The "300" Test

So…I see a few of the fellas on my list are making some kind of attempt to master this little routine.

You guys are nuts, in my not so humble opinion.

Before you hurt yourselves trying to achieve this, I’d like to point out a few bits from the article that [info]donwaughesq linked to.

The workout gets its name from the total number of repetitions. But those 300 reps weren’t done daily, as some media accounts report, Twight says. Rather, the 300 workout was the finale of months of training, a kind of graduation test, after actors had weight lifted and trained with tools such as medicine balls and Kettlebells (cast iron weights with handles).

Training for the actors required 90 minutes to two hours a day, five days a week, Twight says, plus the same amount of time fight training. Stuntmen trained 90 minutes to two hours, five days a week, and another four to six hours fight training, Twight says. Everyone was given just enough food to recover from the workout, he notes.

(Translation – The actors were working out 3-4 hours a day, five days a week.  The stuntment were working out 5 1/2 to 8 hours a day, five days a week)

At the end of the training, about half of those who trained took the 300 test, Twight says. Andrew Pleavin, who plays Daxos, leader of the Arcadians, was the only actor to take it. He finished in 18 minutes and 11 seconds.

I’m going to assume this is a typo, and they meant that Andrew Pleavin was the only actor “to make it.” 

One actor was able to complete the whole routine.  One.

The following cut is big, but important…

Even if you start out slowly, Kraemer recommends proceeding with caution and checking in with your doctor first.

The breakdown of muscle fibers, for instance, may be severe enough to be toxic to the kidneys, he says. “If you have [heart problems] or are not screened, you could have a variety of exertional problems [with this workout], from serious tissue breakdown to heart attack to kidney problems,” he says. “It’s too extreme for the average person.

Walt Thompson, PhD, a professor of kinesiology and health at Georgia State University in Atlanta, agrees. “This kind of workout is for a very, very small subset of the population,” he says.  “The person who could probably benefit from the Gym Jones workout is the person who already has a long and extensive ‘career’ in exercise. It’s not for a beginner.”

Hate to burst your bubble, guys, but we’re “the average person.”  The average person has a job and commitments outside of the gym.  The average person isn’t being paid millions of dollars to get into this kind of shape.  The average person can’t afford a personal dietician and chef to prepare all of his or her meals.  The average person cannot afford to have a doctor available to monitor his or her progress constantly.

Not saying you guys shouldn’t have fitness goals, but please be careful – especially if you’re trying to take this test.  You guys are not spartans, and you aren’t even actors being paid to play them.

You are, however, my friends…and I don’t want to see you hurt.

Differences between Las Vegas and Orlando…

As far as the training itself?  Not so much, really.  I actually like the fact that this place doesn’t have piles of doughnuts sitting outside the training room and a healthy place to eat across the hall.

But when I got back to my hotel room just now, I looked out my window for the first time and realized I had a view of the pool.

At this very moment there’s a whole bunch of ugly or annoying (loud kids) down there.

Yeah….Vegas wins in that category.

Quick Drive By

I’m in Orlando, and will be all this week, for some Adobe Flash training.  So far it’s going pretty well and in just two days I’ve already learned a lot. 

I’ve got lots of thoughts running through my head at the moment, but I only have time for a very brief post.  As such, I really wanted to ask yet again that you all make an effort to go see The March of the Kitefliers – especially this weekend.  We saw it last weekend, and amazingly enough I think I laughed harder than I did either time I saw it before.  It really is that good, and Jobsite needs our support now more than ever.

It’s important.  Not only to the arts scene in Tampa, and not only to Jobsite as a company.  It’s important to me because the people I work with there aren’t just my professional associates.  It feels like my artistic home, and they are as such part of my family.

So if you don’t go see it for any of the good reasons (wanting to be entertained or supporting local theater), go see it because you like me.   I mean, seriously, I fucking rule.  You owe me that much at least, bitches.

