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Crossfit: The best workout ever? A review

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Crossfit has come on the workout scene relatively recently, and now that Reebok has fully thrown its support behind it with a series of commercials for their crossfit centered products, even more attention has been brought to this “extreme” routine as of late. Given some of this recent attention, and finding that I’d grown bored with my sometimes effective workout routine, I set out on a quest to find something new. Having heard of crossfit through the grapevine, read articles on it (I’d suggest this one from Men’s Health http://www.menshealth.com/fitness/cult-crossfit ) and being no stranger to group exercise, I determined it was worth a shot. Since thanksgiving I’ve been doing it on a regular basis, and with my 3 months’ experience serving as a caveat, here’s my review of this, not so routine, routine.

The pros:

The great pace and variety of workouts coupled with social support from trainers and fellow crossfiters, leaves you with a feeling of accomplishment at the end of most workouts. That it’s in a group exercise format with set goals and intragroup competition means that there exists a supportive culture which produces the intrinsic and extrinsic motivation needed to succeed.

The cons:

If you’re not familiar with a wide variety of weight lifting techniques, it will take you a while to get off the ground. It’s not unreasonable to think that it might take you a month or two of attending classes to start using heavy weights on some of the exercises, for the simple reason that you can’t use the weights you’re capable of using, until you get the technique down.

If you’re not capable of doing squats or you have a bad back, there’s a lot that you won’t be able to do. At least at the crossfit I go to, some variety of squats seem to take up about ½ the workout.

Not all crossfit locations are created equal. I think I got a pretty good one on the first try, since they seem to have plenty of well qualified staff and helpful interns who emphasize safety, give individual attention and design challenging, but doable, workouts on a daily basis. The horror stories I’ve heard seem to relate to extreme intensities and a lack of concern on the part of the staff, so you may want to keep an eye out for that.

Verdict:

Is it the best workout ever? Yes and no, but mostly yes. If you’re ok with your workout being a social experience, if you want some variety in your routine, and if you want a challenge no matter your level of fitness, then this might be for you.

If you’re more comfortable with a slow-paced, individualized workout involving an elliptical and flat screen tvs, then this is not going to be your jam. Likewise if you’re disciplined enough to do this sort of workout at a normal gym, you can save yourself some $ and create a similarly challenging workout in your own way.

But, if you’re anything like me and get bored easily, find excuses to cut workouts short, and discover that you’re not pushing yourself to your potential, crossfit will likely do you a lot of good.

 P. S.

There is likely to be at least one brosef who will a) show up ½ hr before the 1 hr work out to get a couple more sets in, b) enjoy working out half-naked no matter his audience, and c) emit a guttural moan at the completion of a muscle up or similar workout.

Fair warning. Be prepared.

Exercise to Man up to: Hot Yoga

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Though yoga might have something of a stigma as a chick thing, a hippie thing or a general waste of time, I beg to differ. Though I can’t speak for all varieties of yoga the Bikram style of yoga (practiced in a room around 105 degrees with a controlled humidity around 40%, and lasting over an hour) is physically and mentally demanding. The heat alone takes multiple classes to get used to and the range of positions proves challenging for any fitness level. Its not unusual to see  some 110 pound blonde bombshell comfortably holding an Astavakrasana while the dude bros in the back are gasping for air trying to wait out the Death Valleyesque heat between chugging copious amounts of water from their Nalgene’s. Although my yoga studio also offers MMA and wrestling classes (which is admittedly a bit emasculating as I walk out with my yoga mat and high school kids walk in with their wrestling gear) guys from both these classes also frequent the yoga studio, 1 for the workout and flexibility it offers and 2 for the women. A yoga studio is nothing if not a crowded smokeshow. So broaden your horizons, diversify your workout and give it a shot, but be prepared to be completely spent for at least the first few classes after which you can attempt to cool down and flirt with the instructor(s). Might as well set your sights high.

