. Not the guy trying to impress his no-lifting girlfriend with a bunch of lunges and Smith machine squats. Not the narcissistic pieces of shit who bleach their hair and workout in Hollister tanks while “subtly” flexing their tris in the mirror. She thinks the guy enjoying his hobby is the asshole.

* * *

Puke writes:

I wonder if he blogged about what he saw of you, I’ll try and find it.

Look in the Animal Pak training logs.

Alphanitis writes:

Went and visited my uncle recently. He said I have some good size but he asked why I’m not cut. Good. I tell all of my friends I lift for function, they ask why don’t I try to get jacked, what they don’t know is that I secretly do rear delt raises and db flies and shrugs till I almost drop the weight on my toes. So I AM trying to get jacked but no one can tell. Good

Saw my dad for father’s day, bought him dinner. Before we leave for dinner he asks me, “Are you still exercising?”

My fucking dad literally asked me, do you even lift?

Chris E writes:

Brent do you think in an alternative universe there is a version of you and you’re extremely huge and jacked? I’d like to think so.

There’s probably about twenty different alternate universes where I’ve already fucking killed myself. There’s an alternate universe where I’m not allergic to cats and have three. In that alternative universe, those three cats will merrily dine on my face after I die alone in my apartment.

First of all – WHO TRAINS AT GOLD’S GYM?

Terrible writes:

Been waiting forever for a post, then got too busy to check –

I just moved to Plano from Kansas City a couple weeks ago. I live just south of Frisco on Preston (just into Plano), am now lifting at the Plano Gold’s on Park and Preston.

I know a few of youse guys on here live in the DFW area – if there is some interest in meeting up, I’ll post up my email address.

The Gold’s has a deadlift bar jack, which is fucking phenomenal.

PS, I have absurdly long legs and no calves, so that will be totes cool.

BRB choosing the least popular, least prevalent globo gym in the DFW area. The Gold’s there is pretty OK, I can’t bench there thanks to being a fucking manlet. A meet up sounds lovely. I’ll pay a drop-in fee or vice versa. We should all get together and have a great fucking time. Post your email or add me on fb and we can exchange digits. Pics or GTFO.

I’ve been training at 24 Hour Fitness for some of my pressing/squatting and bodybuilding. It works out pretty well. When my time management is bad (all the time) I end up doing the stuff that matters in the afternoon, go to work, then bodybuild and circle jerk in the gym after. Or, if I don’t feel like driving half an hour to the gym and I’m not training the oly lifts, you can find me among the crowd at 24 Hour Fitness, which is composed primarily of middled-aged guys on TRT, really jacked younger guys with great stacks, guys who don’t even lift, and redditors from /r/fitness pretending to do Starting Strength. If you actually do find me in this crowd, please talk to me. I’m probably about to kill myself.

When I go after work, the gym’s much less crowded. Which is great because it means I’m guaranteed to not have to wait for the squat rack. But it also means that everyone else in the gym is acutely aware of what the other 4 people are doing.

Tuesday night, I end up at 24 Hour Fitness to do front squats, weighted pull ups, curls, rear delt flyes, and seated calf raises. Perfectly normal, perfectly healthy workout. Get dat quad pump, build dem baby calves into muscular bulls, make dem rear delts POP. I’m just herpderping around, working on my physique.

In comes three pretty jacked people, a guy and lady – who is more muscular than me – following the lead of someone I can only guess to be an aspiring IFBB pro. They proceed to go through a giant set of the machine lat row, chest-supported rows, and various lat pull downs. They time their rest periods to roughly 30-60 seconds. The IFBB-to-be guy urges them on with quiet determination.

“How much should I do on this next set?”

“More weight.”

“What do you think, maybe another 25lbs?”

“More weight. Go.”

And they hammer out some really great-looking sets for their upper back. It’s like watching Delta Force clear a shooting house in seven seconds. Beautifully efficient. Boner-inspiring. Makes me wish I was one of them. But I’ll never be one of them. Because I was in JROTC in high school. Because I’m a 5’5″ manlet and don’t have the aesthetics.

I front squat my topset for the night at 315lbs (having back squat 380lbs for a cumulative total of 16 reps the day before), and the IFBB-to-be watches with complete disinterest. Do you want to know why? Because he front squats 315lbs for 10 just to get some blood flow into his VMO. Does it after he pre-exhausts with some sets of 20 on the leg extension machine. Then finishes up with 1k lbs+ leg presses. Then he injects equipose into his vastus lateralis.

They finish their workout in about forty minutes. You guys realize that beyond this point, the testosterone production from lifting weights peaks and your body starts to flood with cortisol, right? Don’t kill your gains. Afterwards they all head up to the cardio floor to get in some time in the fat-burning target heart zone.

