There is a story of a guy who smokes a hallucinogen and proceeds to envision that he was lost in a forest. Some “Other” entity comes from within the forest and begins to guide him, and took him on this journey through the forest and into some mountains. In the mountains there was a glimpse of a kingdom somewhere in the distance, a place where this Other came from. The guy remembers it being truly majestic, awe-inspiring. They trek through the mountains into this alien civilization which is empty but somehow in pristine condition. To the guy, this kingdom feels like some new world, but at the same time he feels a sense of belonging, a sense of one-ness. The Other speaks to this guy, but it isn’t in a human language. Somehow the dreamer understands what the Other is saying, something along the lines of, “You don’t belong here.” So the Other guides him back down the mountains, back into a forest, and then the guy is alone. But the guy realizes that he can’t shake that feeling of belonging, and he turns back up the mountain on his own to find the kingdom again. He comes out of the hallucination before he gets back, and while he understands that it was only a dream, a drug-induced series of images and emotions that have no basis in reality, he still remembers the feeling of belonging, the sense that he was in the absolute right place, and he still remembers how that fictitious kingdom made him feel an awe that he has been incapable of feeling in the real world.

So he spends every day with the memory of that feeling, belonging to a place that doesn’t exist, believing in some kind of beauty that he’ll never see again. The last thing he remembers about it is trying to get back.

- – -

Pay attention to how you feel under varying conditions. What happens when you have a cup of coffee? Do you wake up? Do you get a personality? Do things suddenly seem worth doing?

Doesn’t even have to be in the context of a drug. How do you feel when your blood sugar is low? Depressed? Irritable? Is this the same person you are otherwise?

What about during a high-stress training cycle? Your sleep gets disrupted, you feel muted, sluggish. If you cared enough, you could measure a few markers. Vertical leap. The Soviets supposedly used to use grip strength for their weightlifting team. Maybe some of you read somewhere that the Bulgarians measured resting heart rate and blood pressure. Some of the new school lifters are now real big on RPE, load drops, and fatigue.

“This weight used to feel like an 8,” some might say. “I have been doing a lot of volume and not recovering well, today it feels like a 9.”

Is some of it just “psychological?” A self-fulfilling prophecy? Depends on who you ask. On how you ask it.

But even if it 100% is, even if that hard number value for subjective effort is just an idea in their minds alone, and not in the physical world, doesn’t it still have meaning? Doesn’t it affect their beliefs?

I can, I can’t.

I will, I won’t.

It is. It isn’t.

- – -

The first time I consumed marijuana, it was with a girl I was dating a few years ago. It was a typical first-time experience. Food tasted amazingly good, music was mind-blowing, thoughts went in a billion different directions, perception of time was distorted, and everything felt like a Christopher Nolan moment – there was something absolutely profound about the emotions I felt and the words in my mind.

I was – and probably still am, despite whatever thought experiments and self-growth bullshit I can try to apply – a codependent piece of shit. I derived emotional validation out of feeling like my partner valued me. Under the influence of marijuana, my need for emotional validation from this girl intensified and became meaningful. Her reciprocation was meaningful. I am talking about me looking up at her, thinking she was pretty in dim chain restaurant lighting. Her smiling back at me, for real, for the first time, with upbeat curiosity. You and I can read this now and realize that this is some Mickey Mouse bullshit to be covering for a 25 year old guy (I am 28 now). “Oh she smiled at me,” fucking kill yourself.

My point is that even though these interactions at the time were subtle, barely even happening, they felt profound. They carried a weight that had more substance than any snatch, any front raise. And even when I sobered up, that sense of meaning stayed. In my memory, there was a sense of connection to her that just meant something more – something more that, if I could just believe in something beyond what I knew for just a second, would lead me to some kind of truth.

I came down. Everything felt normal again. I felt embarrassed at how I acted while under the influence. I was a worse kisser. And I had told her, “I haven’t felt love before, but I think I would describe what I’m feeling now as love.” It is some stoner bullshit, I recognize that now, but I still don’t take it back. I haven’t felt love. The closest I have gotten? Looking at someone in dim lighting. Getting a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I would smoke or eat marijuana another handful of times, with her and later without her. It was fun, music still sounded better, chocolate and potato chips still tasted good, but the feeling that what I felt had meaning never came back. In fact, I felt the opposite – that all my feelings and beliefs were false. I smoked with friends – but under the influence of marijuana, I felt disconnected with them. The bonds I thought I had with them felt fabricated.

