The Incredible Squatty Man

You know...short people...when they get the slightest bit of muscle all of a sudden they start to look like midgets. Everything seems to be more squatty. So unfair. Perhaps it's just me. I mean, Tom Cruise is sporting some guns in the new "Mission Impossible" movie and he looks pretty sleek. I mean, the guy is over 40 and although standing next to Katie Holmes gives you perspective, I'd say he's done his part in the upkeep. Here's me slathered in chains (photo by Shannon @ http://theprimalsophisticate.com/author/theprimalsophisticate/). The Gladiator of Christmas Present:

153 lbs.

When I started to get muscle, I put it on all at once. It's strange...I use to get a lot of short jokes. But not so much anymore. I'm not sure why. I can't imagine anyone in my business being anymore sensitive. And I doubt getting bulky has frightened people in submission. In fact, I was expecting more jokes. I dunno...I never even really considered myself all that short. Until I went to a gym one day (about 8 years ago) saw a short dude and thought to myself "that dude is pretty short" only to realize, after looking in the mirror, he was taller than me. That was crushing to say the least. I know now why my mom was always telling me to stand up straight. I slouched a lot 'cause I thought I was James Dean. And that made me a rebel. But it only made me look like a hunchback. Quasimodo Without A Cause.

In this blog, I figure I'd list good things about being short:
-You're at boob level with tall women
-center of gravity is lower so you have more balance. And in case you're drunk, less distance to fall
-No knee problem
-can wear kid clothes or jeans you had in high school
-kids tend to listen to your stories, because you're talking to them at eye level

Okay, I couldn't think of anything else...because it straight up sucks sometimes. Mostly when it comes to the ladies. Yes, ladies want taller. Because they like heels. Not to wear, but to look good in. And I'm pretty sure they don't want to look like some high school prom photo. Dating pool is limited. Think about it...even short girls want tall dudes. Oh well, anyway...

...I gotta tell you about my friend that just broke up with his girlfriend. He gave me permission to recount it and form my own opinion so...I don't feel like a complete douche. So he tells me that his girlfriend of a year breaks up with him over the phone. A year. A phone. Yes, she was that spineless.

The girl in question, I've met. She's quiet and demure. Somehow he seethed with judgmental eyes. Which yielded itself to a streak of superiority towards our cro-magnon behavior. Sometimes. Yes, we act like numbskulls a lot of times. We're bored and somewhat still young, so there is always going to be a level of chicanery. Especially in a town where some have profited from it. But we're not out to be famous for any of it. We just like to blow off steam.

It was a 4th of July party we had. The very same where my sobriety began. I recall sitting in my living room watching a movie. Real drunk. This was AFTER I had woken up from the first session of drinking and here I was, beer in hand. My friend's girlfriend was sitting next to me. Magically appeared like some banshee. Actually, she could've been sitting there for hours, but my brain just tuned in to her presence. She sat quietly watching the movie next to me. It seemed as if she'd separated herself from the party. I decided to engage in small talk. My bloated sweaty face turned to her and asked her about her band. You  see, she played in a band. At that point I didn't know this. I thought it was just a hobby type thing. She never played anything the many times she's visited us. Not even mentioned it. Goes without saying, it probably wasn't important to tell me, because on her radar of importance...I might as well be Pan Am (they don't exist anymore).

She seemed genuinely interested in talking about her band. Then she talked to me about a tour she was about to go on. Okay, my math was working overtime...this wasn't just a hobby anymore, but straight up a real band with real shows. Most people would consider this a detail worth bragging about. Not her. Remember...I'm Pan Am. So, being that I'm only interested in what people say when I'm completely out of my mind drunk, I ask her how long she'd be away. She said a month.
On the road.
In a van.
With other musicians.

Now, as a kid watching "Partridge Family" I never expected hanky-panky. Mostly because they were all related, but I'm a grown-ass adult now...and not only a red light go off. I thought I'd won large prize at a carnival. This much freedom on either part is recipe for infidelity. Musicians aren't known for modesty, humility, loyalty, cleanliness, common sensinality, and other words I made up to illustrate how reckless that lifestyle can be.

C'mon, we're no dummies. But my friend seemed to want to remain loyal. In my mind, I had pegged him for the errant mate. Boy was I wrong. Phone call. End of relationship. A couple of scenarios come to mind. And none of them good. Or satisfactory as to having questions answered. Because you know something...?

...we're not always going to get closure in life. Do I want my friend to know definitively in the months leading up to this what was going on through her mind? Not really. It couldn't be anything good. And quite possibly could prolong hurt. When my best relationship ended that's what I was seeking. The "definitive answer." No answer was going to fulfill this empty hurt need that we all want. In a loving relationship or one that seemed like real love, there are just too many questions that come into play. Instead of the broken record, I think, as we get older, we just abandoned all that on the table. And that in itself seems to be a small victory on both sides.

You know what's a small victory?...I made it thru this month without a drink.

The Tree Trunk That Spoke To Me

"If you master building up your forearms you can lift the world" - So said the tree trunk with a Jamaican accent when asked how to gain bigger forearms.

The tree trunk in question was a former competing bodybuilder I had happened to ask at the gym what it took to get the Popeye sized forearms. His were bigger than a Louisville Slugger. And looked like he could take down walls with them.

The trunk in question was named Dennis. He was a professional bodybuilder at one point in his life. He seemed content to have left that world and entering the "retired" leg of working out. One thing he did point out though, his metabolism was so high, if he gave up heavy lifting he'd shrink. Now whether or not that was all paranoia in his head...you couldn't argue with results.

He was a very philosophical man. He told me to look around the gym and look at all the wrong way people work out. Bland. Bored. Just doing what they see others doing it. And it was all wrong. He never pointed anything out specifically but he seemed to enjoy giving and listening to all advice.

A very simple idea that Dennis pointed out: "If it hurts doing, then you're not doing it right, so stop doing it." Sounds simple. Not really. Too many people have too ingrained in themselves a technique that worked for them in the past. Yes that's good, if you're getting results. But bad form follows complacency. What he was reminding me was that I should look outside the box of working out and incorporate a form that isn't "common knowledge." His idea was that people forego form due to "common sense". Generally when doing a row, what do we do? We square up with a bench. Not so says he. Turn to the side at a slight angle and all of a sudden your triceps start to pop. It's all about slight adjustments.

The other thing he pointed out...look at what the serious bodybuilders are using as weights? Light weights. 25 pounds and under. Why? Because they care more about form then tugging painfully at a weight trying to induce muscle growth because size yields size. Not so says he. Muscle failure yields size and tone. All these guys at the gym curling huge weights seemed ridiculous to him. It was nothing but show and no grow. His advice...weight doesn't matter. The biggest strongest bodybuilding guys don't do the weights we think they do.

Lastly, before we parted ways he was kind enough to tell me his secret to larger forearms. Failure. Always to failure. Your muscle grows when it thinks it needs to do more weight. The more you exert, the more the muscles freak out and need to up the ante so that they can do the "work" involved. Not so much a secret as much as his way of telling me, don't worry about counting out the reps. The guideline is when you feel winded. He rarely did cardio. He called it "weight training cardio." Which seemed to mean he was burning fat doing weights. Proof was all there.

Most lifters get smug about their workouts. Dennis loved recommending magazines to get your knowledge. I asked him which one was best. His response "Any of them."

Day 20 & 21 Of Sobriety My Dinner With Seagal Part 2

So I reached my 21st day of sobriety. And how do I celebrate? By getting my car smog checked. Guy looks like he's about to fail me, which is going to really suck. But such is life in L.A.

I figured since I have time, I'd write about my experiences on set with Steven Seagal.

He's a looming figure to say the least. I remember the large trailers being pulled in specifically to cater to his needs. Oddly enough, I only saw him about 15 minutes before the shoot and 15 minutes after his last shot was wrapped. Guy really spent most of the time thinking about other things. Probably not so nice things.

During the shoot, allegedly he was being targeted by the mafia. Not sure which one, but a few months prior I thought I may have heard something where he was testifying against organized crime. He was Nico from "Above The Law" incarnate. One of the things he had in his contract was that production had to provide him with a separate Escalade that would shadow his own. Then peel off when they got a certain distance. Apparently that way no one would know which car to blow up. Jokes on him, he takes a wrong turn that thing would blow up on its own.

Anyway, he's a real professional. But a professional who has no problems making his displeasure known.

We had set up a boxing ring in a dojo owned by Benny "The Jet". If you don't know who he is, then you haven't followed martial arts in the 80's. It was to be a cage fight against the lead actor and Seagal. We had nowhere really to hang lights, so we mounted them on the top of the cages. I had the idea that it should resemble some prison cell, so I had my electrics rig work lights around the top of the cage. Now...for those who read my previous blog, this would be considered toplight. And this would also be a no-no in Seagal's world. Not sure where else we could've put lights, so I covered them up (as if he wouldn't notice).

The time came to shoot. There he came walking in...black gi, menacing. He was technically the bad guy in this one. First time. His character was an American fight champion. The best of what we had to offer. The lead actor was from Korea, he was the best they had to offer. So the epic fight was on.

There were about 100 extras that day. It was amazing. People were excited. This shoot was the center of attention and everyone would get to see Seagal in action. Even Kevin Grevioux (wrote "Underworld") and Philip Rhee ("Best Of The Best") showed up. I'm a dumb 26 year old in charge of two camera crews, lighting and shooting. We had a Steadicam rig moving with Seagal. And then he steps into the ring...

You can see this in the actual movie...when he enters, he looks up to the lights and grimaces. Not just grimaces, but I could tell in his mind he as going to have some choice words with me when this was all over. I saw it on the monitor and I froze. The director didn't seem to notice. But now it seemed I was in a doghouse. And this was just the first day of shooting with Seagal.

