Attitude Nation UK / Ireland - Vlog #4

Arnold  Bound 

Olympic Bound 

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The Olympic games 2016 

Vlog #2 Moving back up the ladder

Vlog 1

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First Stop.....Andover!

First stop on the Attitude Nation UK/Ireland Tour was at AFS CrossFit.  The gym was packed with barbell warriors and bar slamming sons of guns!  I can't thank Gareth and everyone at AFS CrossFit enough.  Your town of Andover was beautiful, it couldn't be a better way to start the trip. 

The Blog below talks about gym life, community, and a break down of the 65th AN seminar.  

Again.....thank you to AFS CrossFit. We are barbell buds to the death! 

http://alternativefitnessblog.blogspot.co.uk/2013/12/afs-crossfit-andover-attitude-nation.html?m=1 

Andover 2016 

Cab Driver

His coffee cup was half full and stained from such an ongoing use of consumption there was really no time for cleaning. A way of thinking I can relate to.  I leaned over his right shoulder from the back seat and whispered that I didn't have time for percentages.  His response was a puff from his half lit cigarette  and a drink from his luke warm coffee.  It would never have crossed his mind that the coffee cup was half empty, I know this from the simple smile that came across this unusual cab driver's face after taking a 3 in the morning sip of his best friend.  5 minutes into the cab ride and still no talking, even though we were having a great conversation while staring out into the dark night.  The smoke from his cigarette never bothered me, because it smelled just like the steam from my tea.  His elbow pointed out the window in an upward direction from all four windows being broken.  It looked as if we were sliding down the top of a house key, and into a laser tag arena from the outside lights shooting through the cab's windshield.

Another seminar to coach, another customer to drive.  Another late night training, another late night driving.  No music, which made the ride a little awkward at first, but after the silence crept in the outside world was blaring with sounds, sounds that made the cab driver bang on the steering wheel while occasionally grabbing his Babe Ruth bobble head so it wouldn't slide around the dash board.  He drove with such rhythm, such speed, but at the same time with such relaxation.  No worry in the world, just a cab drive with coffee and a midnight smoke.  A gold chain around his hairy neck that had a picture of an old lady in black and white.  A folded up book on how to draw, and a flashing clock that wasn't even set.  Time to him did not exist, what's the point?  What's the big deal with time anyway?  This is what he said to me without saying anything at all, only a very smooth drag from his smoke, and another smile after drinking miss brown eyes from his yellow finger nails and calloused hands. Happy, nothing more, nothing less.  Two people in the back seat as if we knew each other for years.  Or better yet... like we were never there.  Still no talking, besides a slight cough that led to another, then a long chug from the life juice that keeps him company on these late nights of driving.  Driving his life, driving us, driving coffee to his soul, only to drive to get more.  The whole world is asleep besides him.  Driving throughout the night passing through every green light you could imagine.  He waves to the local police as he drives by, while keeping his eyes straight forward, the cold wind outside blows out his cigarette, does he notice, of course not, he ain't got time to notice, he only has time to max out.  At this point, the smoke is completely out, but he still puffs away with his eyes on the road, focused, getting work done, training hard in his own way.  A part of the Attitude Nation and he doesn't even know it.

This cab driver reminded me why I ain't got time for percentages, because he doesn't.  There ain't no percentages for feeding your family.  There ain't no percentages for doing your job, being happy, riding the rhythm of the night with Babe Ruth.  There ain't no percentages for the hard workers, the late night smokers, the Miss Brown Eye's lovers, the cab drivers.  Weightlifting is like the real world, it's always max out time.  Windows broken like my back, coffee mug stained like my chalky hands, driving with speed and precision like a weightlifter does with the bar.  Rhythm of the night like rhythm in the gym.  There is no difference between this cab driver and me, from him to you, you to me.  No time to set the clock, we don't need to be reminded when and what to do because we are there before the clock could ever do its job.  We don't live because we are told to, we live because its what we want to do.  Freedom is what this man has that many don't.  Freedom is why we roll down the windows at night.  Freedom is why he drives with so much rhythm.  The cab driver has reminded me why I drink coffee, why I drive with the AC up and windows down, because we are free.

The cab driver dropped us off while still not speaking, only a popped trunk like Tyson Hips, and a bag grab and drop like the hit and catch drill.  We missed each other's eye contact, and then that was that.  He drove off into the night with smoke swirling out from his broken windows.  Off to max out in life, to be rewarded with family and happiness.  His cab was beat to bloody hell, his finger nails were yellow, his bobble head didn't stay in one place, and his coffee cup was a mess......... He ain't got time for percentages.

