Attack!

Here is a post from Aaron Landes' blog called The Program at www.thisistheprogram.com. He was kind enough to write this blog after becoming Attitude Nation Certified during Saturday's seminar at Crossfit Providence.  Words cannot explain how much this article meant to me and my wife.  Thank you Aaron for everything, and nice PR CLEAN BABY!  (video below!)

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Slamming Bars, Hitting PRs, and Riding With The Windows Down and the AC Up

Posted on July 29, 2012 by Lando

A quality HI-RES photo of us Programmers at the Jon North Attitude Nation Certification @ CF Providence. The man to my left snatches 160kg. I feel weak.

Saturday was absolutely awesome for a number of reasons. Mainly because we got proof in person that Jon North is a maniac in the greatest of ways. I’ve never been in the presence of a coach/teacher who had so much energy, passion, and awesome quotes as Jon did all day. We got to learn some awesome shit from him and his wife Jessica while they put us through the drills he himself created and developed as his own unique way of going about the lifts. He’s pretty good at what he does so it was kind of worth while.


Programmer Shamon summed up the cert the best when relating it to possibly meeting someone you look up to as a celebrity. He said often times he thinks about if he had the chance to actually meet someone like his favorite performer or athlete whether he would want to for fear of them being such an enormous asshole that it ruined his perception of them and appreciation of what they do on the whole. On the other hand, being able to meet them in person and having a positive experience could elevate your appreciation of them and what they do to the N-th degree.

The latter is exactly what happened for all of us in attendance. Not only were Jon and Jessica good instructors with good information for both the athlete and coach in us, but Jon far exceeded the expectations I had of what he was like in person and who he was as a person. He was genuine in his criticism and his praise for all the lifters there, was genuine in the passion he showed for weightlifting and teaching his craft, and genuine with his off-the-rocker personality that brought countless laughs and take home quotes.

Yes, for me this was basically like a small child going to Disney World and meeting Mickey Mouse for the first time. I have stated that the Red Hot Chili Peppers are the house band of The Program due to their awesomeness, and I can officially say Jon North is an honorary member of The Program.

You know what else was awesome about the weekend? This:

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Day 1 Saturday: The Attitude Nation slammed bars and smoked many PR's at the eighth Attitude Nation Certification Seminar at Crossfit Providence. Thank you to all the athletes who attended, and the owners for making this fun day happen.  Special thanks to Judah for reaching out to us, and for bringing the brewskies after the seminar!  Cheers!  Here are some pictures of the crazy nice and crazy athletic athletes at Crossfit Providence.  

Celebrating a PR!

Group training session 

Technique session aka Superman pull!  

Certified and now team photo time

Day 2 Sunday:  The 9th Attitude Nation Certification Seminar started off with a bang at Crossfit Stamford with crazy PR's and lots and lots of coffee!  Thank you Andy and Kristie for hosting this fun day.  Thank you to all the athletes who attended and again please, please stay in touch about all your future accomplishments and PR's.  It was a pleasure meeting you all and training with you all.  Salute!  Here are some pics from Crossfit Stamford below. 

 Learning the correct positions 

Technique technique technique baby! 

Felipe aka wall puncher is the man! lol Nice PR clean buddy!

Leaving an awesome weekend

Aaron Landes 2016

Crossfit Providence 2016

Crossfit Stamford 2016

Milk

Take a bath in milk while you soak in your own recovery, while brain storming over your next blog topic.  Watch a home video of your self as a kid 'til your heart hurts.  Drink so much coffee in one sitting that you start throwing up outside the green jungle for all to see.  Don't forget to stay on your heels while driving the bar high into the sky so the white clouds can take your bar and spit it back at you, leaving you with three red bruises on your back, and your face black and blue in the lobby of building platform.  White hands say good bye to your old friends, leaving you with colorful new friends with strong hopes of becoming locked at the hip.  A dog named Sparky puts on the Russian Techno music as you both lift in a town that has been evacuated from the virus called Weightlifting.  An infected soccer mom who put the town in panic and fear as everyone ran for the hills, seeking and holding onto normal and well excepted dreams and achievements.  Flowers turn to black, and your knees turn to acorns.  Weightlifting has dried your skin to desert, and has made your everyday walk odd and crippled for so long, that now it's normal and straight.  A milk bath can only mean one thing, viewing life in a different light, seeing people as different than you, and making sure they are crazy.... not you.  But then again, you are the one laying naked in a tub of milk after lifting weights for six hours straight in a warehouse, while the rest of the normal world was racing by you outside those double doors.  A chalk bucket full of blood and an attitude full of hate and rage.  Rage against the bar, rage against your father, rage against nothing.  Rage is the best coach; rage alone will help you succeed.  Hate will guide you to happiness.  A crash from the bar against your body is the best type of feedback, a don't fuck up feedback that never lies.

