MAN TITS AND MOOSE KNUCKLES

Yesterday was the Mightymight Triathalon in Forrest City, AK. The race consisted of a 1/3-mile swim, 13-mile bike ride, and 3 mile run. Having never participated in a race like this, I had no idea of what to expect. Fortunately, people who have vast amounts of knowledge about these kinds of things, and are freely willing to share their knowledge, in exchange for my knowledge of binge eating and nap taking, surround me. Had I had thought about it ahead of time, I probably could have guessed that there is a learning curve to participating in triathlons, but I didn’t . So like everything else, I had to learn the hard way.

My first awakening came when Coach Von and I cruised to the Tunica Aquatic Center to work on our swimming. Being that I can still remember walking my fat*ss from our house to the East Memphis Catholic Club, wearing nothing but a Speedo and holding a towel, when I was probably 8 years old, for swim practice, I was confident that my swim team skills had remained in tact for the past 25-30 years. I decided that I was going to silently impress Von with my maritime like qualities. During our inaugural warm up lap, I took off like a shot from a gun. I was amazing. I could sense the envy leaking out of Von’s goggles as he flailed behind me. I continued to flex my aquatic muscle halfway across the pool until I realized that …I WAS F*CKING DYING. 25meters into my display of amphibious superiority, I realized that every muscle in my body was screaming in pain, and my organs felt like they were in a sandwich steamer. At the end of the 50meters, Von and I shared a look as if exiting a nuclear fallout shelter, as if to say “what in f*ck have we gotten ourselves in to”, and we also had a good laugh. We graciously accepted our aquatic inadequacies and decided to start trying to get a little better, one lap at a time.

The second sign of being in uncharted territory came when I opened my tri-suit and decided to slap that baby around my beautifully constructed body of cake. As I stepped into the first leg, it seemed a little snug, but I still had a long way to go. When sliding my big meaty arm through the arm hole, it began to feel like a bit of a liability. I decided to complete the tri-suit fitting by dipping, twisting, and grunting my opposite arm into the other hole. The only thing lacking was the zipper. A couple of jumps, curse words, a wiggling imitation of a dog peeing on an electric fence, a small seizure, and I was in my tri-suit. I looked in the mirror and WHOAHHHH! I saw nothing but man tits and a moose knuckle. My love handles looked like a high price accessory, where I could store my running shoes and a sack lunch. It was so tight that my boobs made conical shapes, like I was a back up dancer for Madonna’s 1990s Blond Ambition Tour. Getting the thing off was an entirely different animal. On top of being dangerously close to having an anxiety attack, I could not help but visualize having to call the fire department to cut me out of this godd*amn suit. Beefcake has had finer moments. Quite a few members of my CrossFit family are either firefighters or nurses. While these people have accepted me, and are sensitive of my insecurities, this would have removed ALL bets from the table. I would have never lived it down. I immediately googled, ”how tight is a tri-suit supposed to be”. The first response that I came across read, “my wife said that you should not be able to tell what religion you are”….A larger suit was purchased.

Race day got here and all was well. The swim was a stagger start, so each person started individually with about 10 seconds before the next in line. It was grueling, but my only concern was finishing, as I had left my ego back in Byhalia. Upon making it out of the water and onto the concrete boat ramp, I literally staggered 2 steps to the left and 1 to the right, as disoriented and unbalanced as a Tyson victim. I casually made it to my bike, and decided it would be acceptable to take a piss in my tri-suit (had I been born with foresight, it would have been a better idea to piss in the water, as opposed to 2 minutes after exiting). Urinating in my tri-suit was not the best decision in the world, but certainly not the worst. At the moment, signing up for a f*cking triathlon was seeming to top my lifelong list of dumb*ss decisions.

The bike ride went really well. It was interesting to see how my mind operates as it pertains to competition. For the 4 individuals that I passed (two of which had flat tires) , I would think to myself, “I trained harder and was more prepared”. However when someone else passed me, I ALWAYS had an excuse. When it was a 20 year old man passing me, I would think, “he is young, that’s why”, when it was a 30 year old man, I thought “he has a better bike”, when a 40 year old woman, I said “she does this for a living and has plenty of time”, a 50year old, “he has been doing this for years” 60 year old, “he is retired and has nothing else to do”, the 70 year old, I simply mumbled, “old muther f*cker”, and when the 13 year old kid in a black speedo whizzed past me, and encouraged me to keep it up, I simply thought, “little bastard”.

