An open letter to Naked Guy

Dear Naked Guy (and your friend)

It’s a new year and I need to applaud you for making some kind of commitment to a healthy lifestyle. For having a resolution to reduce the circumference of your wildly expanding gut.  For getting off the couch at the crack of dawn, to run/lift/step/climb/spin.  Good for you.

Being new to the whole fitness culture, I understand that you might be unaware of the generally accepted cardinal rules of gym behavior.  There are the obvious ones like (1) Don’t grunt, (2) Don’t take selfies in front of the mirror, (3) Don’t perve at ladies squatting, (4) Wipe the bench and (5) Put the f*cking weights back on the rack.  But this letter relates to the more specific things you should avoid doing in the semi-private space of the change room. Continue reading

I became a Warrior by running Commando

When you hear the word “jogger” most of us have an image of a sweaty guy in a vest running on a road somewhere.  Some of us are even able to conjure a whole video sequence of a fresh-faced, luscious girl who’s running through a park with a light breeze ruffling her blond hair, dressed in yoga pants and a crop-top that’s barely containing the bouncing twins.  And those of you who didn’t see that initially, do know.

running Continue reading

Laugh with me #17

“A human flag is an elite bodyweight hold in which the body is statically held by the arms on a vertical object, suspended from the ground like a flag.” Quote from

In order to be pull off this maneuver, a person would require (1) Amazing upper body strength and (2) A core that you can crack walnuts with.  It’s a sophisticated hold that also requires (3) A brain larger than a pea because one would have to find (4) A pole or anchor point that should be stable or secure enough to hold your weight.


Because without any of the above, failure is imminent.  And the whole Internet is going to laugh at you.

Dude is funny

One of my life goals have been achieved.  I have kept my training regime long enough to allow Dude to catch up and reach the age where he can finally join me in my daily trips to the gym without making it seem like child abuse.  The one thing I didn’t expect was to age at least ten years as soon as I walked in with a teenager by my side.  I wanted to introduce Dude as a friend of mine but friends don’t call friends “Dad”.  At least not in the circles I move in.  He blew my cover in the first few seconds.  I suppose I should feel flattered that people were surprised to learn of my fifteen year-old son.  Or maybe I should be insulted?  The jury is still out on that one.

I cherish and savor these moments of alone time with him more than he would ever know.  Now I’m gonna man up, grow a pair and drop all this sentimental shenanigans… Continue reading

Crossfit anyone?

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It’s my new thing. I’m semi-obsessed with it. I’m not sure why. It’s extremely tough, opens the floodgates of every pore in your body and increase your cursing vocabulary.  Halfway through a workout you look like a wet, wild, panting, deranged lunatic who will probably kill anyone who dares to strike up a conversation.  Only to end up feeling like a million bucks afterwards.  The “thing” is called crossfit and I consider myself to be a cross-fit wannabe as I still don’t have a body that looks good in a vest nor do I consider myself an expert of this training regime.  But there are three things I know, (1) I feel stronger (2) I feel fitter and (3) I love it.

I’ve been battling to throw off a couple of pounds that’s stubbornly sticking to the mid section like a sloth to a tree.  I’ve weighed my options and concluded that weight training alone might not be sufficient anymore.  I’ve reached an age where my metabolism has given up on life.  It’s apparent that I have to include some form of eating plan and cardio in my daily routine, if only to combat the consumption of wine.

I consider myself to be a mild sufferer from Adult ADHD.  It’s one of those things that makes me appealing.  I also have grey hair, stand 6″4′ in my shoes and have an amazing sense of humour due to the fact that I’ve seen my own reflection. I’m not just claiming to have a mental condition because I hate doing arbitrary stuff (if arbitrary stuff is defined as anything) around the house, I actually get bored very quickly.  Therefore I am in desperate need of diversity, action, excitement, change and chaos in my life.  Coincidentally it’s the same reasons for loving my teenage kids and also why I cannot imagine myself spending 40 minutes on a treadmill.

Before I discovered Crossfit, I did consider a few other cardio related options like:

  • Running – but who really wants to do it, if you own a car?
  • Cycling – but who really wants to wear pants that reveals whether I’m Jewish or not? (sorry Chris!)
  • Aerobics – but what man really looks good in neon coloured ski-pants and/or headbands?
  • Kickboxing – but who really wants to do air-karate to music?
  • Spinning – but who really wants to sit in a cramped space and smell body-odour of 10 other random strangers?