Drink your milk, chocolate or white, it really doesn't matter.  If you choose white over chocolate then it must be red cap, also known as whole milk. The extra fat is good for you, so drink up!  Recovery liquid will make you strong for the next day.  As I sleep, I can feel my bones swimming in a lake full of milk.  I dream that there are little fish who live in the milk that work construction on my broken body.  The fish swim inside the muscles singing bed time stories while covering them up with blankets.  Milk provides strength and recovery fish.  The fish provide construction on your body while sleeping.  Construction on your body while sleeping leads to PR's and hard training.  This is why milk is so important, much more important than air or water.  Not coffee of course, just want to make that clear.  This has been my milk speech, a subject that should be taught at school.  A subject I really don't know how I got on.  I drink a half gallon of red milk a day.  But then again, Attitude Nation, do what works for you!

And one more thing! Can I ask why everyone is saying that fat is so bad for you?  Fat is good for you!  Calories are even better!  This is why I eat Italian almost every night.  Lots of bread and pasta, with milk.... of course.  Every Sunday is pizza night.  I eat a slice of cheesecake every night before bed, a secret that I haven't let out of the bag 'til now.  I truly believe that these foods, if training on a daily basis, are good for not only recovery, but your body as a whole.  I always feel much better the next day after eating meals like these.  If you are not training hard everyday than you should eat these foods only in moderation.  My view on food and diet is not normal, and 100 percent of people disagree with me.  So please take my advice with caution.  But even with all the facts and attacks that people throw at me, I still stand strong with my opinions.  I refuse to back down, Cheesecake and I will fight to the death!  I don't really know how I got onto the food topic, but this just might be my next blog.  I have a lot to say about this, and many thoughts and beliefs on food I would like to share with you.  Salute, and keep training hard.

Italian Food!  2016

Ritalin

I should have ripped the test up right there and then.  Ha! You son of a bitch you can't catch me!  I should have threw all the tiny pieces of medal shackles in the air like chalk before lifting.  I should have rubbed the black coal from my face and painted him a picture of reality with my shaky bare fucken hands.  They would have probably done me a favor and put me on even more Ritalin than I was already on.  That would have been great, considering the fact I would have just kept selling those little pink pills of joy all over the black market for more party money.  Thanks Doc for supporting the whole football team with kegs, pizza and gas money.  Yea, I am crazy buddy, but then again you are the one telling me "what I am going to be when I grow up" from this A B C D or E test.  I didn't see BAMF Athlete on any of the test results, why not Mr?  He then laughs with his brown elbow patch coat and probably a Subaru outside in the parking lot with his name on the curb.  He thinks he is original and self made, but in my eyes, by him telling me what I will be when I grow up, and his best answer for me is more drugs, just means he himself has been told what to do his whole life, and he is 100 percent unoriginal and full of bullshit.  His coat is not brown but white, white a fluffy.  Bad ass mother fucken Athlete is what that means Doc.  Can I be that when I grow up?  Or do I have to pick from these 20 options, because honestly Doc, I really don't want to be a post office worker like you are telling me to be, with your eyes still gazed upon your notebook.  I don't think he has even looked at me once.  He then responded by telling me that sometimes in life we don't always have control, and we are what we are son.  Followed by upping my dosage of Ritalin and extending my stay in the resource rooms, (aka) Room 2.  I then took his clip board and shoved it in his mouth followed by wrapping duck tape all over  his body, so he could never bring down another kid again.  A kick to his chest rolled him and his rolly chair into a closet that I bolted shut, then proceeded to screamed "Shankle" at the top of my lungs!  Odd moment for I didn't even know this man named Shankle back then in high school, also known as the lion Killer.