Relieved that I now have the weights to myself, and that the IFBB-to-be won’t be there to be completely unimpressed with everything I do, I begin in earnest my final circuit for the night – rear delt flyes, seated calf raises, and barbell curls. I am pretty spent from the earlier workout I had, working, and now coming to the end of this workout, so my curls get pretty sloppy. I over-extend my lumbar, I use hip extension to aid in the concentric portion of the lift. Look man – I’m tired. I just wanted to be done. So I finish up my last ugly set of curls. Then I examine myself in the mirror – not because I’m happy with my pump. My internal monologue is basically –

Look at you. You’re disgusting. PATHETIC. FILTHY.

And then I unrack my weights. As I do so, I look up to the second floor and realize the IFBB-to-be was watching everything. My doyouevenlift.jpg curling technique, my blatant self-examination in the mirror, he saw everything. He shakes his head, sitting on the throne that is the ergonomic stretching contraption, and leaves to meet his trainees on their treadmills to tell them about the fucking amateur Asian kid with baby calves.

This is the Friday failboat.

AngryRunner writes:

I miss you. Re-found your blog after an internet hiatus.

Hey man. I’m glad you’re still around and back to training. Hope you’ve been well, we should catch up.

This thing on?

Ahem.

Hey guys. It’s Brent. How have you been?

Have you ever been in a band that met pretty regularly? Then one by one the band members get jobs and girlfriends and show up for practice less and less, the gigs come fewer and farther between, and eventually everyone just forgets about the project altogether? And then one day you’re home alone, nothing to do, and happen to wander into the garage where everyone used to play and it’s like nothing’s ever changed, there’s the mic stand in the middle of the cement floor, there’s the drum stand collecting dust?

This is not what coming back to a blog is like.

Coming back to a blog is like getting out of a toxic relationship, deciding you miss it too much, and then crawling back to it on your hands and knees, realizing that you’re nothing without it.

Is this the Friday failboat?

* * *

It could also just be the subject matter, maybe I’m doing this all wrong.

I’ve started using Prilepin’s chart as a guideline for my training, using a “heavy” volume day and a less stressful training load to hit 1-3rms. So still following a Texas Method type approach, just with a little more variation. I’ve also started doing calf raises on a pretty regular basis. How do you guys feel about bodybuilding?

I’ve always pretended to NOT care about my calves. When I first started lifting, weighing all of 105lbs, I didn’t squat. I benched on a home setup with a 15lbs bar and plastic weights on a bench that would collapse under 225lbs. Then I did military presses. Then I did curls. Then I did french presses. Eventually I started sumo deadlifting, because this was the first deadlift article I found on the internet (supposedly written by Louie Simmons in 1999). Eventually I started squatting, because my dad said, “Hey man, you’re looking a lot better, but your upper body’s all jacked and your legs aren’t as muscular. So work your legs.”

Calves were never included in this. When I started oly lifting, I was like, well since I extend my ankles in the second pull maybe I’ll get some fucking calvular hypertrophy going. Hey guys, in case you were fucking wondering, it never happened.

So throughout my life, I’ve generally met mostly support about my lifting endeavors. Great squat man. Your traps are alright for your size. But every once in a while, there’s the haunting comment (other than, “do you even lift”), those are some tiny calves. And I pretend not to care, who fucking gives a shit, too busy banging out these goddamn CURLS son, but honestly? Honestly? Honestly? It crushes me. Every time. Doesn’t matter who it is.

Thus, not only have I been doing rear delt flyes on a regular basis – I’ve now added various calf raises into my routine, aiming for 2-3x a week.

I’m a 26 year old adult, flexing and extending his ankles on the seated calf extension machine or with the barbell on his back, because people making offhand comments about his physique make him feel the same way an adolescent girl feels when people make comments about her weight.

Is this the Friday failboat?

* * *

I can’t remember making friends outside of the gym. All of my friendships which have lasted longer than two weeks have been people I’ve met through a common interest of lifting weights, or 70s big. Most people who understand what having friends is like would view this as sad. I’m done with sad. Maybe this is a fucking plus. Maybe every time someone texts me it can be about meeting up to train. Maybe it can be about eating high-protein foods. Maybe it can be semi-nudes in various bodybuilding poses, and nothing would be homo about it. It’d be perfectly normal. Perfectly healthy.

Is this the Friday failboat?

I posted a thread in /r/weightroom a few days ago hoping to meet people to lift with. 250+ responses, only 3 of whom are in DFW.

Is this the Friday failboat?

Asked two of those three people if they’d like to lift tomorrow. One declined because of his band or some other outlandish excuse, I should have told him if he didn’t want to hang out with me he could just tell me and I wouldn’t take it personal, I’m a fucking adult, but he doesn’t have to come up with some highly unlikely story just to get out of hanging out. The other guy basically said no.

Is this the Friday failboat?

I joined Fitocracy.

Is this the Friday failboat?

Hey guys. Brent here. This is my life as of tonight.

Is this the Friday failboat?

Guess I need a new theme day for the blog.