After finding enough excuses, it was settled, I will never have a six-pack. Then I found a crossfit workout (the lingo is WOD for those who are uninformed) in some men’s health magazine.  It might have been the actual Men’s Health Magazine.  I was intrigued, captivated.  If only for the female model squatting in the spread. I understand that crossfit is nothing new and it’s probably been around much longer than that thing that used to be a sandwich in my drawer.  But seriously, this is what caught my eye:

  • A lot of the WOD’s are based on twenty minute workouts.
  • You don’t need to be a specific level of fitness to start.
  • You can do it on your own.
  • You can challenge yourself constantly by setting your own goals.
  • If you’re really good you can compete internationally.
  • You may eventually end up with a body that’s a better version of the one you have now.
  • All the benchmark WOD’s are named after girls, like Angie, Cindy, Fran, Isabel and Nancy.  (Why do these sound like the names of drag queens?)

I’ve been doing Crossfit for a month now and as stated before, I’m hooked. Line and sinker.  I have to admit that I hate myself whilst I’m doing it and I regret any normal activity because of it (including but not limited too walking, sitting, typing and talking), but I still can’t stop.  It might be because I’m stubborn.  Or stupid.  Or both.  I reckon my recent visit to the department of Home Affairs are partly to blame, as I’ve never fully recovered from the trauma of that experience.  (I will proceed in blaming that event for every bad decision I make for the rest of my life.)

There is one thing about the whole crossfit subculture that boggles my mind a bit and that would be the fetish of naming WOD’s after girls.  As always, I’ve opted to give you my own reasons for this weirdness:

  • It only takes a man twenty minutes with the right girl to know he’s whipped.
  • Most men have little or no energy after fighting with a girl for twenty minutes.
  • Anything that makes you sweat for twenty minutes and leaves you satisfied with a smile on your face deserves to have woman’s name.
  • Only a woman have the power of leaving a man utterly exhausted after a focused twenty minute interaction of any kind.
No, it's ME against ME

No, it’s ME against ME

So how about it…Crossfit anyone?

Like father like son

I'm on a high because he's there too. (Photo from

I’m on a high because Dude’s there too.
(Photo from

Age is only a number, albeit one that gets bigger with every passing year.  A number that is suppose to celebrate the time we’ve spend on this spinning blue ball.  A number that should be indicative of our experience, of lessons learned, mistakes made.  So why is it the cause of so much anguish and turmoil for some people?  (Present company excluded.)  The answer probably lies in the fact that age is also a timer counting down our own mortality.  The end of the road.  The kicking of the bucket.  Death.  And then whatever you consider might lie beyond that final breath. (Morbid much?)

Being on a journey to our inevitable demise shouldn’t imply that we settle into a casual stride on route to the final date with the grim reaper.  The journey should be an adventure where we pause at places that’s off the beaten track.  Taking little detours as often as we can.  Making the most of the number you have, as each one only last a year.  Growing old should be fun, a process of flipping the bird to Father Time.  And not because of vanity but merely because we need to re-establish general consensus of what age actually means.   Continue reading

It’s not only lions who mark their territory.

In nature the strongest males mark their territory by urinating against trees, rocks and basically anything that doesn’t move.  The leader of the pack prance around spraying its distinctive scent.  Lions do it, dogs do it, hippo’s do it (ok, they spray something else), even lemur’s do it, after singing “I like to move it, move it”.

Did you know that buff dudes at the gym like to do it too?

We have a member in our gym who walks around like he has is the biggest member of all.  Continue reading

To vest or not to vest?

Thanks for proving that this doesn't look gay at all.

Thanks for proving that men wearing stringy vests doesn’t look gay at all.

On this planet you will find some human beings in peak condition, making normal people look like shit.  Fit guys and gals who have too much discipline and absolutely no life whatsoever, for why else would you be able to spend countless hours in a gym AND follow a diet made up of turkey meat, protein shakes and cardboard.

I  have been brainwashed and joined the masses as a person who is trying his best to look less shitty.  Continue reading

And all these machines?

One of the promises I made to myself in January was to commit to a twelve week fitness and diet regime that kicked off about four weeks ago. Why?  Well, let’s just say I was expanding and I don’t earn enough money to replace my whole wardrobe.  I needed to up my game.

Besides, gaining weight is not all my fault.  I blame Christmas.  And the holidays.  And the heaps of easy accessible, great food.  And the wine!  Yes, I know it’s blasphemy, but I blame the gods of red wine too! Then there’s the fact that I’m forty-ONE, which is not doing me any favours.  Everyone knows that when middle-age walks through the front door, metabolism moves out.  And then you’re stuck with that unpleasant, strange roommate whom you should, but don’t, recognise. Continue reading