The Attitude Nation was pumping through my blood before I even knew what it was.  You knew when this happened, even if you didn't, you felt a shift in the air this long while ago.  The shift was a giant boat called the Titanic that I drove around the world visiting every room 2 class there was, rescuing kids from their low ceilings and no window rooms, full of Safeway applications and community college forms.  I burned those jail cells down with my ship.  I watched the room 2 burn to the ground as the kids broke free from their enclosed life, and set foot on a boat of freedom and opportunity.  Now their anger can be controlled in the right way, meaning their way. A wanderlust boat that could end up anywhere.  I was captain freedom, captain hook a kid in the back and bring 'em a board.  I was robin hood that told the kids they could be anything they want, not just a Pro Football player.  And even if you fall short of becoming the football player they always wanted to become, it doesn't mean you have to give up on athletics!  GET INTO ANOTHER SPORT! Don't surrender to football.  Football and the other big sports kill more dreams than they give out, understand this and move on.   You can be a Pro Weightlifter, why not?  You can invent the next Facebook, or open your own gym!  You can be a coach, personal trainer, or yes, you can be a postal worker if you want!  It's a great job!

We are different, we are unique, self Made, self achievers.  Some self taught, and some taught by others of the same unique flavor.  Black fur that is constantly attacked by white paint thrown from others.  Freedom is always envied by others, sometimes even our closest friends.  Go getters we are, go getters who attack our goals while helping others in the mean time.  We are no captain, we are no champagne toasters.  We don't have cigar time after dinner with the gentlemen while talking politics.  We are the coal shoveling, fire burning, bottom of the boat black faced working, sweat dripping, strong armed, banned from society, out casted sheep who didn't listen to our fucken guidance councelors.  Rebels of some sort, who wash their hands with blood, not soap.  Eat with their hands not forks.  Who get a high off strength in the gym and even more importantly... out.

This never happened though. My face was not black from the coal I shoveled into the Titanic with my fellow weightlifters. I did not save my fellow room 2ians. I did not cast a ship of freedom and duck tape my counselor's mouth shut.  All these things I wanted to do, and thought about while my therapists were showing me black shadows on card stalk paper, while being asked what came to mind.  I listened to all my counselors, therapists, tutors, and teachers.  I took the Pills that gave me little emotion, and seemed to numb my feelings so I could read at a faster rate.  Even though my senior year I was only reading at a 7th grade level, and I still couldn't pass pre-algebra.  This came with tears and embarrassment.  That's why seeing my blog near 200,000 hits makes me check my alarm clock to see when it will go off.  All my subjects were in one classroom, one teacher, and only a few classmates.  My odds of becoming who I am today were against me big time.  I said red and people laughed while black always hit.  Black, black, black, black.  Pills, pills, pills, pills.  Talk, talk, talk, talk.

It was the day some of my teachers laughed when I said I wanted to play ball at a four year out of state, when I threw my desk and walked out of the classroom in tears and frustration.  Fuck you Football, you left me all alone, but guess what you son of a bitch, a family called Weightlifting picked me up on the side of the road, and took me in as one of their own.  Fuck you Room 2,  I rose high above your low bar, and never surrendered to your 20 options and your "poor me I need help" pink little liberal pills.  Fuck you weird looking black shadows on card stalk, that only mean one thing, and thats a waste of tax payer money.  Fuck you math, for we have never got along, even though I still admire your genius.  Fuck you reading, I am in love with your brother writing, not you.  Fuck you Oregon, you can keep the suckers who stayed in your trap, I escaped and have never looked back.  Fuck you Ritalin, I will no longer be your zombie.  And Fuck you councilor, for we are two different species, and you are NOT apart of the Nation we call Attitude.  Now I really do have a ship called the Titanic and it's this blog.  A place I can reach out to people and tell my story.  I have thought and talked this new idea over for the last few months, and I have come to the conclusion that I am going to go around and speak words of motivation to the kids of room 2 at middle schools and high schools all over.  Don't worry, it will be a little more PG than this blog post.  I am not necessarily knocking the public school system, I am more reaching out to kids like me who I have seen surrender to the tests, pills, and hometown life after school.  The kids who need a little wanderlust in their life, a boat of freedom.  Kids in my opinion who sometimes need to buy a bus ticket and get the hell out of dodge, and find themselves, and what they want to do on their own.  Have the kids scrape their knee, get burned by life and even hit rock bottom, stop catching their every fall!!!   

I stopped taking Ritalin after high school, and it's the best thing I ever did.

Boat of Freedom 2016

The Calendar

Picture from 2011 Pan Am Games

Here are the dates and locations below for the upcoming Attitude Nation Certification Seminars.  If you are in or around any of these cities and want to slam some bars, throw some chalk, and crush some NEW PR's then contact the gym listed and let's go!  Salute!  