Max Out 2016

Poker & Things



I love writing about pain.  I find the beauty in it all too moving.  Like losing in a poker game......the loss makes us more alive and open to the thought of winning.  More motivated to succeed, and more passionate about our direction in life. I guess I am addicted more to the struggle, than I am the victory.  How the victor became victorious is more intriguing to me than the view from the top.  For the clouds may look eye gazing and white, but the dark made us appreciate the sight. 

Cigarette smoke swiftly clouds the clay chips like fog on the wet road. You know.....the early morning buzz we get while others snooze in a comfort of average.  They sleep in a bed where the bar lays low. The strong don't just survive....we prosper.   Breathtaking the black road is while yellow stripes pass and flicker.  White lightening rods on the side make my two front windows lower.  I find that my writing usually starts on the way to my destination of writing....rather than the writing itself.  My thoughts play like a movie, as my athletes train in pain, their knees black and purple from the constant thud of hitting rock bottom.  Redirection to stand up fast.  Ballet with a bar we are, but once off the platform when the dance ends, we become crippled and full of rust.  Tired and slow of breath. Their new journey takes me back to the start of mine.  Almost as I am starting all over from my first meet to now.  The path is different, but so the same.

I pull up to the Barnes and Nobel as if I was smart. Accepted I truly am, as I blend in perfectly with the other brown coats and grey haired suits.  Only if they knew who I really was, what then?  Would they accept me like they do now?  In this club of knowledge while sound whispers throughout.  I write what I was thinking about on the drive over.  What plays in my head I literally put to paper.  I see it play out in my head, the dark thoughts mixed with caffeine, everything coming together in a blend of weightlifting.  I always say that the song that I listen to writes the blog, but as I keep writing I am finding out that all my surroundings play a big part.  This is why waking up early is a must.  More life to take in.  More smells to breath in.  All while people watching in Barnes and Nobel.....all while building a better sense of what the fuck is going on. 

Chips clack and slide as the felt of green is so smooth and at ease.  The sound of poker like the sound of weightlifting adds in addiction of its own.  For every thud of a chip or knock of a check, falls a red slab of beef or heels that cut sharp and fast.  All sounds that have feeling that move from the famous flip to peak of the cards, to the callused chalked hands meeting the cold bar.  Edge of our seat we sit, leather or medal, cards or bars, fingers stay crossed while hard work hopefully pays off.  Small injuries pop up like pimples on a teenage kid.  I sometimes just laugh at the site of this over dramatic issue.  Tape that shit up and shut up.  Get back on the bar and lift.  If you can't hack it then pack it.  Extreme I am.....yes.  Being extreme has worked well for me, I like to practice what I preach, and preach what I practiced.  It's a hard nosed sport that gets less credit and respect than anything out there.  Weightlifting........it's fucken hard, it hurts, so what.  Just like the great Dave Spitz use to tell me right before I approached a lift, "If it feels heavy it's ok.....it's supposed to be heavy.....it's weightlifting".   Bam baby.  Love that line.  I love it because it's so damn true.  We need to stop fighting the weight and just lift the weight.  It's like my grandfather used to tell my mom as a kid, "You spend more time getting out of work, than when you do the actual work itself"  - Poppy.

Poker to weightlifting, felt to wood and pain to victor.  A morning drive to a book store to write.  A hidden black sheep takes cover amongst white.  The dark journey to bright, while painful knees and injuries try to act like they have some say in our goals. You reading this are probably getting ready to battle and fight!  For weightlifting practice is near, and even though this blog seems to merge in all different directions......to a weightlifter it makes perfect fucken sense.  Salute. 

The Dark Orchestra 2016

Midnight Train



Tuesdays Podcast called Breakthrough made me think of this blog I wrote earlier this year.  I felt it was necessary to re-post, just for the single importance of finding an individual who is at the crossroads.....who needs to get on the midnight train ASAP....and fucken go.

 



His thoughts rambled in his head with the swaying of the train.  Side to side as the train slid his duffel bag across the floor with every turn, as his forehead stayed stuck to the window looking out. The window was now warm against his head from the small ten minute naps he would take before being woken from his new found reality.  A reality that went against everything he has been working for over the years. A stable and successful career, wife and kids, a dog and a hobby, all that would make him come alive again like his first year in college. None of what his teachers told him when he graduated from college ever came true, just empty dreams and a piece of paper that says "your ready for the world young man".  He was, he truly was ready, but the world didn't seem ready for him.  His parents pushed old fashioned, as his friends pushed a more outgoing night life than he had wished for.  A girl wearing a bright red coat across the isle, seemed to be writing with the night light on above her head.  What was she writing about, he thought to himself, as he turned back to the midnight adventure that could end anywhere, or start somewhere.  A midnight train ride after an 11 hour flight across the world made his eyes heavy, and his thoughts blurry.  How he ended up flipping burgers for Wendy's he didn't know, or couldn't get to in his head.  His hand washed over his face as if he was getting out of the shower in the early morning while truly realizing that a big day awaited him.  He felt empty and broke, lonely and lost, confused and weak.  Hunched over in his hard but fuzzy seat that had now turned into his own apartment from boredom and lack of people traveling to a place called I don't know.  50 bucks, a pack of cigarettes, and a duffel bag of clothes to his name as the train whistled down the tracks guiding him to what he had been looking for for so many years now......him.