Take away the marijuana. Take away the dim lighting. Take away the girl. I can still remember a moment.

- – -

The guy on wrote a great article on force components in the snatch pull. Hip extension is both a horizontal and vertical component. Knee extension is mainly a vertical component. Rely too much on hip extension, and you have to deal with bringing the bar back into the right place. Finish hard with knee extension, use leg drive, and the bar will stay closer. The overall extension of the body to propel the bar up will be sharper.

There are a dozen other factors to account for. Where you are balanced on your feet – pushing too far back towards the heels reduces how much leg drive you can incorporate. Pushing too far onto the toes leaves the bar out in front. Timing. Where your gaze is held.

Do enough things right, and you can feel it. Stay over the bar as long as possible, delay the final extension until the very last moment, find your balance on your feet, keep your chest up between extension and receiving the bar overhead.

Sometimes you can hold this harmony for a workout or two. Sometimes maybe just for a rep, one lift. Then it’s gone.

But you remember. You try to find your way back to it.

Celicaxx and Bruges hang out.

Right now the #1 person that I want to hang out with most from the blog is Celicaxx.

Here is how I see a day going with him:

I land and he picks me up in his Celica XX.

“Brent Kim do you know anything about cars?”



We go to a noodle shop that’s in the same plaza as an Asian market. We eat ramen. It is kinda fake but they put pork belly in mine so I am happy. Celicaxx identifies both the brand and the flavor of the instant noodle base that the restaurant used to make it and says that we could have just bought pork belly and the ramen and made it at home for cheaper.

“Am I going to meet your parents?” I ask him.

“Do you want to go look at the new Gundam models?” he replies.

We walk across the plaza to the comic book/collectible store. Celicaxx talks to me about Gundam models. I am – at age 28 – more genuinely interested in the Pokemon comics.

“If you could be any pokemon which pokemon would you be?” I ask him.

“The one that is most like a Gundam. So maybe Metagross or Genesect.”

I convince Celicaxx to take me to Starbucks instead of Dunkin Donuts pre-workout. He orders an iced coffee with cream and sugar. I get a quad espresso con panna, the fakest “I drink espresso” espresso.

At the gym, Celicaxx appreciates when I don’t pretend to coach him.

Later, we hang up the gymnastics rings on a tree in a park.

“Why didn’t you do these in the gym?” he asks.

“I am tired of being a spectacle.”

“At least this is like a scene from Hajime no Ippo.”

We eat pho in silence.

Later in the evening we go to his ice skating rink. The other ice skaters glare at me for taking up space, and at Celicaxx for bringing this scrub to the rink. He chats with some of the other training skaters and they all skate around me as they do their routine. I slip around but don’t fall. I have a shit-eating grin on my face.

Celicaxx tries to instruct me.

“Just bend your legs like a Gundam dive-landing from high orbit.”

“Okay,” I say.

Celicaxx gives up and practices his double axel.

When it is time to leave, I take too long for his liking to make my way off the rink. He skates towards me, takes my hand, and we skate off to the exit.

“I had fun,” I tell him.

“It was okay,” he says.

He doesn’t hug back.

Weeks later I wrote an ambiguous post about the friction of ice and the frailty of fantasy. Celicaxx never comments on it.

Is this comedy?

Day[9] did a rant a while ago about the concept of “health” in 2014:

It shouldn’t be a fucking secret that I am Day[9]’s biggest fan.

“But Bong Hyun Kek,” you might say, “You don’t even PLAY StarCraft II.”

You’re right – I don’t play it. But I’ve watched every episode of the Day[9] daily including Funday Mondays and Day[9]’s Day Off. He’s a great speaker, great sense of humor, super relatable to the 18-30 year old geek male demographic. When he goes off on his tangents about first getting his bike and riding around neighborhoods to stop by his classmates’s houses and awkwardly sitting outside them – THAT’S MY LIFE HE’S TALKING ABOUT. And it’s FUCKING HILARIOUS, because the relief of not being the only creepy ass fucking 13 year old to do this washes over me in an awesome wave.