I was filling my gas tank after work Tuesday afternoon and hadn’t had carbs for about 15 hours, in addition to having not slept as much as I should have. Was thinking about eating chicken schawarma pre-workout (it was good). After I finished I got in the car and started bumping Arty and Mat Zo – Mozart.

Picture that for a moment. The image is important to this story. A piece of shit Asian-American with a stupid haircut wearing scrubs WHO DOESN’T EVEN LIFT, driving a Nissan his parents bought for him bumping some stereotypical techno.

As I turn into the street I hear a car honk, and I figure it wasn’t necessarily at me since I haven’t pulled out in front of anyone and hadn’t made any aggressive or crazy driving maneuvers. So I get to the stoplight and I’m sitting there just chilling to repetitive base and synthetic noises.

I see a flash of red in my rearview mirror and when I look over I see boxers, jeans, and a white t-shirt, then a hand reaching for my car. My initial thought is great, I’m about to get fucking mugged, welp it was nice knowing everyone, and then I realize that while this person’s hand is on my car, it’s not trying to get the door open. He’s screwing my gas cap closed. I had left it open after filling up my tank. Even goes through the courtesy of closing the gas tank hatch.

I turn and wave my thanks, already feeling like a real asshole. He gets in a car on the passenger side, and I see the driver’s face, some punk fucking 17 year old high school kid looking back with utter disgust. Like, not just “man, what a dumb kid” disgust, this fucking asshole was thinking, “man, I hope he fucking kills himself and I hope the last thing his family remembers about him is his bloodied corpse lying in its own waste while larvae crawl out of his eye sockets.” This fucking kid was thinking, “stereotypical Asian driver.”

Wanted to say, HEY ASSHOLE, I GUESS YOU’VE NEVER MADE A FUCKING MISTAKE BEFORE, GUESS YOU’VE NEVER DONE ANYTHING STUPID IN YOUR LIFE, HAVE FUN WITH YOUR FUCKING FINALS SHITHEAD BRB I REMEMBER WHEN I WAS IN HIGH SCHOOL, MUST SUCK TO HAVE ALL THAT INNOCENT HOPE FOR THE FUTURE, YOU’RE GONNA ENJOY IT WHEN YOUR BELIEFS AND IDEALS AREN’T RECONCILED IN THE REAL WORLD. Instead I turned up the music and drove off.

* * *

Snatched up to 230lbs this week, squat 375lbs for 5, 2, 3, 3, pressed 170lbs for four singles and a double. Front squat 315lbs x 3 and 330lbs x 2 today.

It feels like I’m getting more comfortable starting with lower hips for the snatch and clean. I should probably record myself and see what it actually looks like.

Terrible writes:

Intoxicating aroma, firm texture, rich in natural oils.

An excellent post.

I loled at this review, is it a meme?

Anthony writes:

Doesn’t look that great? Are you a Nazi?

Haven’t liked almost any of the movies based on Marvel Comics. X-Men: First Class looks good, haven’t seen it yet. Didn’t like Iron Man. Don’t know what you want from me.

Becky writes:

hey brent. i taught brad some of the ankle magic you taught me.

Did Brad care?

Chris E. writes:

brent – please make your failboats a regular staple in your weekly posts, I thoroughly enjoy them.

Keep blogging about my life on a regular basis? That’s kind of inherent in blogging, Chris. Sure, I’ll keep letting you guys know how my day went.

I realize this isn’t Friday, go fuck yourself.

Hey guys – I just went out commando today. Was finishing laundry and none of my plaid boxer briefs were finished drying but I was in the mood for chicken schawarma. I said, fuck it, and put on some jeans and oscar miked.

“Cool story bro. Welcome to ninth grade.”

When I was doing my clinicals for x-ray there I met a tech at one of the medical centers in Wichita Falls that I did my rotations at. Guy was one of the coolest 40 year olds I’d ever met. Single dad, ex-Army, and was pretty creative. Guy was real good at thinking outside of the box and whenever we weren’t busy in the department he would ask people problem-solving type questions or riddles. He was the kind of guy who would write thoughts on the whiteboard where the exams were scheduled.

Needless to say, I looked up to this guy. I was 22 years old and I said aloud on more than one occasion, “I want to be like Curtis when I grow up.”

One of the conversations we had one day was about how jeans come with holes already in them.

“Back when I was a kid – ” Curtis started, then he exaggerated his old white guy voice, ” – ‘back in my day, we had to earn our holes, man.’ You know, wearing them for a week without washing them, jumping over fences, running away from dogs or cops.”

I wasn’t cool enough back then to want to wear jeans with holes in them. But one fateful day, after wearing my jeans every day for a week and having jumped over fences and walked very briskly away from cute girls in college, I noticed – oh my, there seems to be a hole in the thigh of these jeans.