The shoot was long. Mostly because it was hot. We had air conditioning crank up after every take (due to sound issues) which was terrible since that just cleared the air of smoke. Seagal hated the hazing machine chemicals. It messed with his vocal chords in acting. According to him. So we burned sage. Sage is really like the smell of burning autumn leaves. Which is pleasant outdoors and you hear football in the background, but crappy when you're stuck in a non-ventilated room and extras are hacking up a lung. But the star gets what the star wants.

The other thing about the fight scene is that the body double for Seagal was the same height as him, but about 30 pounds lighter. We had to really move back when shooting that, and it was just limiting our shot selection.

Overall, the fight scene is mediocre at best. Seagal wasn't as fast as he use to be. A lot of the choreography was done during the shoot so it was really all piece mealed together. It was grueling to try to figure out how everything was going to be put together. My mind was putty.

Seagal never said anything to me directly. The production gave me a translator as the director was Korean and spoke no English. I never got bad news. It's the culture there. They never told me anything. I remember a certain day where the director would be dictating at least a paragraph of instructions and the translator could only say "looks good." Don't think that was his full edict, but I went along with it.

A lot of us on set were wondering how much Seagal was getting paid. He was only on the project for MAYBE a week. I found out later to the tune of $100K a day with less than 4 hours on set. Factoring in that hourly cost, he was making more than Tom Cruise.

That hurts my feelings.

I have to say though, I grew up watching his movies with my Dad. I think most lads do. And it was really awesome when my Pop said it was cool that I got to work with the guy (he thinks Hollywood is goofy in general, but loves John Wayne). To that, Seagal was worth every penny.

Day 18 & 19 Of Sobriety - My Dinner With Steven Seagal PART 1

Okay, I kinda promised an inside look at working in the movie business. Well...I really don't know much...because they purposely keep me in the dark, but I doubt the low-budget junk I've worked on is any different from the big dogs who just spend more money per day and have to deal with prima donnas whose lattes have to be a the right temperature.

After I graduated from film school, there was NOTHING. When I say nothing, I mean nothing. A lot of movies had picked up stakes and went up to Vancouver where you get HUGE tax breaks. I pimped myself out to whatever piddily production job I could possibly imagine that were left in town. I even walked into a porn company hoping to get an editorial job. When I walked into Vivid Entertainment one day...resume in hand, the receptionist looked me up and down, audibly sighed and just shook her head in disappointment. She thought I was there to audition as an actor rather than editorial. Didn't get the job. That was an all-time low.

I was broke and living in the very same expensive apartment I live in now. How ridiculous...too poor to live there but too poor to move. My days in Los Angeles were numbered. In fact, I packed my bags. Each piece of clothing going into my beat up old suitcase was like a nail in the coffin. This town wasn't going to have me to kick around anymore. Yeah, right.

The plan was to leave in the middle of the night. No letter. No notice. No nothing. They could keep my cheap Ikea furniture along with my pathetic collection of Garbage Pail Kids. Those bags were packed. I was preparing to be that a-hole who got drunk at the bar in small town Ohio telling tales from my "adventures" in Hollywood.  The night before my exit...I got the most interesting call.

This was waaaaay before cell phones. At least for me. I'm sure they had already existed but it was off my budget radar. My house phone rang. I answered it. It was my friend Mark. Mark and I have had a very long relationship going back to film school days. He had already been established as one of the premiere stuntmen in the industry. He knows many working industry people. His circle of friends is what a lot of us up-and-going-nowhere-types aspire to. And he's such a nice dude to boot.

Very casually he asked me what my plans were for the next day. Couldn't tell him I was leaving town forever. Couldn't disappoint everyone at once. I told him that I had no plans. He told me that I was to go out and meet up at Steven Seagal's home. He wants to talk to me. He gave me the address then hung up.

Yes, that Steven Seagal. Mr. "Above The Law". I was just hired to shoot a movie.

It's just that ridiculous.

The next afternoon, I weaved my way thru Brentwood. Rich and overprotective. Brentwood is the same place OJ lived. So you know it has to be good. I pulled into a gravel driveway that was blocked by large garage door. I announced myself to the callbox and the doors opened. I entered what was a compound. For legal purposes, I won't tell you the full design, but I can tell you...this Seagal guy is stuck in southeast Asia.

A very young Eurasian man opened my car door for me. I was half-expecting a sumo wrestling sized man with a bowler to pat me down, but Oddjob may have been on vacation.

I entered what appeared to be a monastery.  Incensed burned somewhere. And the late afternoon was casting long rays into the room. I had entered a Seagal movie.

The thing about most celebs is that they have many interests. Music always been somewhere in their cache. Seagal was no different. All over the floor, there were guitars strewn. EVERYWHERE. Different makes. Different models. Different vintages. It was amazing. Not sure what that was all about, unless he was shuffling it like dominos or they needed cleaning. I stepped around them like landmines. I made it to a bench chair.

Everything in his place is oversized. I'm short to begin with, so it just felt like "Honey, I Shrunk The Kids." I sat in an oversized bench. The arms were so high I couldn't even use them as armrest. So I just sat there, notepad in hand, legs dangling. The houseboy disappeared. Then a really large man returned. Enter Steven Seagal.

He's exactly how you picture him. Tan. Tall. And squinty. I jumped off the bench like some kid and introduced myself. He looked me up and down (not so different than the receptionist at the porno place) and disappointment washed over him. I was 26 years at the time. The average age of most cinematographers were somewhere around 50-60 years old. Couldn't tell if he wanted to laugh or cry. 'Cause he's really squinty. So I sat back down, clicked open a pen and put on my best business face. I was summoned over after all.

You can usually tell if people really listen to you by the time it takes for them to digest information. Seagal doesn't seem to want to listen to any end of any sentence. For instance, he asked me if I were Chinese and I said Taiwanese. I said I understand elementary Mandarin but mostly speak-- that's as far as I got before he started speaking to me in Mandarin. His Mandarin isn't bad. It's just typical of how most Americans who want to seem educated in that language delivers it...FAST. All his words pretty much blended together. I picked up the gist here and there, so we were able to move forth. It was very polite of him to make me feel like he was at my level. But we were going into a project, so we had to get past certain pleasantries.

Basically he had a few things dealing with camera work that was a must:
1) no lens under 40mm. This is because wide angle lenses are not flattering
2) No angle below eye level. As he is tall, he doesn't want to look like an ogre. I think his exact words were "I don't want to look like Frankenstein"
3) We gel all lights with a warming gel. It makes him look more...well..."warm"
4) No toplight. Toplight gives shadows under the eyes and also draws attention to thin hair

I scribbled all these notes down. And at some point I was even contemplating balling up the pages and eating it. Like some spy movie. He sat there looking at me for a bit. I think wondering if I had any questions. I had two in mind that I didn't think was appropriate at the time. One: Did he even read the script, because I sure didn't. Didn't even get a copy. Two: how much was he getting paid to do this project. That would've been rude.

As quickly as he appeared. He disappeared, saying goodby to me...in Mandarin.

Next up...On the set with Sir "Under Siege."

17th Day Of Sobriety - On The Doorstep

This is the last weekend before my 21 days are over. This has been a very strange two & 3/4 weeks. I've been down. I've been up. I've had bad thoughts about my life. I've had good. I've been sobered enough to experience rejection. But I realize how much time I really can have for myself when I don't wake up pissed with a headache. Moreso, it was a great time that I did quit, because a less sober version of me probably couldn't tolerate the morning shift in at my job. I certainly wouldn't be as patient with the people that are around me.

I think sobriety has really made me more contemplative and aware of my emotions. Yes, I feel bad. But I have every right to feel that way. A drunk version of myself wouldn't be able to face myself in the mirror. It's funny, I may have pulled a "coyote ugly" on myself. I'm at my most sober now and I wake up to a very scary person next to me. And that's: ME! Maybe I can slip out, leave cab fare and I won't notice.

Nowadays, I see all the effects of alcohol to my body. Bloated face. Wrinkles. Baggy eyes. Sallow skin. Jaundice. I try looking for that angle that makes me look like a super hero. That winning smile. And it's all gone. Youth had fled from my expression. I DO NOT blame anyone or anything. This is the life that I chose. I sped it up. I had a great time. I have a great time writing about it now.

You ever have that friend that reminds you of your debaucherous behavior when you were younger? I have many. My God, all people have to go by in my history is that time I did this, or the time I did that. They tell tales of me like I was some rambunctious ogre out to steal their chickens only to amuse them with a dance. And then steal their chickens while they aren't looking. Guess who doesn't get to relive it joyously as they have?

I'm not doing cartwheels happy because of this change. I think a lot of people think I should be happy because I was able to shake the monkey off my back. Not so. It's not that I'm not unhappy. It's that I'm just as happy as the next person. Which is a fleeting emotion. Moments. No longer extension of regret and flashes of pain. I know I can prolong that moment of contentment for a second longer. Is it worth jettisoning my friend, the bottle? I think it feels more real. I know the hardest part was to break that cycle.  To let go. Living in limbo sucks. And it never had to be that way. I don't intend to go back to who I was before these past weeks.

One of my greatest regrets that I think about often is my girlfriend in college. I was really in love with her. Young love. Stupid love. We played house. I could be the husband who came home, smoked a pipe and she'd draw a bath for me and cook me dinner. Why wouldn't life stop for me there? I left to follow a different path. Yet, a part of me kicks myself for leaving something so great. Yeah, I was drinking then, and the memory is foggy. So as far as I know, it could've been Hell. Why was I so shocked she had dumped me? I think it may've been the last time I was genuinely happy. Time to let it go.