I Prefer a Little Grass on my Court

Thanks to some connections who will remain nameless so they don’t lose their jobs, I have been lucky enough to score some pretty solid (read: courtside) tickets to the majority of the U.S. Open Tennis matches taking place in NYC this week and next.  While some perceptions don’t always equal reality (what do you mean all high school cheerleaders don’t look like Minka Kelly!?) I can assure you this: whatever WASP-y assumption you have about professional tennis are most likely true.  Below are my 3 main assumptions about the United States Tennis Association (USTA) before this week and the resulting realities after visiting beautiful Flushing Meadows:

Assumption #1: High Barrier to Entry:
The number one rule of any elitist organization is having a high barrier to entry.  More elitist points if that barrier to entry is completely uncontrollable…like not being white or being a Mets fan.  (God bless you Chris Rock).  Thankfully, since it is 2011, the USTA cannot have any bigoted barriers to enter the famed Arthur Ashe Stadium, but that sure doesn’t stop ticket prices from AVERAGING $312.27 each! Although the 7 train through Queens stops right outside Citi Field and the U.S. Open complex, everyone who gets off that subway are holding Mets tickets.  Assumption correct.

Assumption #2: No American Beer:
Anheuser-Busch and Coors are the ubiquitous sports sponsors.  Together they are the “official beers” of Major League Baseball, the NFL and NASCAR among numerous others.  I had a feeling that the U.S. Open demographic wasn’t quite in line with the typical Bud Heavy drinker.  Alas, the ONLY two beer options at the stadium were Heineken and Heineken Light.  It was a disgrace, but I wasn’t surprised considering the other sponsors include Mercedes, Ralph Lauren, Grey Goose, Evian water, Tiffany & Co. and Moet Champaign. Assumption correct.

Assumption #3: Maria Sharapova is Athlete Hot:
“Athlete Hot” is the same phenomena as “Teacher Hot” in that a person looks better by comparison to their colleagues or typical archetypes than in real life.  Remember that statistics teacher sophomore year in high school who was fuckin’ smokin’?  Sure, in class she looked good compared to a protractor or that prude chick you had to buy a corsage for at the Winter Wonderland Dance, but if you saw teacher lady at a bar she would be a 6 at best.  The same is true for Sharapova.  Next to Anastasiya Yakimova she looks good, but in reality she is 6 foot 2 and always angry.  Oh, and that grunt…it’s not sexy.  In person she sounds like she is passing a kidney stone for two hours.  Assumption correct.

Ok, fine.  I still took audio of Maria grunting. Maria Kidney Stone (starts at 14 seconds)

Enjoy you sickos.

Place for an Epiphany: A Stoop

A stoop, according to Webster’s Dictionary, is:

a porch with steps in front of a house or other building. Ask me and I’ll tell you much more.

 

I’ve been going through a lot of changes lately and my current transition can be most sensibly be symbolized by the alcove in front of my new townhouse and its seven marble stairs. Anyone our age with any class or distinction watched a beloved cartoon titled “Hey Arnold!” In said show there exists an episode where a gentleman appropriately named Stoop Kid is revealed as a homebody–teased for his fear of leaving his stoop.

What am I getting at? Well, I see a bit of myself in Stoop Kid; I tend to be a bit of a homebody and fear change and uncertainty a bit. Simply put, I realized I was in a rut and was becoming scared to “leave my stoop” or my place of comfort for fear of the world at the foot of those steps. With the help of a promotion requiring me to be closer to the city, I rashly visited a place being subletted in downtown Baltimore on a Monday with cash-in-hand and my mind made up barring some ridiculous observance during my visit and was sleeping in the new place by Friday night.

And after work on that Friday night, I found myself visiting the corner liquor store adjacent to my home and purchasing a six-pack of Budweisers with the intention of sitting on my new stoop, consuming them, and people-watching for a bit. Then I realized…I’m on a literal stoop but I’m still sitting on my metaphorical one–watching the city from where it’s comfortable and safe. So I went upstairs, put the beers in the shared refrigerator, scribbled a passive-aggressive note: “Tim’s” on them and I left my stoop.

I felt like a million bucks in my Virginia Slim-like Snapback hat, my Tuna-like V-neck and my Robthewelterweight-like Cargo Shorts. I walked about a block before I saw a rat and got scared of Baltimore because..well, let’s be real-Baltimore is kind of shitty and utterly terrifying at night. BUT the point is that I identified my fears and did something about it. The next night I walked three blocks.

Here is my plea to you, readers: We all have a comfort zone, or stoop, which is as close to the unknown that we feel safe venturing. Figure out what that is and take a step towards the terrifying. The older we get, the fewer chances we’re going to get to be reckless and take uncalculated risks. Please, do it before you get old like Dgleese.

Training for a marathon?