 

July 28, 2012

CrossFit Providence – Providence, Rhode Island

9am – 4pm

www.crossfitprovidence.com

Nationals (aka) The Title

July 29, 2012

CrossFit Stamford – Stamford, Connecticut

9am – 4pm

www.crossfitstamford.com

August 5, 2012

CrossFit Steele Creek – Charlotte, North Carolina

9am – 4pm

www.crossfitsteelecreek.com

August 12, 2012

Silicon Valley CrossFit – San Jose, California

9am – 4pm

www.crossfitsv.com

August 19, 2012

CrossFit Warwick – Warwick, New York

9am – 4pm

www.crossfitwarwick.com

August 26, 2012

CrossFit South Philly – Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

9am – 4pm

www.fearlessathleticsphilly.com

160kg Snatch Nationals 2012

 

 

September 8, 2012

CrossFit Free – Salem, New Hampshire

10am – 5pm

www.crossfitfree.com

September 16, 2012

CrossFit Sun – San Diego, California

9am – 4pm

www.crossfitsun.com

September 30, 2012

Port CrossFit – Setauket, New York

10am – 5pm

www.portcrossfit.com

If you want to host an Attitude Nation Certification Seminar, then go to our website www.theattitudenation.com.  Looking forward to drinking coffee and throwing around some weight in the near future.  I hope this list helped some people.  I have had many questions through e-mail and facebook about the dates and places the seminars are taking place.  Hope you are killing the weights and kidnapping the PR's. As you can tell I threw up some pics because... well.... I really don't know. I guess I was just reminicing while sipping Miss Brown Eyes.       Salute. 

The PWA Championship

USA

Melting Clocks

Over a year ago, I made this 135kg hang snatch for a set of 5, and coach and I have been trying to break it since then.  But Ms. 135 didn't wan't to part with me, until yesterday we went our separate ways.  I will miss her, I enjoyed her, and I wish her all the best of luck in the future.  Here is Ms. 135 and I dancing in the Dark Orchestra below.

Yesterday, a new beauty broke through the old wooden doors of the Dark Orchestra.  I started to think she would never find me, but she did, and we danced, and now we are in love. Here is the Attitude Nation smoking a brand new PR with 300 pounds below.  Salute!   Americans 4 months out! 

Here is the full MDUSA video below, with awesome Coach Pendlay commentary and other great PR's from my bad ass teammates.  "Pay your taxes, love your woman, and CRUSH YOUR CLEAN AND JERKS!!!"  

PR 2016

The Spell of PR

This song + coffee = this blog

You know when the Violin enters the song its time to write, no matter if you have something to write about or not.  What to write is not important, writing something is all you need. Just like you know right away when you wake in the morning you have training to complete.  Fuck, this song is beautiful, and fuck, training makes you feel great, yes beat down and tired, but great.  You combine the piano with the violin and its game over.  Miss Brown eyes enters the room with her silky black dress and her hair down around her face; stunning. You get excited, just like staying up tell 2 AM waiting for the the day to arrive so you can slam bars with your friends, while your favorite songs blast in the gym, only helping you get that much closer to your PR.  You should be in bed.

2 AM and the movie credits are basically saying "go to bed", but you don't, you cant sleep.  How can you though?  You have your whole life ahead of you, just waiting for you like one pig waits for another.  For a weightlifter, every morning is Christmas morning, you have no idea what you are going to get, or what awaits you in the upcoming day.  2 AM and the whole world is asleep; but you.  The smoke from your cigarette hovers around you completely stagnant from the lack of wind.  The white smoke looks beautiful in the blue night sky, as it turns from its original form of smoke into elephants and a herd of birds that soon disappear.... again, telling you to go to bed.  A weightlifter has no middle ground.  Its either hot or cold, max or sleep, fast or slow, lots of coffee or just water for today's training.  Its a spell that helps us and hurts us at the same time.  A spell that gives us unbelievable energy and drive to attack the day.  A PR spell that gives us the power to fight through the hell of training to achieve what we want in life, but then again turning this spell off at the end of the day is at times impossible.  Stay up much longer and you will enter a dream world of orange.  A blog that I wrote a while ago that I still consider one of my favorites. (The orange room)