I was on a college budget at the time and I’ve also never really cared about my wardrobe a whole lot as long as I was wearing a t-shirt that reflected either major depressive disorder or lifting weights (and I guess now Bob Marley heh heh heh) so I was like, welp, guess I’ve earned my fucking holes now. So I now made regular appearances around campus and town with a rapidly growing hole in the thigh of my jeans that show cased my plaid boxers to the world.

That semester I made friends with this pretty cute latina chick that worked at the hospital. Hey guys, let me save you from the fucking suspense – I got friend-zoned. But that’s kind of an irrelevant point. I asked for her number one day because she was someone I wanted to hang out with and we became text buddies.

One day I noticed that the hole in my jeans had become kind of unreasonably large. I asked for her opinion, if she had a hole in her jeans that was about yeigh big, would she continue wearing them? She told me it was a bad idea, but I went to go see her wearing the jeans anyway. And, similar to today, all my plaid boxers were in the dryer, so I said fuck it and went out commando. Fuck it, it’s just my woefully under-developed quad.

I guess a quick side note, even after I’d graduated the x-ray program, I’d still go up to see her at her work to hang out because she didn’t want to spend time outside of work with me but enjoyed the company since she was bored while at work. I brought her lunch and boba tea on several occasions. “Strong WK” go fuck yourself please BRB living in a world where bringing a friend lunch to her work is something to be ashamed about BRB everything I do is a sign of weakness BRB I fucking hate my life.

Anyways, the point is – at least one person had advised me to not continue wearing my well-worn jeans due to their state of deterioration. To be completely fair, quite a few people had expressed their disapproval with their withering glares or looks of pitiable disgust. But I was young, it was new, I was having a great time!

Later, I would meet with my parents for dinner. They expressed disapproval at my choice in attire. My mom offered me money so I could go buy wearable clothes.

“It’s fine,” I explained, “This is how you’re supposed to wear jeans in modern America.” Typical lame, ultra-conservative Korean parents, so out of touch with how the world is changing.

So we have our dinner. We leave the restaurant and head to the car in the parking lot. And my mom asks me,

“Hey man, are you not wearing any underwear?”

“Of course I’m wearing underwear,” I lie, “They’re just tighty-whities.”

“Well, alright.”

At the end of the night I get home and take off my jeans, and I can’t help but notice that there are more holes in the jeans than I thought. There was one in my back pocket, so that the corner of my wallet peeked through, and also one about the size of a credit card where the lower quadrant of my left buttock would be. Good. Thinks he is blossoming into adulthood. Just looks like more of an awkward piece of shit.

* * *

I’ve snatched up to 235lbs twice in the past week, that’s been pretty good. C+J still kinda sucks, I’ve gone as high as 275lbs and cleaned 285lbs once but I should probably devote more attempts at getting multiple singles at 275 or so.

Front squat 150kg/330lbs for two doubles, back squat 375lbs for 3×5, pressed 170lbs for a triple, pulled 405lbs x 3 yesterday.

Went to Blackbox DFW on Thursday where Dutch suggested I try starting with lower hips and walked me through the start position for the snatch and clean. Guess I’ll start working on this. Felt good to get away from pulling like I believe in Starting Strength.

SilentMachinery writes:

The idiosyncratic language only bothers me when it fails to communicate his thoughts effectively. Which is always.

Sounds like a fucking personal problem to me.

stonewall writes:

I like the fact that Glenn knows you’re a real piece of shit and wouldn’t listen to him even if he was coaching you! That’s just great, buddy!

For those of you that missed it in the comments, see Glenn Pendlay’s official opinion about me here. Pretty spot on.

Stonewall also writes:

Ironic Title is Ironic. Mostly due to the fact you probably wont post another failboat, ever. Its probably better just to call it a day and quit instead of exciting yourself with these “failboat” ambitions; we all know where this is headed. Its like the good damn titanic, brent. Only its not as tragic because not as many people will be freezing and drowning in the Atlantic Ocean. All I can see is fucking icebergs, dooder.

You’re pretty wrong, it’s surprising to me that you wouldn’t expect that I have TOO MANY failboat stories to share. I can do this all day, baby.

Chris E. writes:

wait…so you didn’t go take a dump and the female trainer walk in on you? I thought that was where this story was going.

Guess I have a new niche of scat exhibitionist erotica.

beonick writes:

I made this for you OP.
http://i48.tinypic.com/2cqmv6o.jpg

Strong 8/10.

Hey guys, Brent here, welcome to the first Friday Failboat, where I share with you a story about one of my life’s failures. Today’s failure is the story of how I talked with a girl every day on the phone for two weeks and then abruptly stopped calling her.

But first, a poll.

[poll id=”3″]

And now, the story.