Spinning wheels on mud go nowhere.

16th Day Of Sobriety - Hollywood

I have a love/hate relationship with Hollywood...California. It was the first town I lived in when I first arrived.

My work makes me travel on the 101 south and end up in some of the seediest neighborhoods in the country. Not that I'm afraid per se...since it is daylight. But it's like the morning after a carnival picked up stakes and left the grounds. The place smells like piss. And some transvestite is crying in a corner.

I work in the heart of Hollywood. Off Santa Monica Boulevard. Off Gower. Off Fountain. Just off. As I navigate my car thru the different streets, I realized at some point this all was just vacant land, unsettled and unloved. Unless you were an orange. Because that was all there was. Oranges.

I often think about the Golden Age of Hollywood. Somewhere between the 1920's to the 60's. That's when the town boomed with hopes, dreams and stardom. Today, everything is behind closed doors. Hollywood and Highland came up and sanitized the dank. No one seems to come here for dreams anymore. At least not what I see. No one seems so driven anymore. The work dried up for a lot of the industry (which headed North to Canada). So instead of having a handful of jobs for a gazillion people, you have no jobs for those same gazillion people. I wish all those special effects those wizards conjure up in movies would make some of these people relocate.

Okay, that was mean. I'm pretty sure in some other person's dream board they have a photo of me, suitcase in hand at the border of California and Nevada with a handwritten sign that says "Ohio or bust".

So today, after work, I decide to go back to the gym I first signed up at. The place has changed, as I mentioned in a previous blog. They have a juice bar now. Treadmills with t.v.s Weight machines that look like torture devices. I stick to the free weights and squat bar. I modify most of my workout to NOT use the devices as intended. For instance, the leg press, I flip it around and use it as shoulder press. I use an incline press to push off the pad to do chest work. You meet really interesting people when you go outside the box.

Leo, a South American bodybuilder caught me in between chest exercises. Everyone always seems to make you guess their age. I'm pretty good at it. But if people insist, I ALWAYS guess older. Why? Because it will only make that person workout harder. I know they look good for their age. But why support their vanity?

Leo is different. He put up over 300lbs on a bench press. I had to ask this guy what his secret was. He didn't speak English. But he pointed to my bicep and nodded in approval. So, me being me, I kept speaking to him in English "What do you take?...creatine?" Nod. "How about some whey?...you do the whey thing too?" Nod and a smile. "Man, you put up some serious weight." Nod, smile points to bench press. I'd been holding him up from doing his workout. There he was pressing all that weight. I contemplated asking this dude to press the front part of my car to change out a tire.

Foreign bodybuilders, good for all occasions. He told me he was 54 years old.

15th Day Of Sobriety - Do No Panic: Everything Will Be Okay

I don't even think about drinking anymore. Okay, that's a lie, because here I am talking about it. But it seems to me when you lose one thing to numb those thoughts in your head, you ultimately have to find something else to fill it with. I think about starting my own business.

In a way I had already had it. I was a freelance cinematographer. Until that work dried up. Fast. Either you were old and established. Or you were young and knew digital. Either way, I fell back into a comfortable "day job." I feel myself starting to miss the freedoms I had when I was working for myself. And having others work for me too. It's funny in the movie business where today's employees can be tomorrow's bosses. I assume most corporations are like that now too. You never know who knows who so you play nice with everyone. I hate smooching tuckus.

I'll just say it, I'm sick and tired of waiting for other people to take a chance with me. I want to do something that makes me happy. So what does make me happy? I started doing photography in college. Processing film made me happy. Darkroom printing made me happy. But that market died. And film is following shortly. I enjoy writing. Which I do on the side. But it isn't anything that completely thrills me. Quite honestly, it kills me sometimes to re-read anything I wrote. Can't say that's all that much fun. Even editing this paragraph turns my gut.

I like working out.

We've been batting around the idea of opening up a gym. A strength and conditioning gym where people can do strong man, MMA style training. Los Angeles is an interesting market where personal trainers are on every block. I would say they are neck and neck with waiters. I'm racking my brain trying to figure out what would separate us from the pack. All I can think of is that we do lift heavy and sprint drills. Something anyone could pick up and run with it at any point. I do like the idea of helping overweight people get into shape. I think I could brag about all the movies I've worked on, but...just making one person look in the mirror and be pleased with themselves could be an amazing thing...time to let this percolate a little more.

14th Day Of Sobriety - Everyone Poops

The other day my very attractive next door neighbor decided to come down to the communal barbecue and grilled some tofu whilst I burned some meat. Don't remember what the first topic of conversation was, but the second one is how much she liked to poop. Yes, she went there. Kicked down those barriers of class and laid it out for all to see. Or smell.

No one likes to imagine a hot chick taking a hairy dump, but here it was in the raw. This girl liked pinching more loaves than a Greek bakery. And I...well, I could only nod my head in complete and total agreement. I, too, like to poop.

It got me thinking about my diet. Okay, I hate using the word "diet" because I don't even see it as regulating food intake. So...I decided to keep track of what I ate today. So here it is:

Woke up at 7AM (have no idea why, but I was sweating)
waiting for my sweat to dry 8:00AM
deciding I want to make breakfast 8:30AM

Breakfast:
(4) thick slice bacon
(2) eggs cooked in butter
1/2 Cup of white sliced mushrooms
(1) cup of coffee

Lunch overpriced sushi
8 pieces of spicy tuna
1 Cup Miso
spinach salad with sesame oil dressing
(1) shrimp sushi
(1) yellowtail sushi
(1) salmon sushi

Snack:
(1) white nectarine
(1) banana
(1) cup of yogurt. 8oz
1/2 cup of blueberries
Handful of Lays Wavy barbecue chips
(1) hardboiled egg

Dinner:
(1) pork chop about 8oz covered grilled in skillet over olive oil and mushrooms. Brush barbecue sauce on top
(1) Cup of brown rice
(2) eggs over-medium cooked in butter and olive oil
(1) Pooly cigar (which I'm smoking now)

This is the photo I took after finishing dinner:

153.5lbs.

Yeah, I know, I need a belt. And it looks like I oil myself up, but I think I'm sweating bacon grease. Anyways, I wasn't hungry all day. In fact, midway thru the day, I thought I was going to fudge my Hanes. I have no idea why, other than the coffee I had at work. It was actually good coffee. Which led me to believe that maybe I've had crappy coffee so long that when I have real coffee my stomach is punishing me for going hoity-toity. Wait, could've been the sushi. The hostess was looking at me kinda funny, probably wondering when the rotten fish was going to burst from my chest.

Love my Asian peeps :)

13th Day Of Sobriety - The Neverending Day

Neither of my parents are heavy drinkers. I didn't realize I had drinkers in my family until I visited my relatives in Taiwan. We traveled by train to an amazing town called Lukang. It actually had a huge park that enticed American tourist. I mean any place that has a water light show that plays to the tune of Louis Armstrong's "What A Wonderful World" is American friendly. I saw a tow-headed college student bouncing around the park, to which I said to him "What's up, dude?" He almost double over in shock. No one in Taiwan speaks in surfer lingo.

My Mom's little brother lives there and we were paying him a visit. Taiwan is a strange country. You see so much lush beauty in the midst of industrial wasteland. The train across the mountain also has an amazing view of the ocean. Visitors traveling get an amazing view of plantations. They also have huge Buddhist temples embedded into the mountain side. Old with the new. The last leg of the trip, you see mini-waterfalls. It's like a dream now. So much tranquility.

I digress...my parents and I ended up at my uncle's restaurant during the mid afternoon. It'd been grey. Early in the morning my Mom kinda' bamboozled my father and I into going to visit. As my time in Taiwan was very short, I was suppose to hang out with my nephew in the city (Taipei). She told me it'd be a really quick trip and we'd have time to get back (which was never the case, but whatever, my Mom likes to hang out with her family whom she sees very rarely).

His place use to be a restaurant, but it's not anymore. All the restaurant stuff is still there. The gas stoves. The dishwasher. The tables and chairs. But it sits empty. Even the decor still has all the style of "restaurant." He sized me up. Like most of my Mom's side they talk really fast. So it takes me a while to decipher what he is saying. It comes down to the fact that he had caught a cold and he was wondering if we'd like something to drink.

Something to drink in Taiwanese is different than something to drink in America.

Let me clarify...last time I was in Taiwan, I was 13. Not necessarily the drinking age. Now I'm 36 and have a lot of alcohol history. I'm thinking there 'aint nothin' in the library of Asian spirits that could surprise me. I should've learned this lesson years ago. That when you set up these types of boundaries, someone is bound to break it.

I had a small teacup set out in front of me. I shook my head at my Mom. How quaint. This just wasn't going to cut it. My uncle disappears into a cupboard. I mean, he opens up a door under a staircase and disappears into a dark room. No lights. It looks like the dark just envelopes him. He comes back carrying...a 5 gallon jug. The type that filtered water comes in. He struggles, but he's pretty strong, so he manhandles this thing. Filled halfway up the jug is some of the darkest liquid you can imagine. It looked like oil. Like if oil was dipped in shoe polish. Light does not escape whatever liquid he sets on the table. My parents eyes widened. I was under the impression this was a traditional Taiwanese thing. Not so.

Giddy, my uncle lifts the heavy end and dribbles the liquid into the small teacup. This thing pours like molasses. I didn't notice it before, but it has a thick tree root at the bottom of the jug. Now, I'm thinking how he got that thing in there. Did it grow under this mud? Not sure. Very scared.

He motions for me to drink. I look at the liquid in the cup. It has dirt and debris at the bottom. I tell him this. He instructs me to drink around it. How do you drink around silt?