He guessed she was 23 years old, getting a better look at the side of her face from him leaning forward while staring out from the corner of his eye.  He thought he was safe from sight as his long hair waterfalled over his eyes. Her face was bright and glowing, maybe from the reading light above her head, but most likely from her bright red lip stick that matched her coat. She reminded him of the girl he always had a crush on, but never gained the courage to introduce himself to, as he sat on a train in Europe introducing himself to the world.....odd how life works.  Odd how courage only shows itself when your never expect it.  Her eyes flickered to the side catching his, as he threw his back against his seat while ducking his chin downward for shelter and comfort, all while still keeping an eye on hers.  Her eyes moved back to her book that laid over her crossed legs.  He was caught red handed, and felt so much like a moron that he felt like moving seats away from hers.  She was the most beautiful girl in the world, and he was the jobless stalker that had no plans nor goals.  Right before he grabbed his army style bag with more pockets than he would ever need, she broke a small smile and soon after started biting her right index fingers nail that of course was painted bright red.  She never glanced over this time, but a body language that made his heart race for the first time in a while.  His eyes stared forward as if a weight just lifted from his back.  His breathing relaxed, and his hands began to stop twitching from bad thoughts.  He soon closed his eyes, and fell asleep. 

Small chatter swept the train car, as a smell of coffee and buttered bread made its way to his little apartment bench he called home.  His forehead hurt from resting it against the window of the train.  He missed the sunset which was fine with him, he knew a few good hours of sleep was much needed.  The sun blasted through the window making all the lint and dust in front of his face appear clearly.  His squinted eyes moved around with his hands feeling his pockets, bag, and passport, yep, everything was intact and still with him.  There was one thing he wish he could look for and then touch, the girl.  He almost forgot.  Before looking over he wiped his eyes and pulled down his wrinkled sweatshirt before the rude realization that she was gone.   His hand turned white from him leaning against the seat looking up and down the isles.  In an odd way he felt good.  He felt they knew each other perfectly, and understood each other better than any.  He thought how amazing it was just to have that moment that rang friction between them both.  She would from that point on never leave his thoughts. 

"Hello.....Sir, are you awake?"  The train conductor asked as she leaned over like she was a volleyball player preparing herself for a serve. She had to be at least 6' 2", red hair, and with teeth as long as his travels so far.  "Yes, I'm awake," he said snapping out of a day dream of relaxation.  Something he was not used to feeling.  "We are at our final stop Sir, you must exit the train now".  She said with a smile, that ended with more of a hurry up kind of head nod.  His head fell back against the seat with such a careless motion.  "OK," he said quietly.  A street made of rocks met his feet, as the sun hugged his entire body.  No where to go, no job to get to, no burgers to flip, no judgmental friend and parents looking down upon him.  Just a cobbled street with people who had no idea where he came from, or who he is.  His degree no longer mattered, and his athletic ability meant nothing in this big world of compass chasing and soul searching.  He must have been in a small farming town.  The air was cold, but the sky was bright blue.  Green grass filled the hills that supported houses and farm animals. Children were playing tag with a bouncy ball, throwing it at each other to tag one another, he thought this was an odd game, as he hiked his bag up higher around his shoulder beginning to walk forward with nothing but possibility and land that layed in front of him.  He walked, thinking of the girl in the red coat, how tall the train conductor was, and how beautiful the landscape was he was walking in.  He didn't take the time to ask where he was, because frankly he didn't care.  This was the whole point of his journey, to get away from maps, roads, and time.  No more nine to five, no more opinions from others.  No more gambling on a life that was blocking happiness.  A full day of freedom stood in front of him.

The night closed in as he found himself settling down on a bench outside of an old shut down steel mill that looked as if the only life around the area was mold, plants and the occasional deer that would wind itself inside and out of the fallen posts and cracked open walls that once lived and gave a living to so many.  His bag as a pillow, and his clear mind as a nighttime song, cool air from the river below, as ringing bells from the fishing boats helped him close his eyes.  Some would call this being homeless, but he called it freedom. This is something that he wanted to do.  A necessary path in finding himself.  What would the next day bring, he asked himself out loud.  Who will I meet and what opportunity will I find?  How much better will I know myself tomorrow, he asked the bug crawling near his arm that rested under his bag he layed his head on.  He knees to his stomach, and his heart as open for the world to see.  He fell asleep with freedom by his side.



Freedom 2016