She Thinks I’m The Nicest Guy

So in high school I went to my JROTC banquet with a chick in ROTC. She asked me so I went, I didn’t really talk to her and didn’t know what it meant to go to a banquet with a girl. So I go there wearing the greens and all that bullshit and we have dinner and I dance with her. THEN. THEN. THEN. I see this chick there wearing some punk rock black dress and striped socks and a lip ring. She was a classmate’s friend, not date. I ask him who she is and he introduces us and pushes us to dance together. We’re both real shy but I think mutually interested? She seemed to enjoy dancing with me but we didn’t really make a whole lot of eye contact and while she was interested in talking with me we weren’t terribly good at making conversation.

Couldn’t tell you what happened to my date to the JROTC banquet. Probably hated my fucking guts after I ditched her.

I find the cute punk rock chick at lunch a few days later and say, “Hey, I uh it was – I liked dancing with you at the – ”

“I LIKED IT TOO.”

” – I liked dancing with you at the banquet and I was uh I was wondering – ”

“Yeah?”

” – I was wondering if you maybe wanted to uh give me your number?”

“Sure, yeah.”

So I get this chick’s number. My friends counsel me and tell me, don’t call her right away. Wait two days. Make her wonder. So I wait two days and it feels like I’m on a fucking countdown to a catastrophic event. I’m pretty stressed about it. I haven’t talked on the phone with a girl before. Is this what being a man feels like?

On Thursday I call her and the conversation could not be more awkward. BRB long periods of silences BRB what’s your favorite movie BRB well I gotta go but I liked talking with you so ttyl?

This continues more or less everyday for a week or two. She never called me. I was always calling her. Probably every day. I probably called her more than once when she didn’t pick up. … Probably left a few voicemails. She seemed OK with it? This was back before cellphones by the way. So I was leaving voicemails on her family’s answering machine hey it’s Brent just wanted to call and talk, call me back.

She was an artist (she drew anime, be still my heart).

One fateful day I call her and we have a typical awkward conversation where we hear each other breathing because we’re both on the verge of having anxiety attacks. I’ve compeletely run out of things to say. Desperate to say something I ask, so what’s your dream house?

“… my dream house?”

“Yeah like, do you have an idea of the house you’d like to live in when you’ve got a grown up job and stuff?” But I already know the damage has been done. There’s no coming back from this. There’s awkward and then there’s moderately high on the autism spectrum. And then there’s me. Setting world records on the autism scale.

I consult with my friends about this devastating operational failure. They agree that this is a failed mission. I’m not gonna make it through selection. This is me washing out. Just fucking pack my shit up and don’t apply again. Have fun shoveling shit in regular infantry. Making E-3 might be in my future? At best?

So I never call her again.

Later in college we meet again through a mutual friend (who she is now dating) and she thinks I am the nicest guy.

* * *

The only thing I want to talk about re: training is I pressed the 70lbs dumbbells for 5. That’s literally all I want to share. Fuck everything else.

Last night I worked on tack-and-stretching my anterior hip structures with the PVC pipe, focusing on extension of the hip + internal rotation. Was unpleasant, but seemed beneficial. I’m still trying to improve my hip internal rotation + extension (i.e. split jerk) and the only things I’ve done for the anterior hip are couch stretch and joint approximation with a band. Seems like addressing soft tissue relationships would be a good move for me. I’ve also tried tacking-and-stretching my tris on the PVC pipe and I think I prefer this to using the lacrosse ball now. My IT bands and gastrocs don’t hurt as much to roll on the pipe since I do them pretty regularly. Post your mob progress/experimentation to comments.

Today I walked into the gym wearing my gay attire and a female trainer there who isn’t on anabolic steroids and seems pretty nice happened to be entering at the same time and held the door open for me. She makes eye contact with me and says,

“Hey man I’ve been meaning to ask, do you lift with a team?”

“Oh I uh hrm derherp — I lift on my own but I do compete.” Then without warning I veer into the bathroom (it is right next to the entrance/exit).

I wasn’t trying to avoid conversation. I was fixated on going to the bathroom so I just went into the bathroom.

Neither of us pursued further contact.

I missed some snatches and some dude who is being trained by a guy on steroids says, “HEY MAN THAT’S PRETTY GOOD.” Confusingly, he wasn’t being sarcastic.

Unsure how to respond to positive reinforcement for sucking at lifting I say my typical “thanks…” and pretend to be busy drinking water. BRB can’t feel normal sitting/standing still and have several nervous habits/behavioral patterns to mask that fact.

Later during my clean-and-jerks he says “SO HEY MAN YOU GOING TO THE OLYMPICS OR WHAT?”

“I’m not gonna go to the Olympics but I do like competing.”

“Why aren’t you going to the Olympics?”

“… because I’m not on enough steroids?” <– his trainer loled at this.

Mark writes:

Seeing as you ignored me on facebook, I’ll ask again here.
How do feel about Real Dolls?

I can think of cooler industries to support.

stankrom writes:

glad to see you look like christian fucking bale in the machinist peesus titty fucking christ how much do you weigh?????