So when I saw this video – which is fucking so accurate – I was feeling manic, and I was like, I am Day[9]’s biggest fan, I completely agree that “health” in 2014 is fucking idiotically nebulous, and I’ve spent like the past 9 years learning about some aspects of health and fitness first hand. So I sent him an email, first of all gushing about how much I love him and secondly that I’d be happy to be a consultant for his quest for health. He has mentioned in a few of his daily streams that he’s trying to eat better and lose weight and has been fairly successful on his own.

Hi Sean, or staff guy who will hopefully forward this to Sean,

First of all I could not be a bigger fan, that is why I am writing this email.

Look – I just turned 28, I know you are in the same boat, and I know that you’ve been working on becoming healthier, you’ve been referencing your diet and exercise in several vids and you recently did a GREAT discussion about what Health means in 2014. You couldn’t be more right – there’s a lot of bullshit to parse through.

Look man – I know there are probably a lot of internet fitness people who say this, and maybe you already have your own consult already –

But look – I have been doing fitness-oriented bullshit for like 8 years and I have gone through a lot of Dunning-Kruger bullshit where I thought I knew a lot, realized I didn’t know a lot, and started trying to learn more. So I have accumulated a lot of knowledge and a fair bit of actual experience because the only reason I started caring about “fitness” was because I wanted to be a competitive weightlifter.

Look man – I wanna help you. And I think I know some stuff that would definitely help you. And I want to do it for free because again <– #1 fan. Real talk, no homo.

I am not saying I have ALL the answers, but I have always made an effort to improve my understanding of athletic development, mobility, nutrition, and body recomposition and I would love to put you in a good direction right off the bat.

Hey man – it would be an honor to help.

If you have other people guiding you – that's great. I'd still love to be a second opinion/consult if you ever want want a different point of view.

Good luck either way and I believe in you.


I even added, “I run a dark comedy fitness blog.” IS THIS COMEDY?

Hey guys, don’t let me keep you in fucking suspense, HE NEVER GOT BACK TO ME. Now we can rationalize that oh Day[9]’s busy, he is an active caster, does tons of events, is one of the most prominent personalities in e-sports – for all you fucking haters out there DAY[9] WAS IN FORBES TOP 30 UNDER 30 ENTERTAINERS. We can say oh he gets tons of emails – I used the feedback email on his website and a fucking secretary got back with me saying she’d received it and would forward it to him.

But let’s be real here –

I’m a short, dyel-mode Asian (btw I am cutting and weigh 155lbs) with an Elliot Rodgers-style blog writing Elliot Rodgers-style emails and if Day[9] had ANY response it was to report me to the FBI for cyber harassment. I mean the guy is fucking 28, and he’s legit pretty smart, in addition to being a great StarCraft II analyst and video game mechanic he has an undergrad degree in mathematics and is pretty insightful, plus unlike me WHO STILL HAS EPISODES OF DUNNING-KRUGER (RECENTLY MY BOSS ASKED ME HOW MY LIFTING WAS GOING. I MADE THE MISTAKE OF ANSWERING SERIOUSLY SAYING “I DID A WORK CAPACITY PHASE WHICH IS WHERE YOU BASICALLY ACCUMULATE A LOT OF VOLUME AND NOW I AM DOING A STRENGTH PHASE WHERE I REDUCE THE VOLUME AND IT’S BEEN GOING WELL SO FAR” IT TOOK A LONG TIME TO SAY AND SHE DIDN’T CARE) I am sure Sean recognizes that it’s not fucking rocket science.

Jesus. So now I’m sitting here at my fucking jerk station watching Day[9] play Zelda: A Link To The Past eating carrot cake from Stackhouse Burgers (they were out of the coconut cream cake). And I am periodically and literally laughing out loud at him play this game, the same guy who makes me feel rejected is bringing me joy and it’s just such an emotional mind fuck. He’s my new vpvg – very personable video gamer. <– IS THIS COMEDY???

Celicaxx does Rin Nakai do anything for you?

Jerk cheese.

The gym I go to got some fucking really well made jerk boxes for $350 with free delivery, kinda sick. When I say “well made” I mean every segment is flush and square with each other, and they don’t slide around on top of each other. It has been a while since I’ve used jerk boxes but every box I have ever used at every other gym I’ve ever been to has not been flush and square, and the pieces were not well secured and the boxes became a jenga puzzle after two reps. I was excited to use them today, I am a fan of low black snatches in addition to using them for jerks. Within 3 reps on them doing snatches I bounced them off the boxes after missing behind me and promptly put a fucking whole in the wall behind the platform.