By the time I got to the running portion of the race, my energy level was pretty good, but my feet and calves hurt like hell. It took me a mile and half before I could comfortably run. I REALLY enjoyed the jog, although it was slow. I was, of course, crying a little and getting emotional. My primary observation throughout, not only the run, but also the bike, is that PEOPLE ARE INHERENTLY GOOD AND SUPPORTIVE. There were so many people sitting on tailgates, in lawn chairs, and on front porches cheering us through. I could not help but think about my grandpa when I passed a gentleman sitting on his porch, and he had set up a hose that was spraying a misting curtain onto the street for us to run through. It was refreshing, but not as refreshing as his smile and the wave of encouragement. I believe that people naturally want to see others do well and triumph. I made it a point to give a nod, a smile, a fist pump, or a thank you to every person who was on the side of the road. I think it is easy to put on the tough guy face, and pretend that you do not notice the onlookers, but I think that they deserve to know that they are helping others as well. Everyone likes to feel important, and everyone is. The people of Forrest City are special, and they made me feel equally as special. I think that is one of the few things I need to be happy, is just to be supported, and made to feel special.

The end of the race was a wonderful feeling. My finish time was 1hour 47 minutes. I choose to be nothing short of elated about my time. I do not really know what is “good” or “bad”, but I am working on focusing on the positive. As my friend Katie Brown says, I am #betterthanyesterday, and that ain’t no sh*t. I look forward to continuing to train and get better. I want to get better at swimming, biking, running, friending, loving, listening, and parenting and the Mightymite was a small step in the right direction. #Betterthanyesterday.

Peace, Love, and all things Beef related.

Wilson Horrell

My 12 Step Program and Olive Branch CrossFit….huh?

I recent celebrated my 3 year birthday of sobriety from drugs and alcohol. I could not help but reflect on all of the good things that have come about, because of my new life. I see virtually zero parallels between my life today, and the life I was living 3+ years ago. I started thinking about what exactly has changed, what brought about those changes, and why. The two institutions (or whatever the f*ck you call them), which have made the most significant impact on my life, coincidentally share many of the same characteristics. The two fellowships (previously referred to as institutions, bc I don’t know what they really are) are my 12 step recovery program and Olive Branch CrossFit. These might seem like two VERY different things, and they are, but I find them to be alike in the most refreshing of ways.

**DISCLAIMER: Before I go any further, I would like to remind anyone who might be reading this, that I am just a regular douchebag, who is placing my thoughts on a blog for my own benefit. I am not a spokesperson or representative of Recovery programs, CrossFit, or anyone else. I don’t know sh*t about anything, and don’t claim to do so. Before any of the haters out there start getting panties in a WoD (pun intended), i would like to cordially invite you to smell my nerd. ***

Bill Wilson, founder of Alcoholics Anonymous, was once asked, by a member of the press, the following question, “who exactly is a member of Alcoholics Anonymous?”. His response was this…”WHOEVER SAYS THEY ARE”. This gives me goose bumps. I love it. It clearly states in one particular 12 step program’s literature that, “the only requirement for membership is an honest desire to stop drinking”. There is no exclusivity. I have faced enough rejection in my life, and have gone to great lengths to try and show my “worth”, so to possibly gain acceptance. I am done with that bulls*hit. I keep an open door policy today. If I am doing it, your welcome to join. If you need it, and I have it, you are welcome to it. Life is hard enough as it is, it’s easier to just try to push each other through another day. I have lived a lifetime of mistreating others, and allowing myself to be mistreated. The truth is, I just didn’t know any better, until now anyway. I was taught that life in the spiritual realm is always INCLUSIVE, never EXCLUSIVE. I have found the same to be true with CrossFit. From the moment you walk into Olive Branch CrossFit, you are immediately branded a CrossFit athlete. There are no secret handshakes or special nods. The moment you desire to be part of the Olive Branch CrossFit family, you are a “part of”. How fat, fit, or f*cked up you THINK you might be is not important. What is important is that you want to get a tiny bit better everyday. When I walked into my recovery program, I could barely form a coherent sentence, and if I could, I could not do it without crying or throwing something. No one told me to come back when I had calmed down, or when my head had cleared. They told me that they would love me until I was capable of loving myself, and to KEEP COMING BACK. When I came to Olive Branch CrossFit. I viewed myself as equally unfit, but no one told me to come back after I had lost thirty pounds, or when I could run a mile in less than 12minutes, or when I could do 10 pull ups. They told me to keep moving, keep breathing, don’t die, and KEEP COMING BACK. (When the best advice John Brown has to offer during a workout is to keep moving, and keep breathing, you know you are f*cked.)

Much is taught and learned in 12 step programs about acceptance…. acceptance of people, places, and things, and acceptance of life in general. Everyone who walks through the door is accepted. There is zero emphasis on money, race, religion, education, or sexual preference. What or how much you have done, where you come from, or what brought you here is of absolutely zero value. Everyone is on a level playing field, ground f*cking zero. Looking back, there is absolutely no better place to be, although I did not much like it at the time. One particular 12 step program’s literature states preamble states:

“… is not affiliated with any sect, denomination, politics, organization or institution, does not wish to engage in any controversy, neither endorses nor opposes any causes…”

I interpret this as clearly saying, “we don’t give a f*ck about anything, but you and your well being”, and my interpretations are generally accurate, right? (Don’t answer that.) While I have seen no official statement like this from anyone at Olive Branch CrossFit, I have certainly felt it. The only requirement at Olive Branch CrossFit is that you try to become a little better version of YOU, than you were the day before. Nothing else is important.