I take a sip.

Now, I've had moonshine before, and I thought my lungs had ruptured, but this "drink" tasted like licorice and instantly paralyzed my left side. I'm sure I suffered five simultaneous strokes. And my body was trying to process why I would be attempting suicide so early in my life. It was...well...at this point I can't really remember anything. Only that my Mom was mouthing the question "How is it?" Since I was hungover and tired the day before, this kinda...sobered me up. My Mom decided to take a sip. This is a woman who drinks beer with a few cubes of ice. Yet...yet...the drink doesn't effect her at all. She smacks her lips and mutters something about it tasting pretty good. At this point, I  drowsily look at her. I half expect her to faceplant into the table. Nothing. I just realize I get it from her side of the family.

This is how the Taiwanese infuse their alcohol.

13 days. It's full of good memories.

12th Day of Sobriety - What To Do With All My Booze Dough

Well, now that I quit drinking, I gotta figure out what I could possibly do with sober-mulah. To calculate, I'd say I spent about (on average) $6/day on drinks. Yeah, I drink cheap.  It's about volume. Multiply that with an average month and it's about $180/month I'm saving. Sheesh. Now that I think about it, that is a lot of money to blow on something that causes me so much pain.

So here's a wish list of things I'd want to save for:
-An Epiphone ES-335 OR Sheraton
-A steak dinner at Mortons
- new tires for my car
- A tub chair from World Market
- A King size bed
- A pinball machine
- lenses for my camera
- strobes for the studio
- fix up photo studio
- Box of Hoyo De Monterrey cigars.

So far, I'm encouraged that a lot of things are so within reach now. I could buy a lot of what is listed now But somehow I feel I need to earn these things.
12 days = $72 saved. I had a really great home grilled steak meal. Made it in a skillet and created a nice mushroom sauce. I'm beginning to enjoy the simple things in life again. Use to be I woke up and wondered why I wasn't in one of those big homes in the hills. Doesn't matter as much. I wake up thankful my head doesn't spin. And I don't have surges of pain running down my arm. Simple things. The fresh cold night air is such a great feeling.

11th Day of Sobriety - Got Pants?

You ever have that friend whom you've pocket-dialed and you now have to talk to them? Yeah, that's how I ended up calling my friend Rachel. Rachel and I have been friends for a while. We've had a crusty past. But I won't get into that. Just...just...my stupid phone accidentally pocket dials people and I'm sure I've pissed people off. Out of fear, I've checked past history calls...guess what?...I would say 70% of my last calls were pocket dials. I have a stupid mouth so I'm sure half of those people heard awful conversations I've had with other people. Samsung...you've ruined many of my relationships. You owe me a Coke.

Anyway, so now I hang up, quickly...next thing I see...I get a text "I'm going to call you and you're going to pick up" This, from Rachel. I was writing my last blog by the pool smoking a pipe (yeah, I smoke a pipe now while I blog, like some douchey 70 year old writer. I might as well have a stupid stuffed bass hanging from on my wall). And I panic. Here I am, in my underwear about to get a call. So I text back "Hold on, lemme get some pants on."

Okay here's the thing...I REFUSE to talk on the phone without pants on. Why? I have no idea. I just think you can't have a serious conversation without pants on. So I get my pants on, and then I get the call.

A few things...she never addresses the fact why I would have no pants on. And also, not if I was free to talk. Only that I was on Xanax, and she wanted to catch up with me. She suggested I get Kava tea to quell some of my anxiety. To which I replied "What anxiety, you have anxiety, why would you say I have anxiety?" Double dose my Xanax.

I get into an argument with her about why I can't talk to people on the phone without pants on. She claims that I have shame issues. Really? She's telling me this now? We've been friends for a long time. Me and shame share a toboggan. I just don't feel any authority without pants on. End of story.

Getting past the pants issue she suggested this Kava tea, since apparently it will calm my dumbass down. So, being me, I get clever. I would tell her that there are no Kava pills at the grocery store. She reiterated "TEA" to which I replied "Kava pills probably don't work." Impatiently she replied "I'm going to kick your ass, TEA...TEA".
"What's Kava again?"

This goes on for a while. Frustration ensues. I laugh to myself so hard, I think I crack a rib. So much better than Kava.

Going back to smoking a pipe. I gave up smoking cigarettes years ago. Now that I gave up drinking, I figured I'd revisit tobacco. I hang out at a cigar shop now. You meet the most interesting people in cigar shops. Pretty obvious, I know. But today, everyone was hiding from Carmageddon. They put out coffee and snacks. So here we have: cigars, coffee, pretzels, chips and pipe tobacco. And the t.v. is playing a ball game. Can you imagine a more dude palace? The place was PACKED. Some dude spent $1500 dollars on cigars alone. Here I am puffing on a $3.00 generic robusto. It doesn't even have a label. Seems the label is the status symbol. I switch to a pipe.

I feel sophisticated smoking one. It tastes good and it smells good. It makes me smell like I could go hunting. And everyone seems to think I'm smarter looking. Overlooking the Asian thing, but whatever.  Today was an amazing day. 11 days of sobriety and getting no urges to drink. Bad things happened during the week. And this new transition transfer seems to amp up stress, but I think I can figure a better way to handle it. To Rachel's credit, she gave me one good pearl of wisdom: "What people say and do is about them. How we act is about us"
Thanks for being a good friend, Rachel.

10th Day Of Sobriety - Carmageddon

This weekend in Los Angeles, they are shutting down the 405 freeway. One of the busiest freeways in the world. Which is about 3 blocks from where I live. As I type, I can hear the helicopters overhead. Presumably news people looking to cover this potential fiasco.

Overhearing conversations, I think most people are making too big a deal out of it. I guess, that is, unless you work on weekends.

I've been thinking about the first years I came out to Los Angeles. I remember how lean my life was. I lived in a dingy one bedroom apartment with my friend Ed, who came out here with me. We swapped who would sleep in the living room. And we collected cans to buy ourselves a pizza. Which would last us the week. Those were some LEAN years. I miss it. One thing that I never did give up though. My gym membership.

I signed up in Hollywood in 1999. I remember paying an entrance fee of $300 and it was $30/month thereafter. The place was a hole. Hollywood was danky at the time. They hadn't rebuilt Hollywood & Highland yet and I lived next to a free clinic. It was a daily parade of characters. But I loved it. I joked that we were so low, we had to look up to look down.

I was going to graduate school at the time. So most of my time was spent on campus. It was more or less a necessity since film production classes required almost a 20 hour a day commitment. A lot of it, learning to work on set. Time flies when you're miserable and hungry.

The gym I went to eventually rebuilt itself into a very nice place. It has a full food place. You can get smoothies, a sandwich and drinks. The equipment is top notch. And the locker rooms are fairly clean. There's a lap pool now and some contrast baths. It's not the same place I remember. I remember, more or less, a garage. The gym was also extremely close to me, so I had no excuses BUT to go. If it was going to rip into my booze and food budget, it had to be worth it.

When I signed up, they gave me a personal trainer. She was really awesome. But she didn't really offer me anything different in terms of how I should work out. I think looking back, she seemed to think that most people there already know what they have to do, so they don't press their trainers to push them harder. I have to admit...there wasn't much she was going to tell me either.

I think now, when we introduce people to our workouts, I'd like to preface a lot of it with...this isn't a personal trainer's type of workout. These are the field and this is work. Can you imagine a plantation worker asking the field boss what they should do with a hoe?

Sure, there are a lot of elements of every man for himself, but we also don't leave people behind. I like to think our guide is to inspire us to get better. We suffer together and we win big together.

Try this next time...modify and combine your workouts. For instance, instead of doing dumbbells curls, why not curl, shoulder press and squat. That full range of motion triggers your whole body into balance. Rather than building just your bicep. And anyway, having large arms with small shoulders and chicken legs looks like a cartoon. When I do a pushup now, I just don't do a push up, but I roll onto the ground and lift myself up again into a pushup position. It just targets every part of your body to work properly.

I honestly didn't see results until I got out of the gym. I spend less time there now. It's because the workouts we do seem to fit exactly to shredding all that excess fat but also, maintaining some muscle tone. I'm almost to my goal of 150lbs. And I feel more balanced. I feel my core still needs some work, but we'll get there. If I can dig my way out of a Hollywood cave, then this should be just another day at the park.

9th Day Of Sobriety - Doctor's Office

I went to the doctor’s office today and laid it all out. The many years of abuse of the bottle. He seemed genuinely glad I came in for help. He didn’t mince words either.  He told me I probably should never have another drink ever. It seems to be my nature to overdo alcohol. He mentioned a few patients that had come in a little too late. They suffer from cirrhosis of the liver and are awaiting transplant donations. 

I think the worst part about addiction is the withdrawal you get when you think about jumping that train. An overwhelming sense of fear grip you. It’s like a divorce. A friend that never questioned you. Or rejected you. Or judged you. It was simply trying to make you feel good. All the symptoms I was mentioning, was on par with every single case he heard. The jitters. The nausea and dizzyness. He told me that he had one patient that took a year to even feel normal again. Harsh buzz. Sometimes I fear what normal would be. What was normal before? Was it something that made me want to drink in the first place?

I told doc that it was because of boredom I started. Which was really the truth. I remember in high school, having a shot of whisky and a bottle of beer and passing out only to wake up in the late afternoon, feeling like I had gone thru some weird dream. It was a nice ride. Why not revisit? So, I spent a greater part of my summers at the age of 17 buying beers from a convenient store that I knew a punk kid would sell us. We clearly were not old enough to drink, but we did. And it was great. I remember the many nights hanging out with at my friend’s brother’s place downtown Cincinnati and getting hammered on 40 ouncers. It was a hip neighborhood, so I liked getting drunk and watching the yuppies walk by.