I apologized to both the trainers and Dave says, “Will you help me fix it?”

I said sure – BECAUSE I’M HANDY AS FUCK, RIGHT? He is gonna LOVE my “help” I am sure. That will be another story to tell here. Who wants to see me try to use a hammer or whatever the fuck it is we’re going to use to repair dry wall? Stay tuned for pictures and a story of why I had to find another gym.

A while back I was talking to Chris about sitting at my computer, except I referred to it as my “jerk station.” He fucking loved it, and it has become a joke between the 70s Big HQ guys ever since. Now any time we discuss hypothetical situations, I am depicted as masturbating at my jerk station, usually to something terrible, and usually resulting in me mutilating my penis by splitting the head into two. I have taken it to the next level after sharing the joy that is the cumbox to the guys, and have started using the term “jerk cheese” – if you want it to be used in a sentence, try “I was sitting at my jerk station last night, fermenting my jerk cheese.”

It’s been well-received.

Anyways, I can’t think of, look at, or use jerk boxes without thinking about jerk stations, jerk grease, and jerk cheese.

Yes, I am typing this post at my jerk station.

^ he’s been identified as a miscer among the lifting community.

This blog has been described as misogynist – which sounds like selective reading since it’s clearly misanthropic, with the only positive outlooks being on the military, beep boop music, Sean Day[9] Plott, and anime. Anyways, my point is I’m just waiting for the hammer to drop. Foreveralone, socially awkward males are going to be vilified, and I already look like the Virginia Tech shooter – let’s be honest, I’m the first guy the feds are going to use “justified” lethal force against in a pre-emptive campaign to subdue threats to public security. The reason?

“Suspicious activity using unknown materials.”

The reality?

Sitting at my jerk station, churning some jerk cheese.

Update on my dad for you guys – he has always liked to listen to smooth jazz, basically elevator music. Sad part? I fucking love elevator music, too. He recently got a new drum set and seemed to be really happy it. I thought the novelty wore off for him, but I visited him yesterday and I walk into the living room to find him playing the drums to fucking smooth jazz on apple tv. I would say, “This is my future,” but I am no where near as baller as my dad. My fake fucking talent? I’m “a good writer,” the artistic equivalent of telling someone, “You’ve got a great personality.” BRB can write in complete sentences and communicate like an adult, “oh yeah I’m a ‘writer,’ it’s like art but with words.” My dad’s talents? He paints, plays drums, and made fun of me when I was 13 and couldn’t do a pull up <– so basically comedy.

Before you say he was a bad father (for obvious reasons) – he wasn't. I didn't become mentally ill until I started lifting.

I mean seriously – before lifting I was confident – confident that me doing 100 push ups in a set made me strong [edit – actually if I recall correctly I think the most I ever did in a set was 50, this was at 105lbs bw too and it was also with an over-extended spine], that I was in good cardiovascular shape because I ran a 14 minute 2 mile, and that I could hold my own in a fight because I did taekwondo shadow sparring in my parents’s garage wearing weird wind pants that I liked because they made me feel like a ninja. I dated loser high school chicks, and I say that realizing today that my romantic interests in high school foreshadowed my future as a fucking reject, but at the time it seemed like I was semi-sociable.

Today’s MopeWOD: secrete some jerk cheese.

Always look twice.

The French have a saying.

If you see a pretty girl in passing, don’t look twice. She won’t be as beautiful when you look again.

When you examine people more closely, you can see more of their flaws. Maybe this goes beyond skin deep. Maybe they meant – as you grow to know someone who appears to be amazing, you learn that they are only human. So one could interpret the advice to mean: let yourself idealize this person. The avatar that you create in your mind will be prettier, more fulfilling, more complete in your mind.

I saw her once, in passing. Except it was more than just in passing. It was also not enough.

I know that nothing about her, as I perceive her, is real. Her half-smile was just a half-smile. Her eyes are dark, they only give the impression of something solemn and wistful, some pretend emotion that doesn’t even exist in the real world.

I should have looked twice. If I saw her again, I could find something human. She has poor posture. She has a fake laugh. Her vocabulary isn’t particularly impressive.

I am succumbing to the worst parts of myself. I know that I believe in a lie. I need the truth to disappoint me, so that having met her will be less profound, so that I am not affected by something that doesn’t exist.

Today’s MopeWOD: Always look twice.

Marines move to contact.