Oh look a libertarian history teacher who doesn’t lift commenting on my bodyweight you don’t happen to post on startingstrength.com do you? Tell me about homeownership Pete do you take umbrance with any of the taxes you pay in relation to it?

Derek writes:

Whoa whoa whoa…since when do you have a gf? Is this perhaps VPVG?

For all you know she might be fucking imaginary.

B writes:

what does your gf think of your log and your legion of devoted betas?

She follows it and gets some low-grade entertainment out of it, same as the rest of you guys.

VPVG writes:

heyy brent,
was wonderingg when you are gonna come overr and let me fuckk you with a strapp on like the littlee beta you aree.

live.laugh.love

Legit story, she agreed to do a short video where I interviewed her but we haven’t gotten around to it. It seems like a bad idea so I’ll discuss with her the disadvantages of doing an interview but if she still agrees thisgunbegood.gif.

So my girlfriend and I find ourselves in the gay part of Ft. Lauderdale. It’s raining and we want to walk around and people watch so we look for places that may carry umbrellas. We find a plaza with parking and she points and says, “Oh, a gay mart, they might have umbrellas.”

I laughed, thinking she was making a joke about a store in the gay district, but no, she was being serious, we legit found:

So we go inside and they don’t have umbrellas, but they have some pretty legit tanktops and shorts.

So I’m in the changing room checking out these sweet new threads and loving it. My girlfriend tries to convince me to invest in a thong but I don’t see the utility in it so I decline and instead stick with some new workout attire. When we get to the register, we find a display case full of male sex toys and lube.

“Do you want to get a jelly cockring?” my girlfriend asks.

“What would we do with it?” I respond, much to the amusement of the guy ringing my wares up. “Are they edible?”

“It’s a one-size-fits-all thing,” he explains, as if he’s explaining the difference between a rectangle and a square to a first grader. “They’re not edible.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, “I’m kinda new at this.”

So we leave the store, I’m in a great mood because I’ve got some new threads that will probably become the new 70s big trend, we’re about to eat some Thai food in Wilton Manors, and then this gay couple walk past us.

“Great,” one of them says with utter disgust as they walk past a store, “Just what we need, more gay clothes.”

The guy totally shits on my parade. I’m young, it was new, I was having a great time – no. I’m just a tourist.

I deadlifted 405lbs for two doubles on Friday, about the only thing of note training-wise, did some light snatches and cleans (no bumpers at the gym in Ft. Lauderdale). AJ helped me with my deadlift a little bit and I think they were productive changes to my start position.

Alex writes:

Can we be best friends?

Did we just become best friends?

Penn writes:

Dude when are you gonna get Yoked again? Or is that just too two thousand and late for you? I ask because I watched your USAPL Nationals video again.

I wasn’t yoked in 2010, I was on the tubby side. It would be beneficial for me to get back up to 170-180lbs at some point.

aghsdhgf writes:

i would like to read the stories about getting a girl’s number off of facebook and calling a girl everyday for two weeks then stopping.

I’ll talk about them in the next post.

beonick writes:

I wanna hear more about the times someone has walked in on you taking a dump at work. lol wut?

This wasn’t at work but I was at Central Market doing groceries and had to take a sudden dump. So I go to the bathroom and LOCK THE STALL DOOR. I sit on the toilet and start unloading my payload and then this fucking guy opens the door, fails, then tries again and the door comes open because the lock is loose and apparently can be shaken apart if you rattle the door enough. I say, “UHHH THIS IS OCCUPIED” and the guy says “oh god I’m sorry” and slams the door shut. I get up with my pants around my ankles and re-lock the door, and I can’t help but notice that the crack between the stall door and the frame is large enough that everyone out in the bathroom can look through it to see me dropping a major deuce.

So Sunday I go to work at VPVG’s clinic and guess who is there?????????????????????????

Look guys, the jig is UP. She knows everything. EVERYTHING. She read the blog BEFORE I was writing posts about her. She was making inside jokes with me FROM the blog every time she saw me.

These are all conversations from several months ago when she was picking up shifts at my clinic:

Brent: Hey VPVG, What’s your favorite episode of The Office?
VPVG: I liked the episode where Erin is freaking out at lunch with Michael and pushes her hair in front of her face and says, “In the foster home, my hair was my room.”

(I had linked that scene in a post talking about another girl at work.)

Random Front Desk Girl: How are you doing?
VPVG, frustrated at work: I’m going to kill myself.
Brent: lol that’s my line, I say that all the time.
VPVG: You can’t claim that, everyone says it, it’s not “your” line.

(SHE ADMITTED HAVING SAID IT BECAUSE SHE READ IT SO MUCH OFF THE BLOG.)

Brent: When I was in ROTC I went to the ROTC banquet and saw this punk/emo chick there and thought she was pretty.
VPVG: Brent, what is with you and …
Brent: WHAT’S WITH ME AND WHAT? GO AHEAD? THIS OUGHTA BE GOOD.
VPVG: What’s with you and these unfortunate situations where the girl never reciprocates?

