"Do you suppose they will choose to make war against lean, solid dogs rather than against fat and tender sheep?"
So it feels like an ever-new mystery to get overpowered in fight training by short, thin, or otherwise gracile people who, it seems to me, can’t possibly have as much power. Not just outmaneuvered and outskilled, but manhandled or just plain pounded. I’m talking thin teenagers, featherweight women, even a girl who’s too young for PG-13 and weighs less than my checked luggage. What gives?
Good news: The “core” isn’t the all-important missing link anymore. The cool kids have moved on. Now feet are the new core. Thank heaven, because I got bored of direct midsection work long before the fools in marketing renamed it the “core.” When did they coin that phrase anyway? I missed the Nineties, living in... Continue Reading →
Ever look at old-time photos showing their era's paragons of manliness? Ever notice how many of those turn-of-the-century sex symbols are proudly repping dad bods? It actually gets stranger: other models from the period look every bit as sculpted and Grecian as Brad Pitt in Troy, but no one seems to care. There's no indication that anyone in 1900--the photographers, the models, or the audiences--preferred the buff guys to the dad bods. What changed?
The Kalahari and Namib deserts. Except for the red sand, these could almost have been taken within walking distance of my home. Here at Lean, Solid Dogs, we think a lot about backpacking in hot, arid landscapes, and we're always seeking wisdom for dry heat from neglected corners of world. Why? Because of a cosmic... Continue Reading →
Find Part 1 here. This view leaves out our first point, on W. Highland in Queen Anne, due to limitations in the software. Real distance athletes don’t precede a race with dry-heaving and M&Ms. But I am not a real distance athlete. I am a special snowflake. * * * * Not dead yet! Waxy... Continue Reading →
Find parts 1 and 2 here and here. I only thought about quitting once, when I fell down a storm sewer. I’d climbed a truly evil hill of densely packed million-dollar crackerbox houses, past homeowners leaving to go to the beach. One of them actually wore a t-shirt saying something like “Rucking is fun!” I... Continue Reading →
Click here for Part I, "Soiled But Unsullied." GORUCK sometimes calls the Star Course their hardest event. I doubt that very much, but this was the toughest I've done. I expected that after my surprisingly grueling training hike, but I was still surprised by the added burden of route-finding and the premium put on strategy... Continue Reading →
“Amazing!” I thought. “If you piss yourself in black running tights, it just looks like sweat!” At least to the casual observer. I was hobbling at top speed through a raunchy part of the Mission district that could have been in a documentary called Dirty Harry’s San Francisco, and fully a quarter of the men there... Continue Reading →
It's always some heavily muscled personal trainer. My toughest moments at Goruck challenges are when I must fireman's carry a teammate, and it's never the vegetarian triathlete who works for a socially conscious startup. I always get the dense, hypertrophied Paleo stevedore-type who runs a gym. It's amazingly easy to fireman's carry someone, but it's... Continue Reading →
Today's the day, friends. 24 hours, 40+ miles, with logs, sandbags, PT beatdowns, and surf torture along the way. Wherever you are today, get after it! Hammer along with me and (I'm completely serious about this), please remember my team and me in your thoughts and prayers. I may be Buddhist, but I'm not choosy... Continue Reading →