I have a friend who had a great, and I mean GREAT idea. He didn’t even sit on it. He put it into action forthwith. The only problem is that somebody with a little more money and a few more means got to it first. Idea #два was not exactly right. It was not as clean or quite as good. It didn’t have the pop of the original idea but none of that matters because people will think it came first. That perception will be the new reality.

Sure, my friend can go forward with his idea anyway. He could force it. Some of us would do that. Some of us would yell and scream and flail our arms and really fight it. Others may just be quiet and let it crawl inside them like a worm eating at their hearts until nothing but resentment is left. I think we have all done both of these things at one point or another in our lives.

I would like to push a third option to the middle of the table.

Instead of giving in to these understandable and normal human emotions I would recommend this. Remember that it was your idea. It was born in you. You, a person of courage and wisdom. A person who knows when to wait and when to act. A disciplined person who has the strength to resist the temptation of reckless action. A person who has been given the gift of imagination.

You are a person who can have another idea, your next idea, your best idea. They may have taken this one from you. You may have just given it away. Your timing may have been bad or you could have been straight up screwed. Just remember this, you will have another great idea. You had this one right? They will not have another one of your ideas. When it is up to them to recreate the brilliance they will no doubt be associated with, they will fuck it up. I promise.

Your mind, your heart, your integrity, and your courage are your gifts. Never let something as silly as a stolen idea take them away from you. This is a pretend world my friend. What part of it is really important? Certainly none of these things are as important as your real reasons. Please, never forget what this is all about.

And, of course, what it is not about.

Kettle,

You can register here: http://www.orangekettlebellclub.com/intermediate-kettlebell-seminar-oakland-ca

I’ll be teaching this one myself so make sure to show up to claim your super powers

kettle,

Intermediate Kettlebell Seminar – Oakland, CA
Oakland Saturday, July 10, 2010 10:00 AM

The Intermediate Kettlebell Seminar is a three hour seminar designed for people who have some Kettlebell experience but want to take it to the next level. This seminar is not about teaching more movements, it is about learning concepts. The subjects we will be covering are more technical in nature and will probably be confusing for people who have just started learning.

Your instructor will be: John Wild Buckley

We will be covering:

* Snatch technique
* Jerk technique
* Rack position
* Breathing

I believe that as you learn to lift Kettlebells you train until some things are simply automatic. Once they are you don’t have to think about them. This leaves you with the ability to focus on other things. Those other things are what you will learn at the Intermediate Kettlebell Seminar.

In order to attend this Seminar you must have attended the Beginner Kettlebell Seminar or email me what previous experience you have in Kettlebell lifting.
The Price is $150

I wouldn’t use the word insecure. I am sure there was a little overcompensation. I think even some people may have thought me arrogant. Please believe me when I tell you the extra bravado was intended to be more of a distraction than anything else.

I knew that I was close, and because I was so close I could get by. I could talk some of the talk but I would try so hard not to. I would walk a little of the walk, enough for people to notice, not enough for anyone to think I was doing my best.

I was not.

It is easy to fool people into thinking you are good at something that can be described by a broad term. All you have to do is do what is easy for you very very well and ignore the parts you can’t do by branding them unimportant or undesirable. See, it’s easy.

I’ll give you an example. If you are an actor and you are super hot, you don’t have to act well or pick good projects if you party hard (really hard), date super hot girls or boys, crash awesome cars at high speeds, get arrested on the regular, etc, etc. It’s all a distraction. People forgive your crappy performances because they think if you ever got your shit together you could be the best, but you can’t. You are afflicted.

See, easy.

I’ve done this. Actually, I have been doing this pretty consistently for over a decade. I was reading some of my old work today. I was reading the comments as well. I don’t think I have ever read them. My professors fell into three categories: they were either mad at me, dismissive, or they felt sorry for me.  As if I did not belong there. Reading my work and the comments today actually made me pretty angry. Mostly at myself, a little at them, we’re talking like 70/30. Ok, maybe 80/20.

The truth is, I had some talent. Not elite talent, not enough talent to not try at all and still be the best, but I was better than average. I was certainly talented enough to do something with it if I really wanted it. In hindsight, I would say I was happy being just good enough to get laid and be admired by some of my peers. Even very low levels of fame can be enough to make a guy lose context.