Eventually we were old enough to get into the bars on Mt. Adams. This place was super hip and trendy. I felt  rich. Like listening to a Michael MacDonald song sailing a yacht. Why would these feelings NOT be associated with a great cocktail?

So, I can't drink alcohol anymore. What should I do? Well, Doc suggested that I replace bad habits with good ones. For example these exercises were a good start. I mentioned that I blogged too. Which he kinda' turned a snotty look towards that suggestions. His reasoning: just make sure the comments are positive. I laughed: there's nothing in this world that can be more cruel than a guy's assessment of himself when he knows he's got an addiction. He then prescribed me low dosage of Xanax.

I think I may start collecting things. Hell, I now got all this expendable alcohol money. I think I may start buying more camera equipment. That sounds about right.

9th day of sobriety. Specs as of today's physical

154 lbs.

blood pressure: 117/70
Pulse: 66
24.87 kg/m2 BMI

98 degrees

5'6"

Should be a happier camper :)

8th Day Of Sobriety- Secret of FAST Weight Loss Guaranteed!

If I were to give you the secret of how you can burn fat and lose a ton of weight in two weeks would you be interested in hearing what I had to say? I mean, we're talking weight in the double digits.

Lean in because I only want to say this once, and you should only read this once, because...well...because then it ruins the secret:

EXPLOSIVE exercise is the key

Horrible debilitating heartbreak is the other

Richard Pryor once said you don't graduate to be a man until you have your heart ripped out and stomped on by a woman. He also said that it would either make you fat or kill you.

I subscribe to this theory. EXCEPT, to me heartbreak can be conducive to the explosive workout. Remember earlier when I mention the Litvinovs my workout partner Brad introduced to our workout? You clean a heavy sandbag about 10 times, drop it and sprint as fast as you can 30-40 yards. And then you sprint back. Again, we added the reward of slamming a sledgehammer into a tire in between. So as you're huffing and puffing, you get to heave another weight above your head. Punch drunk boxers have better stability at this point.

What do you suppose that feels like?

Yeah, a gut punch like when a girl drops you for another dude. You're winded. You're numb. You're sick to your stomach. You wanna vomit everything out and cry. And you don't feel like eating anything. Well, combine the two and you have a fat burner like you wouldn't believe.

I recently had a heart wrenching turn of events with a girl. I thought she felt the same way. But it became real frosty and without going into a sob story, it really demolishes your ego. Makes you question your workouts. Makes you question what the hell you're suppose to think about for the rest of the day.  Do I want a drink? You betcha. The largest glass of whisky a leprechaun can bring me. Am I going to do it? No.

Litvinovs make you so nauseous your stomach is already full of hatred for you. I tried eating a peach just now, and it barely made it down my throat. God forbid I attempt the yogurt. Ever see "The Exorcist"?

So when you multiply this exercise by 5, you will shred as much weight as your heart can handle.

That is...the pieces that aren't completely broken.

7th Day Of Sobriety - The Bare Necessities

The other day a girl at work called me "Mowgli". As in, a feral child raised to manhood by a pack of wolves. So I said "thanks" and continued to shovel my food with my hands into my mouth:

I mean, I kinda understand the hair and the dark skin, and even the disposition, but I wasn't exactly walking around without a shirt. And I sure wasn't climbing trees. You know what I never understood?...like when Tarzan was older, how he didn't grow a beard or facial hair or nothing. I'm pretty hairless myself. But I still can grow a wild goatee. It's a dirty 'stache. I wish I could grow a beard. That would be sweet. I'd have a beard all the time.

Wouldn't mind living life in the wild either. Hone up on survival skills. Build fires. Spear fish. Sleep under the stars.

People often make fun of me for my futon. If it were up to me, it'd just be the floor. But alas, to get a girl to visit the lair, something that looks like a bed is a must.

I'm pretty good at traditional camping. Know how to pitch a tent and build a fire. We use to have to do that in the Boy Scouts. Made 2nd Class and quit. Most of the guys I entered the scouts with went for Eagle. That was just too many merit badges to deal with. Also, it started getting gay. Not gay in the homosexual way, but gay in that...you know...just gay. Our scout leaders weren't exactly the pillars of society either. A lot of them smoked weed, drank and taught us dirty jokes. This was the 80's and most people were extremely apathetic towards organized activities. I'd rather take my chances with the wilderness creatures then hike with bearded Dan and his band of merry men into the Appalachians.

We really don't need much to live. I find it funny how desperate people become when their phone drops bars.

Beasts Of Burden

I sing in my car to distract me from the very frightening reality of Los Angeles traffic. One song that stands out in regards to the lyrics is "Beast of Burden" by The Rolling Stones. As I was singing it, I started to slow down on the 405 freeway. Yes, we hear what we want in lyrics, but it is truly inspiring in that you won't ever slough the load for another person just because they want you to. You won't change people's views of who you are, so he challenges all his flaws. What more can a person want? Can you be rich enough? Can you be better looking? None of this matters because the person is being empowered by NOT changing. You want it. It's all in the raw. Take it or leave it.

I often think about why we change for people so that they'd care for us. Many people have this mixed up view that they need to live up to certain expectations or get validated by the ones they lust after. For if they are rejected, then the world rejects them. It's a cliche, but we're all passing ships in the night, blindly blowing our horns expecting another to respond. We're never suppose to be happy. We're suppose to be always having things out of reach. I think the ones who are content, understand this concept.

That brings me to self-improvement. It's hard enough when we don't get validation at our work. Or in our love lives. Especially in our minds. It's frustrating that we grasps at straws to communicate these things to people we truly want to understand us. We share laughs. Adventures. And love. Doesn't even seem good enough anymore. Ever think we find our mates so that we expect all our problems to be solved? We can only share so much before we become bores.

Reading Dale Carnegie. Many people know his book "How To Make Friends And Influence People". The core idea seems to be that everyone...chiseled in stone....EVERYONE wants to feel important. Today...I'm going to go out and make one person feel important. You master that...you master the universe.

6th Day of Sobriety:

154lbs (tan line still there..argh)

Things Just Don't Work Anymore

Louis CK has an amazing bit where he goes to his doctor at the age of 40 and basically tells him there is nothing he can do to salvage any of his body parts. I mean, as a 20 year old, they can lift some parts form other parts and reconstruct a whole leg. But all he can do is cover the pain up with either medication or stretching. And that's all he can do before he and his knee both die.

Harsh.

Now that I'm close to my 40 mark, I all of a sudden understand. Our bodies betray us. It stops us cold and says "Yo buddy...you aren't a brand new model anymore, stop running like a fine tuned car when you're transmission is about to bottom out."

I hit one recently. And was taken to the E.R.

I woke up one morning with an overwhelming pain to my chest. I did the most stupid thing and decided to take a hot shower. You want to constrict your breathing anymore, try that and tell me how it feels from the bottom of the tub looking up at moldy tile.

I dialed 911. But I stopped at the first "1". Man, I'm 36 year old and calling an emergency response for a breathing problem. A shot of pain ran down my arm. Maybe...my arm was turning against me. As if to say "No. You will NOT call. We'll get thru this, you and me." That's when this thought occurred to me: most people die because they don't take this seriously. My thumb pressed the last "1".

EMT is a horrific ride and I hope never to see again. You imagine all types of scenarios and none of them positive. It took an ambulance and the fire department to arrive when I went outside to meet them. They seemed shocked that I was up and walking but clutching my chest. I walked towards them. Like Red Foxx. But they forced me onto the gurney and wheeled me to the ambulance. I kept getting surges of pain in my chest. It was hard to breathe. I was getting dizzy. One person sprayed glycerin under my tongue and asked me how I felt. It tasted like Bianca (only onld people know what I'm talking about). Little did I know glycerin is used to detect heart attacks. I told him it was fine. Better/worst...who can tell when you're looking up at the ceiling wondering how many other corpses had the same view. And fresh breath.

At the emergency room, they poke, prodded and pinched. I was hooked up to an EKG that would periodically emit a high pitch sound. That freaked me out. There was an elderly woman next to me that was suffering thru some intestinal issue. She moaned and groaned and kept saying "excuse me." I wasn't sure if she was talking to me. So, I ignored her. Sat staring into space. I texted my sister where I was and not to tell our folks. Didn't want them to worry. The elderly woman came from the convalescence home. She was my roommate for the next four to five hours. I been to college. She was the least incontinent.

Sitting there with all the apparatuses stuck to me, it occurred to me that people who come here die. This is the last thing they ever see. It is a scary wake up call to say the least. A nurse, who couldn't be less than 70 years old came in with a huge needle about to take blood samples. Now I'm already freaked about needles, so it didn't help that her hands were shaking (due to age). All the while she's mumbling how young people, like me, have a wild sense of imagination when it comes to ailments. I read stuff online and I think I may have it. Hypochondria is the technical term.

The doctor was really cool. Real nice. Didn't judge me for anything I did. I told him I had a bunch to drink the night before, so he gave me a sedative to calm my stomach. He thought it may have been acid reflux. Along with a panic attack. He did say that I had stressed my heart out a bit much because of the weights I was doing. He suggested that I get tests done with my regular physician before I move forward. He also prescribed Ativan. A friend later told me it was an anti-anxiety drug they gave alcoholics so that they can sleep. Doc said that it was like having a stiff drink. Doc...you're a cool dude and all, but you have no idea.

I dropped heavy weight training right then and there.