I never thought the words, “I’m training for a marathon,” would flow from my lips. EVER.  Not only a marathon, but a “Rock and Roll Marathon,” in Philly in September.  It’s only a half marathon, but right now I can barely run two miles, let alone 13.  Not to mention that the only reason I can do this on a daily basis is because I set a prize for myself at the end that to me, is well worth the sweat, heavy breathing and cramping I endure during this short, pathetic, measly run: A venti iced Starbucks coffee with two pumps of sugar free vanilla syrup. Yes, I run to Starbucks almost every morning, thank you very much!

Reese knows what's up!

This is not just any marathon.  There will be live bands playing along the whole course, which is a pretty big factor as to why I agreed to do this with my best friend.  Her idea, not mine.

She really needs to know what she’s gotten herself into by asking me to do this with her.

She needs to realize that I’m not kidding when I tell her that it is going to be just as embarrassing for her as it is for me when she has to drag me by my feet across the finish line, while I’m beat red and dry heaving…oh, and we are in last place.  Cute image, eh? This is how I imagine myself when I think of how my body will react to running a marathon.  I wouldn’t consider myself terribly out of shape by any means; I just have never really been a “runner.”  Training starts next week…Maybe I will feel differently in a month or so?

So I thought, well, if I’m going to train for a marathon I might as well diet, too. Double torture.  Why do I do this to myself?  Special K it is!  Does this actually work for anyone? I would love to get other people’s opinions on it.  I am only on day three and feel fine as of

now…. However, if any of you read my previous quitting post then you know that I am currently living at home.  Imagine trying to give up carbs while living with a step mother who could easily have her own southern flared Food Network cooking show.  Every morning it’s, “Here’s a sausage, egg and cheese biscuit for the road!”  “AWESOME, this looks great,” I say, as I walk out the door and then toss the biscuit into the bushes.  Last night at 9 PM she called me downstairs and handed me strawberry shortcake. I thank her and sigh as I literally flush the shortbread down the toilet but keep the strawberries.  I don’t want to hurt her feelings! It’s been rough. We will see how long I can take this for before I cave.

Since we are on the subject of running, the best shorts to run in in my opinion are Nike track shorts.  I have two pairs, and needed a couple more but didn’t want to spend an arm and a leg (the Nike’s are about $30 each), so I went for the less expensive Champion option at Target.  Bad move- sometimes trying to be frugal doesn’t work out after all.  The Champion ones will ride up into your crotch region every 4 strides or so…we all know how annoying that is.  Stick with Nike.

Best station on Pandora to listen to while running? Girl Talk. Hands down!

Best way to get a dead sexy beach body – diet and supplement stack

Ok gentlemen, listen closely.  Unfortunately there’s no cure-all pill for that putrid looking tire of fat around your waist.  Lucky for you, though, you can shrink those fat cells down to a more desirable size.  I’m no doctor, but supposedly all people have a very similar amount of fat cells in their bodies.  It’s just the size of these cells that determine how morbidly obese you are.  Well what determines how big these cells get you ask?  DIET.  Stop pounding the fast food and avoid refined carbs (they turn to sugar that your lazy body doesn’t use then they turn to fat).  You can eat relatively fatty foods, but if you can cut down on the carbs you will notice a difference in just a few weeks.  I know, you’re addicted to carbs.  Give legumes a shot.  Burrito bowls from Chipotle are a great option (no rice, extra black beans).  Make sure you drink plenty of water too, it helps your body wick the fat off.

On to the supplement stack.   I’m not going to get cute here, this is just my favorite stack:

Any multivitamin (1 a day)

BSN Syntha 6 Protein Shake (1-2 scoops a day) – this tastes so good, try it

Natural Fish Oil (1 a day)

If you’re working out I would recommend BSN’s Nitrix and follow the instructions on the bottle.  This stuff is safe and it makes you feel like superman all day.

Give these a shot.  If you have any favorites leave me a comment and I’ll probably give it a shot.

Solo Amateur Competitive Eating

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There are many things that simultaneously make America great and depressingly disgusting at the same time. WWE Raw, which I happened to attend last evening, is one such thing. Only in America can you find 25,000 men of all colors and creeds in a homoerotic frenzy watching a former Real World star and a dude in jean shorts violently cuddle in an oversized crib. It is something to behold. Near the top of this list of Americaness, right above Ray Mysterio and Randy Orton, is  gluttony. We’ve mastered all seven deadly sins in the U.S. of A, none more so than gluttony.