I would always wait for someone I admired, you know, a worker, to tell me I had what it took to be great. I wanted to be “found”. I wanted to be “discovered”. I wanted that to be the way things worked. I wanted someone to find me in the rough and polish me into a diamond.

This part of me is my greatest shame.

That being said, figuring out that you are a lazy manipulator helps you identify these characteristics in others. You will despise these people. You will see your shame in them and hate them for it. It’s just easier that way. I know this about myself and over time it has become a strength in its own weird way. It has given me perspective.

I am not concerned about people seeing this part of me because I know it’s there. I am not afraid that I’m not as strong as I think I am. I know exactly who I am. I can see myself in other people too. If you are a poser or a fake or a fraud, I see you. I feel your bravado and I am not impressed. Not because I am better than you, I am not. It is just that my awareness gives me perspective.

See, easy.

So here I am now. I am in this same situation again. I have built this same world around me. It just happened as if I was on autopilot. Like no matter where you move you just set your room up the same way. It just works for me. I’m good at it. I am comfortable here, walking around with crazy amounts of bravado but really I’m waiting in the rough, waiting to be discovered.

But something changed. Something is different this time. I went to Russia and it was not me who was picked. I was not adored for my wit or my charm or my brute strength. It was my friend who was chosen. He is a worker, a hustler, possibly the strongest most earnest grinder I have ever known. They loved him. I was just another guy.

Suddenly my comfort zone was shattered. I was doing it again and it was not working. My whole life had caught up with me and in that moment, in the moment Rudnev was smiling at me knowing that I had not done all the work I could have, knowing I was caught. My life changed.

I just can’t be that guy anymore. It is no longer enough to coast and be just a little better. I need more. I need to try harder. I need to work. I need to grind. Since that moment, since that smile that has scarred my mind and my heart, I can not rest if I have not worked as hard as I possibly could that day.

I have never worked harder in my life, at anything, than I have since I returned from Russia. My training, my studying, my diet (I’ve dropped 30lbs), my cardio, everything is geared towards one thing. I will meet my potential. I will find out exactly what I am made of and who I am. No more qualifiers, no excuses,  no nothing. I will polish my damn self this time. If I have what it takes, if on my best day I can do it, if everything I have is actually enough, I will know when it’s over.

Easy, breezy.

Kettle,

On Saturday we went caveman trolling at the Home Depot and came up with the idea to make a strongman log. I have been doing a lot of overhead pressing lately and I really like it. The problem is my hands are at the wrong angle. When I am pressing a barbell my palms are facing forward. When I am locking out my kettles (or trying to) they are at (or should be at) 45 degrees with my palms facing towards each other (not entirely facing each other but you get the idea).

So I have been dreaming of getting a strongman log for pressing because at least the handles are facing in and not facing forward. These logs cost a freakin’ ton so we thought “Caveman see tree, Bigman carry tree home”. So, we started looking.

We went to a few different places before we found a huge post sitting in a bin outside a hardware store in Berkeley. We told the guy we really wanted it but we only needed about 5 feet. He said he couldn’t cut it because his saw blade was not big enough (seriously!) so we asked if he had a handsaw. He started laughing at us but sure enough he had one, a really REALLY small one and gave it to us to use. He actually sat there watching us cut cut cut

Not really, difficult.

We picked up some other accoutrements to make her pretty/keep giant splinters out of our mitts, and we were off.

So this is what we’ve got so far.

It weighs (I’d have to guess) 120lbs or so. I will be drilling out the ends to jam some plate bars in there soon and I need to do something about the handles. Right now it feels like a “bottoms up” log. But whatever, it is still freakin’ awesome!

If anyone has any ideas on where to get some better handles please let me know.

Other than that, I love it. The handles are a little wider than my lockout but as I get more flexible I will move them in.

For now I will store it on top of the squat rack because when I lean it against the wall it looks like a cat scratch post thing. The boys will destroy it

Making this was super fun and I can’t wait to make the next thing which will involve, well, powertools that’s all you’ll get out of me for now because my landlord may be reading this LOL.