“What’s the point of being happy about qualifying for meets? I see it all the time, but I don’t get the appeal. Like OK, you have lifts good enough to get in to a meet, but if you aren’t good enough to place, why is that any good?”

It’s not good. It won’t make me happy.


Marines move to contact.

Remember that.

If you make a qualifying total, there are probably a bunch of other guys who are going to stomp your shit in. Are you going to sit at home and jerk off to futanari impregnation porn or are you going to belt up and engage?

Both are perfectly fine.

But Marines move to contact.

I’m not saying you’re a Marine. I’m not saying I’m a Marine. I’m definitely not saying I’d pass Marine PT standards.

If you make a qualifying total, there are probably a bunch of other guys who also qualified who think you are a fucking piece of shit faggot. They are absolutely right. Your girlfriend or wife or your fake fucking “oh my god best friend you’re so special to me” lady whatever the fuck would definitely leave you for any one of them. They’re stronger, more jacked, better looking, have a bigger dick. Are you going to engage?

You are on a playground. You’ve never played basketball. You are 28. You shoot some hoops while shirtless, to catch a tan. Eventually some 8 year old kids join you. You play HORSE. They beat you. You aggressively challenge them to a “real game.” Fundamentally they play basketball better than you. But you are taller than them and heavier so when you elbow them in the fucking face they go down and you double dribble over to the hoop and miss a lay-up but rebound your own shot. Then you do the jerk-off gesture in their face.

Their older brother sees from the other court and he challenges you to a game. “Let’s see you pick on someone your own size,” he says.

Do you engage?

I met a hot latina chick a little while ago. She stayed at my work for a bit and then transferred to a different place, probably to avoid me. Thing is she added me on facebook and I made the mistake of sending her a message asking her how she was doing. She seemed to be happy (since she didn’t see me anymore) but she asked if I had seen her lunch bag at work – normally she wouldn’t care but her mom gave it to her. I said I’d check for her. I found it. I told her. She was happy that she hadn’t lost it but also didn’t want to drive all the way out there to pick it up. I said I’d bring it to her, because she works relatively close to where I live. She said okay. I brought it to her. There was an awkward silence. You and I both know what we’re waiting for –

Did I engage?

The answer is no. I didn’t engage. It’s why I’m not a Marine. It’s why I’m not a hundred other things that wouldn’t make me a fucking pussy. <– oppressive and patriarchy but I don't give a fucking shit – if you do, then why don't you fucking move to contact and engage?

I went to a meet once where I lifted the most in my weight class. It wasn't a good feeling. It felt like everything was a lie. It was like when I took a creative writing class and everyone else wrote about sunsets and fox spirits.

Maybe this is a pattern of behavior. People raised in abusive homes tend to seek out abusive relationships. Maybe my pattern is – is what? To build emotionally codependent and ambiguous relationships with girls who otherwise don't give me the time of day? To re-affirm my mediocrity, as I've done throughout my adolescence?

Harry, you WK'ed Gillian Ward for pressing 135lbs x 9. You said it motivated you to work harder. First of all, spare me. Secondly, you went on to say your goal is to press bodyweight for one – some fucking guy at a Gold's Gym might press 1.5x bodyweight and there are other fucking guys who press 396lbs like Klokov – but you are who you are and you do what you can. So you're running some fucking modified 5/3/1 to work towards a bodyweight press. You've encountered contact, and you are engaging.

If I qualify for a meet, I've made contact. I can either sit at home and jerk it to gokkun play or I can engage.

Hey for the record, jerking it would be the thing that is any good and makes me happy.

Qualifying for a meet just makes me realize how much of a fucking mistake it is to wear mismatched lifting shoes.

“Why do you keep saying Marines move to contact?”

I was reading a thread on reddit about vet’s experiences in Iraq. One guy said that he and his unit were on patrol and they saw clear signs of an IED – guys hanging out near windows with a cellphone, some deliberately placed rubble, etc. They wanted to call in eod to secure the area but their CO denied them permission. The guy reiterated the situation, this time asking if they could at least use an alternative approach, and the CO again denied permission and said “MARINES. MOVE. TO CONTACT.” So they proceeded down the road and two guys got blown up.

What I am getting at is that nothing matters. Nothing is “any good.” You commit to something and you will probably die or become disillusioned or be delusional before anything good comes out of it. But you can’t avoid contact, and you are compelled to engage.