My friend Doug Terry turned me on to a data collector and storyteller named Brene’ Brown, and a speech that she made on Ted TV titled “The Power of Vulnerability”. The long short of it was that she had interviewed thousands of people who considered themselves to be leading a most fulfilled lifestyle. What she found was two commonalities, both of which are prevalent in both recovery and Olive Branch Crossfit. The commonalities were that the individuals who felt they lived the most fulfilled lives had both:

1. Strong connections with other people

2. Had allowed themselves to become vulnerable

It is virtually impossible to participate in any of the 12 step programs or CrossFit, without a high level of both of these things. I have found that you have made yourself vulnerable, just by walking through the door of either of these places. No one walks in and yells, “look at what a badass i am. Check me out”. Cause if you haven’t been humbled by the time you get to CrossFit, you are gonna be by the time you leave it, and if you haven’t been humbled by the time you get to recovery….well, you ain’t entering the world of recovery. Allowing myself to become vulnerable has been one of the greatest gifts of my life. There have been many 12 step meetings where I have broke down crying, verbalized my fears, doubts, and insecurities, and told secrets of my own, which I swore to keep under lock and key forever. In CrossFit, it might be a little less voluntary, but its gonna come out. In a hot, sweaty gym there are things a bouncing and a jiggling, in the most uncontrolled environment. You simply don’t have the extra energy to try and remain “professional”, act as a “gentleman”, or try to be “lady like”, when your main goal is to remain “alive”, and “breathing”. It is so much a close knit family that during a workout of double-unders, my friend stopped abruptly, went to the restroom, and upon exiting the restroom exclaimed to a gym full of people, “hey, y’all don’t tell anybody, but I just sharted a little jumping rope. I figure if any of the girls have ever felt uncomfortable after pissing themselves jumping rope or doing box jumps, this would make you feel better”. HA! You can’t make this stuff up! There is not a member of my gym who has not been exposed to my ass crack, they are well aware of my stretch marks, and no matter how much I try to suck it in, my gut has been exposed for the whole gym to see….over and over again. If it is an early morning class, I sometimes count my sit-ups by the fart, no fart=no rep. There is no better way to get the day started. Is this disgusting? Absolutely. Do I get carried away? You better know it. Do I take things a little too far? Every Godd*mn day. Is that gonna change? Not a f*cking chance. Do I speak TRUTH? You can bet the farm on it. I have let out the moans and groans that come with being fat, getting older, and outta shape. I have vocalized my struggles with the Pizza Almighty and King Ice Cream. Most members are familiar with my past, my insecurities, and my failures. Like my 12 step family, my Olive Branch CrossFit family not only understands my shortcomings and insecurities, but they actually embrace and celebrate them as being part of their group or gym. I have learned to not only accept, but also embrace and celebrate everything that is ME. Big Beefy Loving Swearing Raging Trying Hugging Yelling Progressing Learning Failing Winning….ME. Each day a little better, everyday.

Peace, Love, and all things Beef related.

Wilson Horrell

 

The Big, Ugly, Cry

Thursday, July 3 @ 7pm was The Stars and Stripes 5K, which I was eagerly anticipating the entire week. When I anticipate things, it means that I OBSESS over them. It was the only thing going through my mind. The reason for this is because I had a goal. My goal was to complete a 5k in under 30minutes. My very first 5k was 44 minutes, and my very best was 32:32. Coach Von was telling me, about 6 weeks ago, that in the future, he will probably not agree to coach athletes until they can run a sub 30min 5K. This makes perfect sense, as it would show that a runner has, at least, dedicated himself to a degree of fitness as to be worth his time. To most people a 30minute 5K is not a big deal, but I am not most people. I am me, and I am working with what I have, not what most people have. Von made it clear that he meant no offense to me, being that I had never achieved this goal. I relayed to Von that, “I COMPLETELLY understand your thought process, and actually agree with the logic. No offense taken”. I then relayed to myself, “I am gonna cram a muther fu-king sub 30min 5K so far up his fu-king ass the first gosh d*mn chance that I get. He will not know whether to piss his ultra britches or wind his GPS watch.” I have the sneaking suspicion that Von knew exactly what he was doing in having this conversation with me. A*shole. Anyways, Amand Drogmiller, who has become one of my closest CF family members, volunteered to run behind me and keep pace. She was there to warn me to “slow your roll, big boy” at the beginning, and “when you turn this corner you gotta get on it, Beef” at the end. It was tough, absolutely, but it would have been impossible without her help. When I got to the finish line and saw my time 28:05!

photo

I WAS ELATED! It was a smorgasbord of every drug that I ever loved waiting for me at the finish line. It was every high that I have ever chased, at just the right altitude. It was a Sunday morning Bloody Mary, only to find out that you don’t have to work Monday, PAID! All the feelings that I had pursued in my previous life of drugs and alcohol were waiting for me right there, free of charge, all I could handle, with nothing but healthy consequences.