Every reader of this blog, with the possible exception of our two followers in India, has sinfully (and I mean that in the most damning sense of the word) overindulged. Feasting, overindulging, stuffing our faces, and being gluttonous is a critical part of being an ethnocentric middle-upper class white male in America. We dont do it because we want to or have to, we do it because we can. And in the words of George W. Bush, “If you don’t eat those two Hardee’s double cheeseburgers, fries, fried apple pie, and 40 oz drink…all for $5, the terrorists win!” Maybe you ate two Big Mac value meals or saw a buddy slurp three large Hardee’s shakes. Whatever the case, I’m here to tell you that it was child’s play. I’ve had the privilege of witnessing some of the greatest solo amateur competitive eating performances ever.

Before diving into the best performances ever, let me say a few words about the eater, Griffo the Magnificent. It is unclear exactly where, when, and why Griffo honed his stomach stretching abilities. I have my theories. Griffo is a Ginger Americanus who grew up on the mean streets of South Portland, Maine. It is my belief that much like a camel in the dessert who must store water, Griffo learned at an early age to feast whenever he was able, not knowing when his next meal might come. Life can be difficult for gingers even in safe wealthy suburbs.  So you can imagine how difficult things must’ve been in a neighborhood known as the Compton of New England. This evolutionary instinct, to overeat whenever food was available, allowed him to survive for weeks at a time all alone on the docks of the Old Port with nothing to eat. Over the years Griffo turned this survival mechanism into a serious talent that won him both shame and acclaim up and down the eastern seaboard. Griffo’s hall of fame:

Chicken Nugget Power Hour: Thats right, take your six light beers, Senor Frogs shot glass, and Seacrest-inspired playlist and shove it. While you were nursing your Mich Ultras, Griffo put back 2800 calories, 180 grams of fat, and 150 grams of protein. (And keep in mind this was before McD’s got all high and mighty and switched to all white meat….this was back in the mechanically separated chicken hearts days)

14 Cadbury Eggs: This is Kirstie Allie’s Easter basket and Griffo polished it off without even sitting up straight. Much controversy surrounds this performance. It is likely Griffo could’ve eclipsed the 20 mark had he not been sabotaged. Someone opened the 14th egg, and replaced the creme center with tequila…no lie. You can imagine what an unexpected shot of tequilla will do to a hungover ginger 13 egg’s deep. This ranks up there with the Kobayashi soy-dog scandal of ’02 as one of the darkest moments in competitive eating. Total damage: 2380 calories and 350 grams of sugar.

10 Wendy’s Junior Bacon Cheese Burgers: As was vividly demonstrated by this challenge….solo competitive eating is a no win proposition. Without someone to eat against its hard to judge just how impressive each challenge is. If you hit your mark your audience assumes the bar wasnt set high enough and if you fall short you are automatically an anorexic school girl who needs to get over her body issues. I’d say 3700 calories and 7900 mg of sodium speak for themselves.

Honorable Mentions:

24 slices of CeCe’s pizza followed by dessert
1 large Papa Johns pizza and 1 order of boneless chicken wings (this became a weekly tradition for Griffo…sort of like long toss to keep the stomach muscles in shape)
2 IHOP entrees and 12 flapjacks.
1.5 lbs steak and 12 eggs

This list goes on. One late night/early morning after ordering 3 separate meals at Steak n’ Shake our waitress asked Griffo if he would like some water to help wash everything down. Griffo said no, famously replying…”More Bread! More Starch!” Griffo turns 27 today. Somehow he’s survived and has managed to avoid being morbidly obese. He even has an attractive girlfriend with a tolerance for tomfoolery and his small ginger…mushroom cap? (i’m imagining a orange baby portabella) In honor of his B-day, WWE Raw, and all things that are both ugly and beautiful about this country I recommend finding a Golden Coral or Ryan’s and posting up for a few hours. Eat till you vomit, eat some more, then stuff some rolls in your fanny pack to go.

Streaking 101

Oh what’s up, Spider Man? Didn’t know you rooted for the Astros.

Seriously though, take a few minutes to admire evasive maneuvers in their finest form. The guy basically made Houston’s security team his bitch. Actually, he made Minute Maid Park his bitch.

Seeing him scale the awkward hill in center made me nostalgic for 2004, when  I pulled a similar stunt at the Yale/Harvard football game.

Prepare yourself for some reminiscing.

Continue reading → «Streaking 101»

 
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