Thanks Jason for the awesome weekend of building/lifting/throwing.

I’ll keep you posted on any alterations!

Kettle,

The Rack, it’s not just for resting.

By John Wild Buckley

Recently I was talking with a couple of lifters who are new to the whole Kettlebell Sport game. We were discussing the rack position and one of them said that he needed to sprint his set because he had no rack but his friend didn’t even need a rack because she didn’t need to rest during her set. Personally I have been searching for my rack since I started Kettlebell training in 2004 and I have yet to find a position that is comfortable enough to be considered “rest”. The way that I have learned to cope with the lack of rack is by pacing and slowly building up my endurance so I can complete a whole set without stopping. So far I have only made it about 70% through on my best day. Even though I am making progress there is still a major problem with my approach. The rack is not just for resting.

First, I think it is important to identify what the rack actually is. I like to split it into two parts, the waist up and the waist down. Most kb lifters are familiar with the rack as the position one holds the bells in above the waist. This is partially correct but incomplete. The rack is like an ice burg as most of it exists below the surface. Keeping your legs straight and your hips forward is the first key to a good rack position. Even if you can not get your elbows to rest on your hips, if your legs are locked and your hips are forward you are in a safer position structurally than if your knees are bent or if you are standing strictly vertical and the bells are out in front of your body. This is what I call the Standard Waist Down Position. It is a position that is present in in your Jerk, Snatch, Rack, and at the end of your swing. It is a position that you will need to master if you are looking to advance in this sport.

The rack position from the waist up is as natural as walking to some and world of mystery to others. If you can rest your elbows on your hip you have the kind of structural advantage that a 7′ tall person has playing basketball. If this position does not come naturally to you it can be a long journey ahead. The most obvious advantage is that you can rest. If your legs are locked straight and your hips are forward you can rest your elbow on the top of your hip and let the weight of the bell rest on your structure as opposed to your musculature. This allows you to rest (at least a little). The rest is important but it is not the only reason to put your elbow on your hip.

During a Jerk set, you will be driving through your legs and your elbow will be bursting off your hip. Think about it like placing the elbow on the hip is pulling back the hammer of a gun and exploding with your legs though your hips is like pulling the trigger and going all Dirty Harry on your Jerk set. Jerking from the hip is such a huge advantage for a lifter. Not everybody does it but most lifters who can, do.

Me learning from Mishin

As for the Long Cycle, the elbow to hip is key. Your clean must be deliberate and clear. The Long Cycle is two distinct movements. The clean is the first one. If you establish an elbow to hip connection you will have no problem with your initial bump which leads to a crisp jerk.

Every time you swing you work your rack position from the waist down. Every time you jerk or snatch you work the rack either wholly or partly. In the long cycle you live in the rack position. It is where you can recover, reload, and blast off. Just remember, the rack is not just for resting.

Check out Jeronimo Milo and more articles from Centro San Ti @

http://www.centrosanti.com.ar/articulos/

kettle,

Across from them in the square was a young couple. She was sassy and sitting on his lap. He was smooth with his hands clasped over her belt and his arms laying slack on her lap. She squeezed his cheeks between her four fingers and her thumb as she locked his eyes with her own. He was helpless. She fed him a bite. They had a slice of the most delicious pizza in the world as well. He took a huge bite, maybe a third of the slice. She made a shocked expression as he swallowed and smiled. She slapped him. He kissed her, she squeaked and slapped him again he kissed her again, longer this time. She didn’t squeak.  She simply placed her palm on his cheek.

Our favorite bruiser could feel Fame looking at him now. Her eyes burning into his cheek like the sun. Her fragrance was light and intoxicating.  She snuggled up next to him.  “Maybe a walk” he popped up as if he had just thought of the best idea. “If that is what you would like to do,” she said with a warm and loving smile.