(NO CAPTION NEEDED.)

SHE KNOWS. EVERYTHING.

BRENT: WHAT WAS YOUR FAVORITE POST ABOUT YOU?
VPVG: I LIKED THE ONE WHERE YOU TALKED ABOUT ALL OF US GOING OUT THAT ONE NIGHT, THAT WAS FUNNY.

EVERYTHING.

No but really it’s fine. No restraining order, no complaint of sexual harassment at work, she is still talking to me as opposed to getting real awkward around me and not making eye contact. She thought it was flattering, and that I am hilarious and weird. Which is exactly how the posts were intended to come off. Clearly this is yet another testament to my skills as a writer. For the record – she loled at the haiku. She doesn’t even think I’m creepy – though she likes to joke about it because I get upset when the word is used to describe me.

VPVG: I only say it because it bothers you.
Brent: Of course it bothers me, I’m very self-conscious of being creepy.
VPVG: Why are you self-conscious about it?
Brent: BECAUSE I USED TO BE CREEPY. Do you know how hard it was for me to learn to socialize normally?
VPVG: /thinks I’m joking
Brent: I was real creepy in high school.
VPVG: No you weren’t, what makes you think you were creepy in high school?
Brent: WHAT ASIAN GUY ISN’T CREEPY IN HIGH SCHOOL?

So after she confronts me about the blog we talk about more embarrassing things that have I’ve done/have happened to me in my life. I talked about the time that I got a girl’s number off her facebook and started texting her, and also about the time that I got a girl’s number in high school (this is the chick from the ROTC banquet), called her every day for a week or two, then couldn’t take the pressure of making conversation and stopped talking to her without explanation. After that we talked about how our relationships – when she asked to see another picture of my girlfriend I referred her to my facebook, to which she replied,

“Let’s be real here, like I’m actually going to look at your facebook.”

If you guys are interested in the stories about those two girls I mentioned, remind me to tell you about them in the next post in the comments.

In training I’ve –

– squat 405lbs x 3
– benched 250lbs for 4, 3, 3
– snatched up to 230lbs
– c+jed 285lbs
– pulled 385lbs x 3 from a 3″ deficit
– dumbbell pressed the 70lbs dbs x 4, 4

I’ll talk to you guys here in a little bit.

beonick writes:

Next time someone asks if you need a spot, act like an FOB Asian. As you decline the spot, give a professional bow and hand him your business card.

OK.

Tom writes:

Brent, when I try to overhead press, my arms can only get about 60 degrees from horizontal (pi/3 if you understand that better since you’re Asian) with my shoulders in the neutral, stable position that everyfuckingone except me can press in. To get my arms actually vertical I have to hyperextend/weirdly pull back my upper back or whatever and it looks really retarded and messes up my balance when trying to press and is overall just a pain in the ass. Tell me exactly what to do so that I can half-heartedly do it but accumulate 6000+ posts on an internet powerlifting forum without ever actually squatting more than two plates while simultaneously hating on guys squatting 600+ pounds raw because they were an inch shy of depth. Butnoactually, what do?

This describes my overhead position perfectly from about a year and a half ago. These three >were pretty useful in improving my shit, I’d also work on anterior structures like pec and pec minor as well with the lacrosse ball and if you’re missing glenohumeral internal rotation I’d work on that too along with shoulder extension (i.e. getting your arms behind you).

Jake writes:

What’d you do for your shoulders in order to bench pain free? I could use some of that. Thanks!

See above. I’ve talked extensively about my shoulders in about 10 different posts. You’re a real dickhead if you aren’t reading mobilitywod and your shoulders hurt when you bench.

In the past week I’ve:

– snatched up to 225lbs, 230lbs
– c+jed 280lbs
– pulled 435lbs for a single
– did 3 kipping muscle ups on the rings without a false grip
– 5 sets of 3 ring handstand push ups
– benched and pressed like shit

I’ve been rolling my IT bands, particularly down past the knee joint, and it’s been pretty awful. It’s been productive, though, I’ve got some better knee flexion in my left knee (which has been my problem knee as far as knee flexion) and it’s definitely helped my bottom positions because of that. This also seems to have helped my couch stretch a lot and I’m feeling less tightness distally and more of a stretch higher up the anterior thigh which is probably a good sign.

I used to do the banded wall squat stretch pretty regularly for hip joint approximation, I haven’t visited it in a while since I’ve been focusing on working on soft-tissue stuff along my anterior and posterior thigh. Reincorporated it last week because a gradual impinged sensation in my left hip has been creeping on me; the approximation took care of the weird feeling and also made my pulling and squatting feel a lot better. Snatching has progressively gotten better as I’ve hit my calves and IT bands and looks like the approximation was another key piece in improving my bottom position overhead squat.