What?  I couldn’t get TOO sincere there, could I?

In it's own post, seperate from the anger and bile…

Here’s wishing for a speedy recovery to [info]barnabyq.

Of course, you couldn’t ask for better hands to be in.

You know what?

The universe can go fuck itself right in its rosy red ass.

While my Mom, K. and A. were out buying flowers to take to the funeral tomorrow her fucking house was broken in to.  Amazingly enough, they made a beeline right for her bedroom and only took the $500 of change she had in there.  No electronics.  No jewelry.  No booze from the fully stocked bar. 

Amazingly enough, there was another theft in the family a few weeks ago.  Somehow or other, in that case, the ONLY stuff that was taken during that particular break in belonged to my nephew, who had left the stuff in the household while he went off to boot camp.

Did I mention that my nephew used to live in my Mother’s house, or that the place where his stuff was stolen from belongs to someone who had been in my Mother’s house with him?

Suspicious much?  Me?  No way.

This was an inside fucking job.  Someone knew my Mom wasn’t going to be home (normally she’s working on Thursday) and knew exactly where she kept that money.  There was NOTHING ransacked in her house.  Nothing out of place except the things on top of the money.

I’m so fucking angry right now I can’t see straight…and I’m getting angrier writing about it, so I’m done.

And for the record….

I certainly hope that when I die my fucking grandchildren can find more to say about my life than “he enjoyed Bingo.”

Way to sum up 86 years of living.

Just remember that Death is not the End

Sunday night I lost the last of my grandparents.

I suppose I should qualify that.  Peg Patterson wasn’t related to me at all.  She was Richard’s Mother, so when I tell people who she is I have to give the long and convoluted “if my Mom and Dick had ever gotten married she would have been my Grandmother” explanation.  I wasn’t even allowed to refer to her as my Grandmother.  When I was a kid, she hated that term.  She said it made her feel old.  I was to call her “Peg,” and nothing else.  It wasn’t until my generation started having kids that she accepted being called “Granny Peg.”

My relationship with her is hard to explain, as is my reaction to her death.  It was…unexpected.  I didn’t even know she was sick, really.  Yes, she was old and living in a nursing home.  Every time I saw her, though, she seemed to be in fine health (for an 86 year old).  I guess she was having heart problems, though, and was in the hospital waiting to have a pace maker put in.  Mom says she must have decided she didn’t want it.

I don’t think I’ve let myself really stop to think about how I feel.  Maybe I just haven’t felt like I could.  Is it odd for me to say that I feel as though I’ve had so much death around me in the last few years that I’ve kind of run out of license to talk about it?

I don’t know.  I wish everything would just calm down for a few hours so I could really sit back and take stock of the situation, but life just doesn’t work that way.  There’s always something, right?

Anyway…Peg is dead, and in true form her granddaughter didn’t bother to mention my Mother or us kids in the obituary.  You know, never mind that she has spent every major holiday, birthday, and various and sundry other events with us for the last 20 years.  Or that it was my Mother who she called every night to talk about her day, and who helped her with her finances. 

I’m sad Peg is dead, I really am, but I’m really glad that tie is gone. 

Nothing quite like familial ties to dead fucking weight.

Meh.  This was supposed to be kind of a euology and it’s turning into bile.  I didn’t intend that.   As I said, I don’t think I’ve really been able to sort out my own feelings on all this just yet.

Anyway, funeral is tomorrow. 

Yeah, that’s all I’ve got for now.

Patterson, Margaret M., 86, of South Pasadena, died Sunday (March 25, 2007) at Palms of Pasadena Hospital, St. Petersburg.

She came here in 1956 from her native Philadelphia. She was a member of the Cathedral of St. Jude the Apostle and enjoyed bingo. Survivors include a granddaughter, Mary K. Scott, Tampa; four great- grandchildren; and a great-great-granddaughter. Brett Funeral Home & Cremation Services, St. Petersburg.