“Fame”, the young man started “I have to tell you something”. ”Yes darling?” Fame replied. “I just needed to get you alone, and here by the river you just look so, beautiful”. “Thank you my love” Fame said with her flashing smile and deep brown eyes”. “I don’t know what, I don’t know what you are doing with me, I mean, look at you, look at your wings”. “Ah” Fame spread her wings high for our confused and hulking hero to see her at her full scope. “Do you like the crimson with the gold tips? I did it just for you”

The young man stumbled and nearly fell off of the dock. “Fame I, you’re just so, how can I, how can you?” “Darling are you ok?” Fame reached out to touch him on the cheek. “I love you,” she whispered to him. She kissed him and he inhaled her fragrant breath. “Why do you? How could you? I’m just a, I’m fat. I’m ugly. You are beyond perfection. If I had never met you I would never have been able to imagine anyone or anything as gorgeous as you”.

Fame blushed as she stepped into him putting both of her delicate hands on his hips. “I like your belly, I really do, I really really do. Am I weird? Does that make me strange? It is you, and I love you. And you are Not Ugly. You are the gorgeous one.” Our hero reached around her waist and pulled her voluptuous body close to his clasping his huge hands behind her and letting his long muscular arms hang slack around her waist.  He looked as far into her has he could “I just want to be here forever” he confessed. Fame spread her crimson wings wide and high for him and asked “Will you fly around the world with me”?  “As long as you will have me,” he promised.

*Fame is an homage to Thomas Wolfe. He is my literary Idol.

A little bit of both were frozen to my forehead. My feet slid about a foot and almost out from under me as I tried to make the quick turn in the ally. Big men like me were not designed to chase the little folk.

Everything was smoke. My hands, speckled with red and brown were angry and hot. Everything seemed to be freezing. I see them, all of them, through the steam and blue night air. I wiped some from my eye.

I started to chase.

My boots were sticking, every step felt like my soles were melting to the ground. It was slowing me down. I couldn’t breathe.

Why are you running from me?

Why won’t you fight me?

I’m so confused.

I am so tired.

I just need to get this out of me. I need this release. Please.

There were so many of them, a dozen at least. Sure, they hadn’t done all that much to me, but I wouldn’t really hurt all of them before they took me down, and I needed this so badly. I certainly couldn’t kill anyone. It would end the way it should. Some of them would be whimpering a little as the rest of them overwhelmed me and stomped me out.

I knew I wouldn’t die. They were just a group of preppy fratty date rapists. No real men. No real danger. They would get to say they took big john down, and I would get this demon out of me.

Well, at least for one night. Maybe I would even sleep.

I am so tired.

I never understood why one would pick a fight with someone they can surely take, or frighten, or really hurt. If you can do it, easily at that, why bother? You know that just makes you an asshole. You always fight up. If you are not a pussy that is. If you don’t know the guy/guys you are only fighting yourself anyway. If you can’t really let go, if you can’t really get to the edge, if you don’t get that release, what’s the fucking point? You’re just a bully, and I hate bullies.

12 guys? I can’t take 12 guys.  It was a rough day. I had done a bad thing to a good person. I needed a beating.

I didn’t get it. I had to eat what I had done and it still sits in my gut like small fire.

I was asked recently why I do what I do. It’s hard, painful, torturously boring, and I am not very good at it.

I do it because I am too old to fight 12 guys in an ally.

I do it because I still need to get that release.

I need to fight up.

I need to sleep.

I am so tired.

The song in the video is named “Hocus Pocus” by Focus who apparently are one of the most “togetha groups goin”,,,in 1973

Check out these tweeky dudes!

Aside from all of this awsomeness, training has been going well

kettle,

It was a really good time. It didn’t take long for things to creep into the gym where everyone was trying to lift the “kettleballs”. So I ran downstairs to make sure I didn’t miss the opportunity to hand a buzzed partygoer a macebell. It did not disappoint.

Anywhoo, since I have been back from Russia training has been great and I have never felt more focused so I was not going to blow it. I behaved and didn’t imbibe anything but water (not even when they ordered pizza). It was actually easier than I thought it would be. Once everyone took off I ate my dinner and called it a night.

There were no casualties

kettle,

It was a strictly pragmatic plan. I had no real interest in bodybuilding or reading but I did have an interest in getting laid and since I seemed to lack whatever “it factor” was required to get the job done I thought a specific plan would serve me well.