Now 3 AM and YouTube has replaced your bed.  Dimas helps you feel not so homesick from staying up so late.  Klokov makes you laugh followed by a smile like you and him are best friends.  Which you are, you have seen so many of his competitions and training videos that you feel close to him.  Steiners 2008 performance draws a tear to your eye, as the clock pats you on the back, trying to lead you to bed like the smoke and movie credits failed to do.  But no, because now Ilya has busted through your computer screen and you have found yourself brewing up a pot of coffee while asking yourself why he spikes his hair so weirdly.  But then again he is an Olympic Gold Medalist, so who cares!  You didn't just think that, but you said it out loud to yourself, witch gave you a creepy feeling considering the fact you haven't heard your voice for hours now in your ever so quiet as a mouse house.  Shankle enters your small lit up world around the computer screen, while the dark gangs up all around you.  Goose bumps crawl up your arm from Shankles presents and all around bad assnes, if that's even a word, fuck it, in the Dark Orchestra anything is a word.  There are no more teachers telling me whats wrong and write anymore, just me and my YouTube at 3 AM.  For all the teachers who stamped an F on my forehead, guess what, Andrei Aramnau thinks I have great technique from the letter his coach wrote me that hangs above my desk.  Andrei Aramnau, a baby faced killer, aka the best all around athlete in my opinion.  He moves like leaves dancing over the grass.  He moves like a ballerina on stage, or like Ali taunting his fly in a web competitor.  He moves like Miss Brown Eyes crawling all over your body as you don't just drink her down, but chug her strength and eye popping motivation deep down in your weightlifting belly, what I call the "power belly".  Pocket Hercules makes you scratch your side ways head with amazement, as your hands move from your hair to your droopy eyes.  Yes, your second family of weightlifters are basically tucking you into bed.  You share a bond with every Weightlifter, strong or not strong, Olympian or no Olympian.  We are the same species, the same blood type.  We are all addicted to PR's and strength.  We are a family of many stray dogs that rome the night, for we are lost when training is over, and we look at "others" with confusion and wonder. 

Dimas pulls the covers up to your chin, then famously looks to the side seeing Steiner shut down your computer still holding his wife's picture with a strong tight hook grip in his hand.  Ilya walks into the kitchen like he is getting ready to lift, and shuts off your coffee pot with his still ever so spiked up hair.  Aramnau slides across the living room like a fucken cheetah, and smoothly turns off the TV and PlayStation.  Pocket looks up at the door handle, getting himself up onto his toes and then shutting the door that leads out to your smoking deck of elephants and flying birds.  Goodnight, sleep tight, and don't let the bed bugs bite. 

 Dimas, Steiner, Klokov, Aramnau, Pocket 2016

$80

(Video Below)

I don't always like to post the daily MDUSA videos here in the Dark Orchestra, simply for the fact that you can find the videos other places online. This boarded shut lost abandoned building that has been left for dead which we call home has so much more to express and talk about. Frustrations? Let them out young man! Built up anger towards life in general? Scream young women! Break shit, smash your glass bar down against the stage floor. Play your violin, for this is the place to cry and bath in self pity. Blame, yes go ahead, only for a little while though, training starts soon. Glide that white mask over your face and smile for the camera. Look, my smile is the same as yours. Once you are done with the day, join me for coffee back here. A place where you can hang your coat, show your true skin, and be who you please. This is a place to throw miss brown eyes after a bomb out, or a place to make wall pounding love with her after winning a meet, or achieving a PR. This blog is not a blog, but more of a mental institution full of wounded weight warriors who fight so hard for gold, or simply those who just want it back. Even those who have been on top still find themselves climbing. Look to your side, thousands climbing the same hill you are. There is no such thing as reaching the top, just check-marks for celebration and accomplishments.

The mother f'in pain is driving me up a crack head hotel room wall. I can't even sleep at night because of the leg twitches that sting me like bees all throughout the night. Does anybody know what this is from? Or why this is happening? 5 months out from Americans makes it hard to stay positive and focused at times. I lose track of why I am even training. But then I sit back and reflect for a few minutes on my all white southern style deck after a long day of chalky hands and bloody thumbs. It's not about Americans in 5 months, nor the World team next year. It's all about getting better at Weightlifting, stronger in this sport, and the rest will fall into place. Keeping your mind focused on one thing, and one thing only is very important. I need to get stronger, period. Stronger plus showing up equals USA. Slamming bars and bleeding from the eyes from too much N.O. explode equals Gold. Well..... or silver or even bronze if shit just doesn't go your way, in many cases this will happen. She will stick a steak knife through your heart and turn it. Just like my dad did, just like the drugs and "cool" friends do, just like life. This is why I drive a fast car, to stay away from the sheep.

