Ah yes, welcome T-folk agian to my crash colunm “Behind The Vines”, a detailed look at the daily life of a boy who became a man-monkey with an ungodly amount of hyperactive energy and a penchant for screwing around with English (No, English was not some foreign chick). Let us proceed, eh?
I learned that the most beautiful word in the world always depends on what you yearn for most. Earlier this week, I visited my doctor/surgeon for a post ass-surgery (or buttectomy) check-up. After placing a five-note in my boxers for the show I’d just unwillingly give him, Dr. L told me i had…clearance. YES! Wonderous bountiful clearance!!! I could go back to breaking down muscle fibers through the lifting of heavy mettalic objects and sweat…just no squats yet. I saw blue birds and butterflies, baby koalas and little elves…that was until Doc gave me the news and all those little creatures were hacked away at by the happy little demons who romp around my cerebral cortex and are adament about my thrashing triceps on arm day. Sigh, how I missed my demons.
So Wednesday was back day and rather than taking the sentimental man’s journey into training, I threw on Rollin’s Band and some STP and deadlifted to the tune of “Love is so Heavy” which I am convinced Henry wrote about doing deads. Two days later, my back still hurts, that dull ache that assures you you’ve done something right.
I’ve also been on a cutting phase for two weeks. Getting ripped is going well and T2 is incredible in that unlike other fat loss products, it actually works and is not advertised to give me 16 extra pounds of solid muscle while simeltaneously taking off fat (ahem, Dymexadrine). Yesterday was interesting. My sister graduated from high school and, in celebration, my mommy bought a bear-shaped tub of animal crackers. I consider myself a strong and stoic individual. My doctors tell me that my healing capacities are quite impressive. T-family, I admit to you now that I cannot resist animal crackers. They’re crunchy, they’re puffy and, and you can bite their heads off. I believe I’ve stated my full case right there.
So, in his weakened state, Testostere (Uhm, Persephone’s long lost brother that no one talked about?)ate of the bear-shaped tub (pomegranate) and had about sixteen (hundred)kernels…I mean crackers, crackers…right. I haven’t had complex carbs in about a week except some oatmeal post-workout. Actually is been incredible and I’ve cut up faster than ever before, especially with my trusty T2, yes T2, America’s choice in fat burners (Woulja believe TC forced me?). After consuming the crackers I felt…well, drunk almost. And not the fun high part of drunk, the low, slowly crashing into a daze kind of drunk. If anyone can explain this phenomena to me I’d love to know what the hell was going on there because I was just so out of it. Today, I am back on my version of Berardi’s diet: “Passive Eating”. I refuse to be a slave to that tub of crunchy goodness.
Sunday I’ll be attending Charles Staley’s seminar in Garden City, Long Island (a state in itself) New York. I’ll devote a “BTV” to it sometime next week.
I suppose that would be all for now. Today is shoulder day and I plan on doing some constructive destruction. And don’t fret, T-family, I shant leave you without an “MB quote” at the end of this, my sweet little nearly-weekly rant.
"MB Eric: The GI Joe action figure that your parents refused to buy you Since 1985."