Nurses are funny people. The one I got was a dude. He seemed really peeved at me. I look fit and was probably taking up valuable real estate. To the elderly woman next to me, he was amazingly gentle and humane. To me, well...I may have fit the description of the guy who ran over his cat. I got the feeling after every question there was an added paranthetical, y'know the things people wouldn't say but their attitude says it already. Nurse: "And your heart hurts where (you piece of shit)?" "Oh...it's a sharp tingly sensation pulsating down your left arm (I wish you were dead, I'd take your wallet but you probably only have a dollar)." Modern health care. Gotta love it.

Hours later, I walked out of there. I forced myself NOT to do cartwheels, so the rest of the patrons wouldn't get any sense of hope. That would just be the best, huh?...do cartwheels out of there. People would think Encino ER performed miracles. How about this for a magic trick?...make that $8,000 hospital bill disappear.

5th Day of Sobriety (Or The Dwarf Who Lifted The World)

I  took a nap this afternoon only to wake up in the late afternoon in absolute pain. My chest felt constricted. And I felt an overwhelming shortness of breath. Then I realized where I was and what time it was. And a terrible sense of sadness washed over me. I wanted to cry. But I'm sure I sweat it out already. Another day to face without drinking.

Detox is a bitch.

I felt less tired when I was on the sauce. Dependency is painful no matter what it is. Whether you love someone so much and they leave your life to when you celebrate every existing day downing a half a bottle of scotch, content to the warm feelings and numbness to the world. Ever snuggle with a handle of Smirnoff? Then you don't know me.

I have a co-worker who has been pestering me about going bowling. "Pestering" being the loose word since it was my idea. Her plan is that after work I join them around midnight with enough bar time to get hammered. I told her that I am off the sauce for 21 days. Her response (this is no joke)...she looked down at her planner and counted out the days until our plans of bowling and pointed to the Monday before the Friday date of bowling and (again not joking) cheered "Perfect!...it ends here and you'll be good for Friday."

Anyone else chuckle to themselves about this?

I looked at her sadly...she backtracked and said "well, you don't have to drink if you don't want to." Ah...gotta love enablers. Keep in mind too, one time she asked me whom I partied with, and my response was "Party with?...I find the darkest corner in my apartment and drink myself to sleep." I guess I said it so casual she didn't believe me. The only detail I left out was that it also had to be a danky corner with a photo of my dead dog I lost when I was 14. That would've been too weird for her. Drunks are more honest about themselves than you realize. Maybe they throw the obvious in your face so that you take it as a joke. Joking makes people drop serious subjects. Right?

Bowling is never as good as when you are really really drunk. Hell, last time I bowled a 274 blitzed. This is no fishing story. It really happened. 274. It should be a known fact. And I guess it sorta is, because I've never seen a bowling alley that didn't have a bar. Goes hand-in-hand for some reason. I think everyone knows the truth...you see three lanes, always aim for the one in the middle.

You lose a lot of friends when you're sober. For instance, the very odd gang of Filipino night shift workers at the CVS who know your drink of choice. They don't speak clear English, but judgmental eyes seem to be universal, Something is definitely wrong when they address you by your name. CVS is not a bar.

My friend works in the film industry too. Didn't know he was much of a drinker until one day we were at a barbecue together and the topic of "last calls" came up. How is it that we both know when CVS will no longer sell you booze? Another friend lost.

One of the scariest things about sobriety is what makes up your day. A lot is watching stupid shows senior citizens love. "48 Hours Mysteries" and re-runs of "Dr. Quinn" come to mind. Don't quiz me on them though, 'cause I'm sure I would mix them up and scream "Jane Seymour killed her daughter...FRY HER!". Throw in a few 80's sitcoms like "Charles In Charge" and "Growing Pains" and I'm ready for the Depends set. Everyone loves Chachi...I wanna kill him.

True crime shows are pretty awesome though. "48 Hours Mysteries" bugs me sometimes though. They convict people and still consider it a mystery. They have this really awful way of swinging the doubt back and forth. At some point I don't even care anymore, cause I hate them all and I want them all murdered and then I would be the subject of "48 Hours" which I technically think should be called "96 Hours". Still...it doesn't stop me from saying at the end "See, it was the husband...I knew it all along" Like some old fart.

Anyway, it keeps me occupied. Looking at people whose lives are more screwed up than my own...yet they look so normal and they had everything. Yeah, especially a gun.

Speaking of watching interesting things: there's a midget who is a bodybuilder at my gym. Yeah...midget...I don't care. I can't call him that at the gym, so I'll call him that here. This little dude is amazing. He can do over 250lbs. on an incline bench. I've seen him clean 200lbs. He's not a ball of muscle but very fit. I think he hates me, since I'm short but not a midget. I think midgets hate short people because they think we hate being labeled as "short" but can never imagine being a midget. I think they may even think we judge them for being a midget and think to ourselves "Man, I'm short but thank God I'm not a midget". Which I do. So now I know midgets are telepathic too, 'cause he hates me.

I'm impressed by him though. He may think I'm staring because he is a midget. But that's just not true. He's also Mexican. Which I think to myself, I wonder if he doesn't steal hubcaps off Hot Wheels. Joking. Just making sure you're paying attention.

Anyway, I watch what he does and wishes I could do that weight. I'm guessing since his arms are so short, there's less distance to the bar, and so what a regular size guy needs to extend further to work the chest, the midget moves inches. But I don't judge. I''ll just say one last thing though. I try my damn'est to acknowledge his strength. Every time I see him I nod. Like dudes do. A "wassup" nod. He gives me the dirtiest look. But I still nod. Thinking one day he'll nod back in recognition of my dedication to physical fitness. It never occurs to me that he may think I'm gay for midgets.

I feel like I'm doing him a favor since no one else seems to acknowledge him. Or can't see him. But I see him. I see you quarter-man.

Detox is bitch.

Gyms

I'm not going to say the gym I attend, but I go every once in a while. It's a nice place. It's a franchise so you have the old mixed with the young. The attendants are dismissive but I don't need them to dote on me. People complain about gym's all the time in review sites. Mostly the complaints have to do with the facilities being dirty, machines are janky or whatever. Some complain about bathroom facilities, others complain about other patrons. The ones that really get to me...the ones who complain about the lack of equipment.

Really?

A gym initially was a few weights, a jump rope and maybe a duct taped heavy bag. It didn't have a shower. And it sure as Hell didn't have a massage bench. I think the ones who complain were the ones who turned gyms into a spa. When I go to the gym, I expect to blast weights and get down and dirty. A LOT of members go to chat with friends. Read on a treadmill or even watch t.v. It is no longer conducive to taxing muscle. I really chuckle when I see dead eyed people mindless watching soccer and attempting to jog. Oh, man...I'm not going to get into that, only to say...if your mind isn't in the game of burning fat and gaining muscle, it 'aint gonna work. Focus. And get that intensity.

Nowawdays, gyms seems to cater to masses. Can't blame them though. Operational costs are out of control. Equipment is EXPENSIVE people. People take it for granted.

One of the things that got me into physical fitness as a kid was that I wanted to play baseball. I was very undersized but I was a go-getter. In little league I played shortstop (ironically) and won a few "golden gloves". I was super competitive and got sick whenever we lost. If we lost a game, I wouldn't eat the pizza or drink soda. When I started high school, I REALLY wanted to play football. When I went to get a physical and be cleared to play, my doctor said "What?...you going to BE the football?"

I became a 4th string wingback (doesn't exist anymore since running backs can catch in the flat now). I never thought to get stronger. I thought my 100 pushups and 100 situps a day was enough. I didn't do weights. Didn't belong to a gym. I used what I could. I felt like a high anxiety kid. I ate very little. I weighed roughly 112 lbs. I got pummeled on the field. So I decided to do track instead.

Track in high school is funny. A lot of people get their growth spurts here. I think I had grown as tall as I was going to be. I ran the mile. Against guys who had already sprouted to 6 footers. And, I don't care what anyone says, you aren't going to catch someone in stride when you take five steps for every one.

Sports were things I loved, yet...was just a bit out of reach. And that was crushing.

In college, I had full privileges to the football weight room. The place was beautiful. State of the art and brand new. And during the summer when the players weren't using it, I was able to workout all I wanted. NO ONE...and I mean NO ONE in northeast Ohio seemed to care about the gym. So, I essentially had the gym to myself from late May to September. It was an amazing time.

I know a lot of people will never understand going without in a gym. They think it all magically appears and that since they pay money, it all just shows up. Yeah, some of that is true, but I think these are the same people who expect to have the gym do the work they're suppose to. Like if I buy a membership to a gym, I'll magically be fit.

To me....I don't care if there is a cinder block and some rope, I'll make it work.

Saturday In The Park...

5PM
I'm pretty sure I pushed myself to the limit today. Panting. Sweating and hurting. I started doing pullups before anyone even showed. Really dumb. Put a lot of pressure in my lower abs. Something that isn't developed. Let's back track a little bit to earlier in the day...

12:30PM decided to make myself eggs, mushrooms, red bell pepper and leftover beef from a salad that a friend gave me from work. It was tasty.

2:00PM drove around looking for a keg and 5 gallon water bottle to slam. We'd watched "Rocky Balboa" what the hell. It was a lot more difficult to locate than I thought. I got so sidetracked and drove all over Van Nuys and Sherman Oaks trying to find these stupid things. I gave up when I saw Fatburger. Anyone native to Los Angeles seem to have two burger choices. They say In-N-Out or Fatburger. I guess people are suppose to decide what type of person you are based on that. Elvis or Beatles? Sammy Haggar or David Lee Roth? And so forth.