My mind drifts off into the oddest of imaginations. Where do they come from, and why the flying fuck am I writing them down? I read other blogs and they are so..... I don't know... right on? They have so much direction and meaning. You can learn so much from them. They all seem to be so smart, college educated smart. I was literally just going to put the $80 dollar victory bet I had with coach from the latest MDUSA video, and that's it, but here I am typing away about God knows what. Salute, slam bars, and see you soon where hell and home sleep side by side.

$80 training day. Very hard training week.  The high hangs are beyond hard, they are punsihment!  Coach should be put in jail for athlete abuse!

Champ vs Champ 2016

Arnold

Arnold! Arnold! Arnold! N.O. Explode mixed with warm water.  A freak with a dream.  A freak that has been bitten by the weight bug, smashed open by the hungry mouth of a kid with a chip, then chewed and swallowed like a "screw every one" cup of coffee.  A chip that would either put him behind bars, or behind a bar.  The single silver battle bar is his new life goal, nothing else matters.  Fucken right he is a weightlifter, fucken right he is competing.  Why do you think he has been sleeping in the meet parking lot for two days? The young boy marked every meet down on his calendar.  Face paint and all.  No joke, Arnold written down the side of his arm.  Cutler videos 'til 3am, Ronnie video during class. "Light Weight baby"!  during training.  Ronnie is king, Dimas is a legend. Dimas videos 'til he grew sick.  Love Dimas, shit... who doesn't.  Sniffed N.O. Explode during lunch, yes sniffed, like cocaine, like an idiot, but try telling him that.  Nose bleeds from an over pounding heart beat, this from the doctor of course.  Street fights, jail, rehab, fliers for a runaway high school kid. Rage. Rage grew deep inside him, anger was trapped like a prisoner only wanting out.  Bar slamming, finger flicking mouth spitting rage.  Muscle mags stacked 20 feet tall behind his toilet.  Sleep in your car young man, for tomorrow you compete, and who knows, you might win your first local meet.  A homeless boy who trained and lived to train, only being able to afford the dollar menu at McDonald's.  Train train train!  Arnold Arnold Arnold!  Hassle Free! Yelling this helped him forget his past pain that reminded him about his past self. This kept him going.  He felt his rage being channeled into a positive light. Saved by the grace of Arnold.  His YouTube stars sat by his broken wings like stuffed animals there for him at anytime. Every Kilo counts Jon, get your PR, and then you will have the world in your hands.  PR is freedom. PR is life. 

One punch got him kicked off his first weightlifting team. A hazard child, a risk, too crazy, not stable, too emotional, too hot and cold with no middle ground.  Whisperers grew louder from the talk of USA weightlifting.  An outcast, a freak, a fucken nobody.  Dad chose drugs over him, I guess the meth was more enjoyable.  Arnold was his father. Arnold told him to continue lifting.

2 AM was day one.  Pumpin Iron showed on TV.  I poured my beer out on the wooden floor beside me, while keeping my eyes locked on every inch of the TV screen.  This is the day I got bit by the bug.  This is the day that lead me to you.  On this day I left my old life and casted my sail into the sea of no return.  My fresh blood dove into a sea of cold bodies who have been taken from this cold sport.  A sport that catches and then releases.  A sport that will leave you just as fast as it found you.  A sport that has turned into my father.  A sport I miss so much.  Day one is the day that I need to get back.  I need to find this kid again.  I need his rage and excitement.  I need to find my Arnold again.  Where are you Arnold? Where are you "Jumping Jonathan North"?  I am only fake when I am trying to be calm.  I am an actor of some sort when I try to channel my energy and thoughts into just making the attempt.  I feel I am losing myself.  I am only being real and true to you and myself when I let the rage out.  I am only truly free when I am myself.  No I will not drop the bar quietly.  Just like I won't leave this sport quietly.  I will yell and scream for all to hear, including myself.  My gas station is the audience, this is my high.  Keep your meth, I don't want it.  I must go back to the start to find what's missing today.  This sport might not want me, but I want it.  I must get back into competing at every local meet I can find.  I must stop putting so much pressure on myself to win every meet, and just lift weights again.  I must enjoy the sport I fell in love with so many years ago.  I must find Arnold. 


Rage 2016

Memento

The song I wrote this mixed emotions blog to.  Also a song from the movie Love Liza, a movie on my top ten list.  If you haven't seen it then please do.