BW’s coming back up, I’ve been without waxy maize as part of my pre-workout shake (in fact, have not been using a pre-workout shake for a few weeks/months) and got some today and had a pretty decent workout for having deadlifted and done RDLs on Saturday.

I need a better reaction to when people pay me compliments for my lifts. This isn’t me saying I’m worthy of compliments – I’m just saying there has to be a better reaction than me saying “thanks” flatly and dismissively without making eye contact, because someone telling me, “nice lift,” “that’s a lot of weight,” “that’s impressive,” only reminds me of how fucking shitty I am as an athlete. My immediate thought is “this wouldn’t medal at a meet, but thanks for reminding me of that fact. If you need me, I’ll be the guy at the dumbbell rack – smashing his fucking face in the mirror.”

Went to the gym on Saturday. They were hosting a meet. It was packed. Walked up to the front desk, owner looked at me and said, “You’re not lifting today.”

“OoohKAY,” and I turned to drive to a globo.

The above has not been embellished in anyway.

At the globo, a dude saw me with 265lbs on the bench and without any provocation on my part asked if I needed a spot. I did, so I said in a minute. I can only guess what made him approach me. Did I look lost? 155lbs Asian kid pretending he can bench more than 225lbs? Did I look lonely? Did he take pity on me, seeing the misery scrawled on my face and in my awkward seated position on the bench, staring at the floor and periodically pushing my glasses up my nose because I don’t have the social skills to look comfortable in any setting? After the set he asked, “Do you always go all the way down and touch your chest? Doesn’t bother your shoulders?” He wasn’t being a dickhead – he was pretty friendly and was legit asking because the thought of that much shoulder extension in the bench press seemed painful to him.

I said, “It used to hurt, then I did some stuff to make it better,” not really interested in talking to this 40 year old guy about mobility when he was honestly fine without it, not like he’s gonna compete or anything. Excuse me sir you just want to bang your wife and play ball with your kid, let me tell you about the importance of restoring scapular mobility.

“Used to hurt … huh,” he said. That ellipsis in the middle is him waiting for me to elaborate, but I was too busy being an autistic dickhead unloading the bench so I could go deadlift.

I sent an email to this lady who’s the organizer of a storytelling meet in Richardson so I can do an open mic and read some kind of depressing erotica (I’ll post it here for you guys when I’m done) but she hasn’t gotten back to me, probably because she googled me and found the blog and doesn’t want me there.

beonick writes:

Brent doesnt write any mobility erotica anymore. I havent been this depressed since highschool.

SOON MY SON. SOON.

Chris writes:

eat more

k get fucked.

Powers writes:

Brent you’d love Paranormal Activity.

Saw the third one, whimpered and covered my eyes for most of it. Screamed the loudest in a theater full of teenage kids. People were laughing at me. Was too terrified to give a flying fuck.

Stroup writes:

Explain to me the progression scheme to singles across?

lol what the fuck are you, new?

Peter writes:

Brent how are the girls going?

My girlfriend asked me to wear bunny ears a while ago, my thing is to send her shocking/unexpected pictures so last week I sent her a picture of me wearing pink bunny ears and taped a lacrosse ball to my sacrum to act as a bunny tail. It may or may not have been a nude pic look guys don’t ask just take it for what is and let’s move on NEXT.

Oldman writes:

Diablo 3 out soon. Thoughts?

I don’t play games, I quit school because of recess.

Alphanitis writes:

If u had to marry any of the oly lifts or powerlifts, who would u marry? I’d marry the squat but cheat on her with the snatch

I’d marry the one I sucked at the most so it would stop talking to me. Hopefully we’d have kids and I’d lose custody and the house AND the corgi. I’d have to find a run-down studio apartment, where I’d listen to Radiohead at night – not because I’m depressed, just because that’s what I do at night. Later I’d see some other dude deadlifting and he’d be real good at it and I would try to be brave and hold it together and just keep trying to train but eventually I’d just lose it and start sobbing hysterically in the middle of my squatting. Becky would ask me “are you OK?” and I would say I WANT YOU TO NOTICE WHEN I’M NOT AROUND YOU’RE SO FUCKING SPECIAL I WISH I WAS SPECIAL and squat to failure then leave the gym without unracking the weight. I would drive to Austin and show up on Jacob Cloud’s doorstep to ask if he wanted to hang out. He would be completely unaware of the heart break I was experiencing and more or less brush me off, “No man this is kind of a surprise and I’ve got plans, maybe next time.”

“Alright,” I’d say, and I’d drive to to Corpus Christi and sit with my knees to chest watching the tide.

Justin would call me but I wouldn’t feel like talking so I don’t answer.

I’d drive back and the deadlift would tell me, “By the way, when I say we’re done that means no RDLs, either.”

“That’s fine,” I’d say, and I’d do 5-8 sets of GHRs.

Saul would ask me, “How do your hamstrings feel?”

I would say more wistfully than I’d like, “They won’t be the same.”