For me, it's Fatburger. Love their fat fries. Love that they put egg on it. So I stop and eat a fatburger with egg, relish, tomato, mustard and onions. Very tasty. No fries on this one. After satiated...it was time to celebrate with a cigar. 'Cause nothing says conquering fatburger like a fat stogie.

I go to a place called The Cigar Warehouse, here in the valley. This place is so inviting. Everything about this says clubhouse. It's crowded on Saturday. I sit and watch the game while smoking the house special. Everyone is a character there. And everyone tells jokes. Or knock each other around. The comraderie is great. I sit around and laugh between puffs.

I see the time is 3:30PM, so I leave to get ready for the Ludus.

When I get home, I have this intense sense of fatigue. And for some reason, I have this overwhelming need to chow down on strawberries and yogurt. That's exactly what I do, before I pass out. But I don't sleep. I daze in and out of consciousness until a fellow workout buddy texts me that he will be arriving soon. Arriving? Apparently I had completely forgot that we had told him we had duped him to believing the workout was earlier so that he would arrive on time. Well, I never want to be a liar, so I hauled ass to the field. That's when I realized no one was there. And the pullups.

Usually I suck some caffeine before working out. I have breathing problems. Anemic too. When Mike arrives, we decide to do our lift-heavy-and-sprint routine. We've added the reward of slamming the tire with the sledgehammer as an extra thing. Then we sprint back. Quite stupid. Extremely effective. I sucked so much air I thought my lungs would collapse. On my elbows I go into twitches. It's a searing pain. The sun doesn't help. I wave blindly for the next person to start. Now...we have another guy show up now...he's a bit overweight, as he's never worked out like this before. Or, it seems, ever. He's got so much heart. I can't believe how much he's put himself thru. He does this routine, and I thought he'd be sucking wind. Yes, he was...but he had a smile plastered to his face. Inspiring. I love that more than anything. His next response "what's next?"

We both decided to do 100 pushups. He did it. So much heart.

The Tabattas killed me this time. Mid-way thru I felt some percolating in my lower stomach. You know that nausea that you know is about to destroy your dignity? I was about to blast my shorts. Something kept me upright though. I have no dignity, so it couldn't be that. Maybe, it's because I wanted to complete the set. But...I half-assed them. I walked away so disappointed. And still wanting to crap my pants. I laid down so sick of my body betraying me. Percolating gut be damned.

The worst thing I ever experienced. We attached the long tow to the short tow...and dragged 100 lbs. IT is the worst thing ever. I tied the harness to my waist and leaned forward and dug in. One excruciating step after another. The 40 yards ahead of me, may have been a mile. My legs were spaghetti. Mmmm...spaghetti. My knees felt like buckling. I kid you not, I grabbed grass to pull myself forward. Every inch, meant inches on the return. I looked over to the apartment complexes surrounding us, and there was a few people watching from the balcony. I mean, who doesn't like to watch torture and public flogging? When I got to the end, it just meant I had to return. I looked down at the ground. What is there to think?...no one is going to do this for me. So I began my trek back. Step by agonizing step. Sun beating down on me. The ground turning into a multi-color field of pain. Step. Pain. Step. Pain. I hear my workout buddies shouting and cheering. Just a few more feet and this will end. It needs to end. The final surge crosses the line and I collapse. Belt attached. I turn over. Arms above my head so as to not vomit. And then I feel a pull. My workout buddy is releasing the harness off me and I am powerless to do anything. Yet, I turn over to enjoy the pain he's about to experience.

What I Know About Women

I was going to crack wise and leave this post blank.

But since we're all mature adults here...this is what I know:
They feel soft to touch.
They smell good
They like looking at pretty things

This is the truth:
Some hands feel like sandpaper.
They have bouts of diarrhea like us guys
Oprah

Okay, wise-acreing aside: if you've ever had fear of women, like I have, the one constant I can tell you is that they have a fear of us as well. My belief is that we are so similar in a lot of ways we think we're so far apart.

Both sexes enjoy being appreciated. Being validated for our accomplishments. Love laughing. Love playing. Love being in love.

Which is confusing...the fear. I think a better way to put it is rejection. Most of us are sickened by rejection. We fear that so much, we paralyze ourselves into non-action. Because we see it as failure. Failure is never trying. So I did an experiment. I would speak to five women in a day...complete strangers, and just strike up a random conversation with them. NOT expecting numbers. NOT expecting love. NOT expecting anything but to know a little about them. And here are the facts:

Lupe: I was standing in line at a grocery store. I looked over and noticed she had daffodils. I said to her "Nice daffodils". She brightened and related to me that she had a care package that she was giving to her mother as she was in the hospital. I also found out it wasn't anything serious and that it was just prevention surgery.

Sarah: She was an older woman at a pho (Vietnamese noodle soup) restaurant I really enjoy going to. She was there with her son. I asked her what she had gotten and she told me the beef noodles. Then she was telling me about a midnight ride thru Los Angeles that her son does for fun. Every first Saturday. Fascinating.

Kim: Standing in line at another grocery store...a girl in a workout outfit was standing next to me, as the lines were backed up. She looked anxious so I asked her if she'd like to get in front of me since I was in no hurry. She stared at me blankly for a while. Then declined and made a comment about how she's never seen a line this long. I have. No biggie :).

Julie: I've seen her at the gym I go to all the time. She is very fit. I stopped her and told her that she had a really great physique and that I'm sure someone had told her that before..then inquired what types of exercise she did. Oh man...this went on for a while. But afterwards, I thanked her, backed away and left.

Frieda: I was getting my haircut. But the barber wasn't there. So I stood outside. Meanwhile a security officer said the stylist was at the store across the street and would come back shortly. Another woman beelined to the window and peered in. Frustrated. She looked at her watch. I related the story to her what the security officer had told me. Then asked her what she was in such a hurry for. She told me that her son was about to graduate high school and had to make the ceremony. When the stylist arrived, I told her "Frieda needs something really great for her son't graduation" and allowed her to go first. Y'see I'm never in a hurry to do anything or get anywhere. She was so thankful. And I had a great time chatting to her while she got that perfect 'do.

I notice something...the more times I approached women openly and with a smile and a friendliness. Natural and calm the more people felt comfortable around me. The key word is RELAX. Franky said it. It's so great learning about people. And I think they appreciate it. Women love being appreciated. They love attention. They love being listened to. And they especially love a great story.

Note About Nutrition

I'm aware that alcohol has zero nutritional value. Unless you have a bloody mary. In which case you could've have a V8. To me, food has always been plentiful. You see, my folks owned a restaurant and they would always bring home leftovers. Or they would make things specially ordered. While many kids at school were bringing PB&J to school. I was bringing shrimp in lobster sauce. In college, times were strapped tight. I would use my college card to buy Dinty Moore beef stew cans and mix it ramen. Looking back, I can't see a difference between me and a trash compactor. Sure the compactor was getting more vitamins and minerals. To me, it was always a battle of choices. I often would forgo eating for smoking cigarettes. It was the Midwest, in college and bored. So, cut me some slack on that one since it was essentially prison.

Something I didn't realize before, because...well...maybe I was blocking this out: Was your mother ever convinced that you loved a certain food but you did not? My mom is CONVINCED I love beef. Every single time I'd come home, she'd sear a steak for me...and I REALLY dislike it. Her response "No you don't...you like it." Huh? I thought she had me confused with my sisters. But they barely ate meat. So I have no idea what went on in her mind. What she did teach me was variety. Everything on my plate was so different. We had fresh fruit ALL the time. My mom knew what season it was without missing a beat. Even today...she'd call me up..."grapes are in season, get some." Followed by a comparison of prices in California versus Ohio.

Food is fuel. Nothing more. Americans live a very amazing lifestyle. You think they have buffets in Ethiopia? I don't think about food unless absolutely necessary. People obsess with it in the United States. The other day I went to Red Lobster and saw a menu with calorie counts for every dish. Is this how we want to live our lives? Allowing a stupid menu to decide for us? And why go to Red Lobster anyway when you know you're blowing a "diet". I blasted thru a grip of biscuits ('cause that's the real reason to go) with a clear conscience.

That's the thing, I think the more you think about it, the more you're defeating yourself. Why? Let's say I have a jelly donut. Bummer. I feel horrible I broke my diet. I spend the next few hours, if not days, dwelling on it. I'm just a horrible person. Next to Dahmer. So I go and work out religiously to burn that donut away. Seriously? I could spend a whole week on a treadmill but wouldn't erase the memory of that donut. How about this? You eat that donut with authority, say "Donut, you and me had our differences, but thanks for the tastiness you're about to give me." And never think about that donut again. You're having closure with your food cravings.

10:00AM Saturday July 9th (sorry about tan line) 157lbs. 5' 6"

I eat garbage all the time, but that same exact day as I'm reminiscing about the crap that I ate between dreaming about that beautiful girl from work, I drop my self-loathing of eating. You should't be embarrassed to eat. Enjoy it. Earn it. Never deny yourself things. Just don't overdo it. A lot of stuff I read is about why we eat. Anxiety. Boredom. Stress. I think we eat like we do because we think it'll go away. We all had our lean years. Food cravings can be swung by simply getting an intense exercise in. Me, I get too ill to eat. So I suck down a yogurt with some fruit. Which is all I can handle at the time. Earn your food. But make that food something you enjoy.

4th Day Of Sobriety

It's the 4th day of sobriety. Woke up run down and a little anxious. I think it may have been from the half bag of Chee-tos I consumed last night. Funny how when you drop a sugar from your life, you have to compensate for another. I 'aint proud and my cheese encrusted fingers mock me every time I type.