Cheers, hi, hello, good morning.  I wanted to write something on this beautiful morning that grew goose bumps six feet tall, taller than a Weightlifters ego.  A gut wrenching piece that stands the hair up on the back of your neck, like the audience giving a weightlifter a standing ovation from their made lifts.  I wanted to write a piece that helped people train harder.  A motivating coffee trip, an amazing story about weightlifting, sun, and flowers.  Smiles, fist pumps, and three little white lights that brighten up the room with joy, and a buzz that stings one another with goal reaching achievement.  I could try, I could lie, I could write like a college kid who is brain washed to write what the teacher wants, or I could write how I really feel.  I should feel really bad this morning from my bomb out at yesterdays MDUSA tryouts.  Yes I am on the A team, Donny and my spot has been secured from day one, but this did not keep me from competing and trying. shit....Its fun! Plus I wanted to show the rookies who's boss, but I forgot my boss hat at home I guess. I know my spot wont be secured forever, I must step my game up, excpecialy with all these hungry Weightlifters coming after me.  I am feeling the heat, and fast.  Maybe my good mood comes from the journey that lies ahead of myself, and with everyone on the new Muscle Driver Team.  I am seeing gold down the long road ahead, even though the journey looks rough and pain full. Gold for my teammates, and the growth of an exciting creation that is being built all around me.  I am really just happy to lift side by side with so many great lifters, a great coach that always supports me, and you, a great Weightlifting community backing each other up to the death.  All this will make any man smile and continue the good fight.

Maybe its the song I am listening to that has me in a happy mood, or just simply how this sport makes no sense, so there is really no need of getting down.  I shake my head with frustration followed by a smile of "fuck it, whatever".  I throw my hands up looking for someone or something to blame, but there is know one but me.  I throw my coffee against the wall looking for an answer, but there is non.  I am sorry Miss Brown eyes, I will never throw you again.  This is sport, this is athletics, this is Weightlifting.  This is the Dark Orchestra, a stage that can give you the best day of your life, a place that can give you a single purpose for being on this planet, and at the same time, a place that can put you in depression and tears.  A place that can doubt your very existence.  Fucken Weightlifting, back stabbing son of a bitch.  I love you, but I hate you.  Why do you hurt me?  See now I am getting mad all over again, a roller coaster of emotions is what I am.  All the time I give you, spent with you, and story's and memories we have shared with each other.  Why?  I guess to know happiness we must experience sadness, and sadness is something that comes with the weightlifting kit you buy at the store.  Something we will all experience at some point, something we must put behind us and move on from.  But no, today I am actually ok.  I love this sport, and I love writing to you.  I love my team, my dog Daughter, Wife and my Coach.  I love being a weightlifter, what else can I say?  This bomb out.... I mean this hasn't happened to me for over two years, so I knew he could be around any corner just waiting for me.  He got me.

150 miss, 153 miss, 155 miss.  Yes I went up every time, witch might have not been the best decision, but who cares, I went for it.  I got so pissed that I walked back on stage and made 155 for my fourth attempt, lol, an attempt that I made my own.  175 make, 180 make, then took a big jump to 190 and missed the jerk.  I will say my lower back played a part in that miss, but at the end of the day that's just an excuse.  Life goes on, training will continue, and the MDUSA team will grow with new lifters, new dreams, and more upcoming bad asses.  This is just a talk with blog, there is know real meaning behind this, just a chat.  A chat about the common bomb out, a chat about Weightlifting.  What am I suppose to talk about?  I have no answers for what happened.  The bar just didn't land where it should have.  Pull, finish, miss.  This equation doesn't work.  I have found to win in this sport you must pull, finish, and then catch.  This equation is correct.  Bad luck?  Nerves? stop Jon!  stop trying to figure it out, just get back to training, and try again. 



No this did not count, but before they could strip the bar I ran back out and made it. 

Well my coffee is almost all gone, and this means my fingers are slowing down.  I hope my bomb out can motivate you.  Maybe I can take one for the team, so you wont have to.  A blog full of real life is what this is.  No bullshit, no lies.  The best thing I can write about is the truth of what this sport has to offer.  Up front and honest.  Even though I still cant figure out why I am not more down today.  Maybe it has to do with the fact that shit could be a lot worse, and there is know time for me to bath in my own self pity.  So fucken salute, carry on, slam bars and win meets.  talk to you later my good friend. 