The lifting came naturally. I started to get bigger quickly and I found all the bodybuilding magazines motivating. I would look at the fitness models and lift for them. The school part took a little longer to stick. For a few semesters I was toiling in required classes. I was just learning how to study. Eventually I got to my third year of school when it was time to enter my major classes.

I was about 285lbs. I’m 6’6′ tall and my pants were a 38. Most of the people reading this have never seen me under 300lbs but I was young and doing a shit ton of cardio . In hindsight I know I looked pretty lean. I was always a fat kid and even during periods of my life when I was “peaking” I felt shame. I’m sure that is why I was always so comfortable alone. When you are by yourself you don’t have to wear a t-shirt in the swimming pool.

I sat in class the first day and everybody was looking at me. I was getting the vibe of “what the fuck is this jock doing here”. I had become a lit major and there I was being rejected by the rejects. I was the outcast of the outcasts. You would think that kind of thing would thrust me back towards the center, but it didn’t. It pushed me farther outside, farther from people, farther from the comforts of friendship or love or even social interaction.

Back to the gym. I was getting bigger. I was training like you would think, preacher curls and pec decks with the full rack, benching 4 plates without technique or anything other than shame and rage to fuel me. It was the only time in my life when the gym was really my sanctuary. It was all I had. I told myself it was all I wanted, but I was lying.

I was on the edge of earning a spot in the English honor society. My grades were going up every semester. I had a few friends in Englishville/burgh/land now and my spirits were generally up.

One day one of my professors was on the elliptical in the gym. Here she was, on my turf, in my house, this was my chance to show her I was somebody. In her class I was a midcarder, here though, in my gym, I was the main event. I was the champion.

I walked up and said hello, she shooed me away without hesitation. I was crushed. Everything changed.

I went home and assessed my plan. It was time for an adjustment. It was time for something new.

I rejected the English Honor Society. Bunch of fucking grammar pushers! I was starting my own EHS at my loft, fueled by cheap gallons of wine from the Hartford’s Supermarket, tiny joints, crappy lighting and Bitches Brew.

We would start every meeting with a poem I wrote about sunflowers. It was awful. We started that was because I wanted everyone to know that it was ok to suck. Being talented or gifted was not the point of being a poet. The point of being a poet is to spend your time being a poet. Every moment, every day, you have to feel everything. Even if it drives you mad. Even if it costs you everything. What do you do with your day? You poet, period.

The turnouts were always good. People would read there own stuff, or stuff that others had written. Some of it was funny bad and some of it was amazing. Until I started with these gatherings I had never entertained the idea that others could be more talented than me. I had always thought it was a matter of effort or education, a matter of acquired skill. Dani proved me wrong. She was gifted, she was better. That was cool. She was a better writer but when she couldn’t finish a piece she would call me. I got to be a muse. I never thought that was a role I could play in life, it’s amazing how your world can find you.

One day, the prettiest girl in school came to the loft. She was flirty and sweet. She read a poem she wrote about hanging white cotton panties on the clothesline in the Carolina summertime. I can still remember it, the tightness of the line, the clothespins, her fingertips. For the life of me I can’t remember her name but I can still remember the way she sat with her ankles crossed.

Life was good.

The weirdest thing had happened. My plan, my plans, had stopped being pragmatic and had become true. I was no longer trying to get laid by making myself more formidable. I had changed. I loved lifting, I loved writing. I loved digging and searching for ways to get better. I loved trying to help people get better. I loved trying to inspire even though I knew I was not the best or the most talented.  I loved poeting and stronging and rulebreaking and not caring about the opinions of people who chose not to know me.

My confidence started to rise. I felt magnetic. I still spent most of my time alone but this time it felt different. This time I had a choice. I was not lonely, I did not feel ashamed. I had found a way to be honest with myself and I became free.

I still was not the best writer, not even the best writer in my group of friends. It was not from lack of effort so it didn’t bother me. I was, and am, still writing. Still trying to get better. Still poeting every day regardless of the tool.

It does not matter if people don’t understand or like or care or want to know. Keep going, keep going, keep going. You do not have to roll with the herd. Fuck the herd!

There is a whole universe out there for us to taste.

Climb on up there and lick the hottest brightest star you can find!

kettle,