I feel bad but I feel good. And I did some research online about withdrawal symptoms. It seems after 2 to 6 days of sobriety a severe case alcoholic can actually start to hallucinate. Probably a little more difficult in Los Angeles to tell, since you do see a parade of interesting things on a daily basis. I do have a more positive outlook on things though. I'm excited to go to the Farmer's Market to get fresh fruit. I may stop off at the Guitar Center and noodle around with a hollow body I've had my eye on. And I'm going to treat myself to a massage because of the devastating workout we had yesterday. I may hang out at the beach. It seems these are all possibilities when you aren't stumbling around with a headache.

One thing I warn anyone getting off the sauce...test the waters first. This type of detox seems to be one of the most difficult withdrawal is removing a source from your body that it has been functioning on. Most experts recommend you don't go it alone. I'm in for a checkup this week and will confess to my doctor my drinking issue. I'm off the drinking, and physically I may have dodge some of the effects because of these exercises, but I can feel some of the effects for sure. Dizzyness and nausea to name the top two.

Weekend is coming up and I have a slight fear that I'm going to need some sauce. I think I'll keep myself busy all day. Unfortunately I got some really bad news at work, and the first thing I want to do is drink.  Just dig up a nice bottle of Jack and sit in some lawn chair and not get up. But I know I can't. Man, sorry to depress everyone. It's been that kinda day.

The Ludus

In Roman times there was a place called "The Ludus" which first started out as a place for children to play sport. A playground, if you will. It eventually became a training ground for gladiators. It seemed appropriate for our degree of work. I think competition is an interesting thing. Straight in the womb we were battling for that singular egg. And now here we are, constantly fighting urges to be hyper-competitive, yet cheering the ones who are.

My first initial text to my workout buddies is that we need a really cool name for what we do. I suggested "The Institute" as in...this place will be scientific and clinical in your workouts and build you into the machine you want to be. My buddy Brad came back with "The Ludus." Which was drawn from "Spartacus." Having that show fresh in my mind, it was very appropriate. And here's why...

You see, we are a very ugly bunch. Time has taken its toll on our bodies. As well as abuse of food, booze and sometimes drugs. And now we were in the hands of a higher being. We shifted our mindset to be the slaves and toil in the fields. And if we were to survive, the next logical step would be to get strength to live thru the day. And there was no other choice. Remember the "Wheel of Pain" from "Conan"? Not sure he would've chose that vocation in life.

I want to believe that back in the day, the gladiators used their physique and bulk to intimidate their competition. Ugliness is scary. Scars meant the other guy probably isn't on this planet anymore. So we conscienciously decided to make the workouts ugly. It has to be in the trenches..clawing and fighting your way to the top of the hill. This is not fighting a Hammer Strength machine here. Get your cyborg fix watching...um..."Cyborg"...nope...we're fighting other humans.

So we get dirty. I roll in the dirt. Drive my shoulder into the ground as I jockey the 50lbs sandbag for position. My shoulders explode with searing pain trying to push off the bag. Meanwhile I'm cursing every single Dorito I've eaten. Every vodka/tonic I've consumed. I slam the medicine ball into the ground. Pushing down so hard I hear the report echo against the apartment buildings that surround the park. The focus is no longer about how I feel, but when will it end.

There is a great strength condition coach that many in the NFL have sworn by. I love his videos. Joe DeFranco. If you don't know him and want to get strong...look him up. For me, he's his philosophy. If you want to get stronger, you must want it. There are no ordinary workouts for his ballers. He pushes everyone to their max and rewards them for conquering their fears. He is some of the inspiration for our workouts as well. Drive hard. There is no other way.

By the end of the session, rolling around in dirt (and most definitely dog crap) we usually leave the field, triumphant yet battered. And we know the enemy will have us to fear instead of the other way around. The arena awaits.
Next up: Eating for a lean body

Finding the Right Workout For You

On our initial approach to working out, three of us decided to attack the workout more as that...working out. For me, I love the NFL. I watched HBO's "Hard Knocks" religiously. For my workout partner Brad, he had already done some strongman workouts. For Mike, he seemed to come from a boxing standpoint. Explosive MMA style fighting. We had another guy who wanted to get into it, but...his only contribution was a kettlebell he let us "borrow" and then he simply disappeared.

The NFL is an amazing sport. There is so much chaotic grace. And it all happens in seconds. I was amazed at the sheer force a player would put their bodies thru to get in shape for such a harsh sport. The thought of making it to that level of physicality is a wonder. Watching the combines, I realized they're constantly dealing with just the hard facts. Seconds. Pounds. Distances. All logged and processed by a huge brain trust and worth billions. Something stuck with me as I was watching these training camps...what is the drive to keep to that level of fitness? Money is a huge factor...but what about the players who don't make the 1st, 2nd or even 118th draft pick. They'd be making the same amount of money with less injuries doing anything else. I have to believe it is the sport and glory that drives these players. Why else is Tiki Barber returning to the sport?

Getting back to the conditioning portion of it...I know whenever people hear of conditioning, it was for a higher purpose. People condition to do other things. For instance, I do wind sprints so that I can play soccer better. Or I do pull ups to rock climb better. I remember In high school, we used conditioning to get fit for track. However, in our day to day lives, is the word "condition" even a factor? I mean, most of us have jobs that don't require we run the 40 in 4.4 seconds. Nor that we can push a Buick on an incline. The idea of "work" now wasn't pushing, pulling or plowing. It's now sitting behind a computer and making people in a different country move things. I think that mindset is why pure workouts seems to be the most overlooked. We don't need to forage for survival. The sad fact is that we may never get back to that mindset and the species will die a fat lazy death.

I wondered about the way I had been doing weight training. I did very heavy weights. The type of weights that even astounded bodybuilders (for my size anyway). You are validated and considered their equal when that tribe gives you that knowing nod and recognizes you as one of their own. If you got the nod, you knew they respected you. It just fueled the need to get bigger and stronger. Yeah, I spent a LOT of time at the gym...but again, I never considered myself a gym rat. I don't play pro-football, but when I was able to bench 12 reps at 225lbs. it may have put up red flags. But I just used the flags to wipe down the machines. Oh, that reminds me too...up until now, I've never sweat at a workout (prior to the one I'm doing now). Weight training didn't exhaust me that way for some reason.

So when choosing what type of workout, I suggest a few things:
1) find a mentor - even if it's a celebrity that you'd like to emulate their physique and study them. Find videos of their workouts. Military style workouts are my favorite. Especially SeAL training. They shred so much fat.

2) Don't fall into fads. I mean, it's okay to do certain things, but mix them up. When I say choose the right workout for you, it means looking for new and interesting ways to push yourself. People who read books at the gym sadden me.

3) Ask yourself what is the motivation for this workout. If it's a beach body and you want to shred fast, your barking up the wrong workout tree. Mindset wise. I think most people allow this to go the quickest because as long as they have that idea in their head, the minute one exercise doesn't yield a quick result they abandon and try something different. Work outs aren't about quick results but lifestyle changes.

4) Study your own physique and know your body type. And be honest with your gains and losses. I overlooked this one and most people don't do this either. We sometimes are blind to what others see. We are too focused on the goals we lose perspective of what would suit our NEEDS. And overshoot it sometimes.

5) It's gotta be challenging. There is no way around this one. You either want this or you don't. And the commitment you need to shred is one where you'll be pushing yourself to a limit. You can cheat sets all you want but you aren't going to cheat your body.

So, that's it for choosing a workout. I'm with you guys on this one. I've built a new workout away from my usual heavy weight training. In my next episode...enter THE LUDUS.

170lbs @ 5'6"

Finding A Workout Partner

I think it occurred to me then why workouts are better with groups. In a group setting, there are periods of ups and downs. Especially if you feel like going full tilt. Personally, I feel I work harder when you have a group because it kinda' feels like you're in front of an audience. It may never be proven, in terms on performance of a player based on the attendance, but I doubt it hurts an NFL player to see hundreds of thousands of people watching him. But, let's talk about the workout partner.

Workout partners are one of the most difficult things to keep motivated. Especially in a gym atmosphere. And if we're talking one on one. I know personal trainers like seeing themselves in this role. But, honestly, what are we talking about here. A person who is there to hold your hand or speak words of encouragement. Personally...that would grate on me. There is no comraderie, it's master and servant. And I think some people may put TOO much emphasis/faith on results based on personal attention rather than their own personal goals. When I started going to the gym, I had a personal trainer. I outdid everything she had in store for me. Not much encouragement, only advice I had already read on many other fitness magazines. Personal trainer...okay, if you're past the age of 50. Also, don't find a friend to workout if your only motivation is to chit chat at the gym. I find that to be the biggest waste of time.

I think it's a sabotage sometimes to believe your partner is going to be supportive of your goals. Choosing the right partner should be as choosy as choosing your life mate. These have to be people who share some, NOT all your philosophies of working out. Throw in people who also do studies on diets and you have a great combination. My buddy Brad and I started going to each other's gym. We had it in mind that we'd feed off each other's workout template. Since we didn't belong to the same gym, we spent more time battling the sales pitches rather than actually working out. The other thing is that my goals didn't coincide with Brad's, so we did our own thing at the gym, and it might as well be we never went together. So that fell thru. Also be flexible in other people's workout regiment. See what they do and see if it doesn't fit into your own. The minute a workout partner starts dispelling another's exercise is when it goes downhill. LISTEN. You don't have to incorporate into your workouts, but at least try it. Conversely, all body types are different. So what may work for one person may not for another. Don't push it on someone else.

I'd have to say if you're choosing a workout partner, my advice...look for the ones who have a flexible with schedule. And someone who has a great deal of information and focus on nutrition. I choose to find four or five people and meet once a week in a park. I like the atmosphere. The fresh air. The fans :).