Three Whites 2016

A Team

The New Show is up, its out, its alive, and it gets heated.  After the show I grabbed my hair and looked at my wife, and simply asked, "what just happened"?  Two long smooth curvy beauty body shots of miss brown eyes might have tipped me over the side with rage, rants, and frustrations.  Tomorrow is the MDUSA tryouts, maybe that's why my blood is pumping extra fast.  This might be the reason why I was standing up the whole show with my shirt off.  My feelings and emotions were simply knocking on the door, I had to let them out.  I will tell you one thing though, these rookies aren't taking my stipend tomorrow, I will slam the bar on everyone in the gym, get in my car, roll my windows down, and then crank the AC up on high.  Salute.

Weightlifting Talk 07/06 by Weightlifting Talk0 | Blog Talk Radio

Also here is the latest Team MDUSA video.  I really enjoyed Coach Pendlays voice over, the big bearded man gave great commentary while we trained.

A Team 2016

Black Eyes

The song I wrote this to

Eyes wide open from the Devil's smoke. The smoke that lifts you up so high, and then violently drops you down with nothing but lose teeth and confused thoughts, all connected back to pale skin and fragile bones.  Your dark black eyes match the circles that so massively surround them, as if your eyes had fallen deep inside a giant crater.  Two black holes in your face fill with water, as the tears fall down your boney cheeks and into your wide open mouth, as it screams so desperately for your father to save you.  You cry out for help with closed eyes and hands that have seemed to form into tree branches that have branched in all different formations and directions.  Your father is just as gone as you are. His eyes are blacker than his hair, and you can tell he has come down harder than you have.  He no longer stands tall and confident, now he leans drooped over and beat.  The realization has hit you, and hit you hard, that the person who has been protecting you throughout your whole life has now become a helpless man that cannot do anything for you, only to cry as well.  Seeing your father stand in the middle of the road staring back at you while his arms wrap around his body, is a feeling that will never leave you.  Two minutes of crying and shaking, not one of you had the courage to take a step forward and embrace each other.  You keep waiting for him to hug you, but he never did.  To this day, you don’t know why you didn’t either.

I sometimes lie awake in bed finding myself reliving this stained memory, trying to guide myself toward him.  Imagining that everything would have disappeared the minute we hugged, that life after that could have gone back to normal.  But no, I realize that never happened as I get up out of bed in the middle of the night to find myself looking back at a man that left that crying kid in street so long ago. Our bodies shook rapidly from the "come down".  I was only 16, and I had been up for four nights straight with no food, no water, and no sleep.  Every time the thick cloud of smoke entered my lungs, a part of my innocence disappeared. My mind went places I didn’t even know existed.  I couldn’t tell if it was the drugs giving me this rotting feeling inside, or the lack of life necessities that I had abandoned.  Black is all I saw in his eyes, no white at all, just black.

On top is heaven.  Your eyes roll back behind your head and soon you become lighter from all the bad that has left your body.  You float with emotions and feelings. You can feel your heart and mind pound with dreams and ideas, but your legs don’t move.  Your legs are numb, so is the rest of your body.  Paralyzed is what you have become.  You are understanding life better, for the first time in a long while you feel good.  You are actually slipping further away from reality. You are becoming sick, at the same time you feel you are being healed.  You truly feel alive, but you are slowly dying.  This is no movie.  This is reality, something that seeing up close can change your outlook on life forever, in a good way, or bad. I guess it’s a matter of how you take the experience in the end.   Blinking is something that happens in a blue moon, and going to the bathroom is something that well..... never happens.  Itching feels great, until you find out that you have been itching the same spot all night, and now the blood from behind your neck has built up under your finger nails.  Your hair has seemed to fall like a dog in the middle of summer.  You are literally dying.  All at the same time you feel the most alive. 

Four nights later, the story wraps back to the beginning, and you have lost complete track of the time and day.  It's only when you hit bottom and the smoke no longer swirls inside you that you have realized that the last four days has been a complete lie.

I sat on the side of the road for hours with my head between my legs, praying this feeling of being sick would leave me so I could feel normal again.  Sick is the only word I could find for this feeling, even though it has no way of explaining how sick I really felt.  A sad story that I had no intention to write.  An experience that haunts me to this very day. 

Back to school I went on Monday.  Walking through the hall reminded me that life has been continuing on without me, even though I could have sworn it stopped.  I never did experience this dream world again, I swore to it.  The temptation was too high, the drug was too good.  I walked away and never looked back, leaving the four day room of smoke forever.  Thank God for Weightlifting. Thank God for my Wife. Thank God for you.

The new MDUSA video

My back is finally feeling better.  Getting ready for the MDUSA try outs this Saturday! 

Weightlifting 2016