Now, I told you that I am a drama queen. I warned you that I do things BIG, or not at all. I told you that I am passionate, loud, and emotionally driven. CAUTION: scenes might be graphic, and unsuitable for young viewers and, so called, tough guys. When I got to my vehicle in the parking lot, the big beefy wheels fell off of my overheated, oversized, overworked body. I let out a moan that mimicked that of a man passing a kidney stone. I sobbed uncontrollably. It was like the first and 10th time that I watched Mr. Holland’s Opus. I was pounding on the steering wheel and clinching on the cloth seats. The snot had blown out of my nose, and connected to my top lip, which already had saliva that connected from top lip to bottom and arced to my chin. I was trying to get it together, kinda, and was playing Charlie Daniel’s on my snot fiddle. All tears of absolute gratitude, it was fu-cking beautiful. I have a heavy faith in God. I do not preach, because I don’t know anything about him. I am not sure that I fit in any particular religion, and don’t particularly care. I stay out of religion, or lack thereof. In my opinion, you are all fu-king right, because you are all fu-cking crazy….and you ain’t gonna convince a crazy person that they ain’t right. Trust me, I know. All I know, is that God is good, all the time. I could not help but reflect on all the people that God has placed in my life that go OUT OF THEIR WAY to help me be happy, and MOST IMPORTANT, help me feel accepted. It is not one or two, but an entire world of wonderful people who give their time, energy, patience, knowledge, food, encouragement, skills, and ears to help get me a little further down the road. Through my joyful tears, I thought about what Amanda had so selflessly done. How she gave up her entire race to sit back and make sure that MY goal was accomplished, never mentioning hers. I asked myself if I would have done the same for her, or anybody else. My answer was this, “absolutely not”, not going into this race would I have been willing to do what she did. However, as I sat there on top of my mountain, in my huge piece of sh*t Suburban, which felt like a royal chariot, and wiping off my tears, while my body feeling wonderfully broken, assed out, without another ounce of gas in the tank, I asked myself if I would be willing to do what Amanda did for me, if it meant helping someone get the high that comes with it. My answer, “any and every fu*cking day of the week.” Thanks Amanda for teaching me to be a better person.

Peace, Love, and all things Beef related.

Wilson Horrell

Beef gonna Try a Tri…Mightmite July 26

I am fresh off of my recent back injury, and I have made the decision to register for The Mightymite Triatholon in Forrest City, AK on July 26. I registered for this because…I lack the ability to reason, and a friend asked me to do it. My friend happens to be about 14 years younger, 70lbs lighter, and in phenomenal shape, but it seemed like a good way to maintain focus. I made my first CrossFit workout since my  injury, and it was awesome! Coach John spoke to me in the exact same tone in which I speak to my 4year old daughter, when I realize that she is only capable of processing about 4 words (ex. Stay Right Here… Don’t Move… Stop Kissing Your Brother… DONT TELL YOUR MOMMA). John said to me, “Beef, YOU ARE INJURED. Repeat after me. You are injured. Take it easy”. For once in my life, I chose to listen, kinda, at least for that workout, on that day.

The next day, i was healed. It was a miracle, a sign from God. I’m sure that John felt the same way, but I chose not to ask his opinion, for obvious reasons. I felt SO good, that the only logical thing to do was to spend $1,000 on a new bike and all the bullsh*t that goes with it.

 

My brand new bike for my upcoming sprint triathalon
My brand new bike for my upcoming sprint triathalon

I don’t know if I lack impulse control, have some kind of compulsion disorder, or just don’t have any sense, and quite frankly, I don’t really give a f-ck. All i know, is that I have been this way my entire life. If I want it, I get. There is no waiting, planning, or plotting. I want to do it before I talk myself out of it. It’s genetic. My dad is the same way. He once bought a banjo because of an episode of Hee-Haw he watched years ago. He heard a song that he liked on the radio, when I was about 10 years old, on the way to Florida. We pulled off the interstate, bought the CD and listened to the same song for 10 HOURS. I am sh*tting you negative. When I say he is like me, i mean that he is f*cking nuts. His brain don’t work right. He is the happiest, most positive person that I know, and he lacks the ability to worry about bulls*it that is not important, and truthfully, there is very little that is “important”. It is amazing that the both of us can function outside of an institution, without full time care.
Enough about that, lets focus more on my wise decision to sign up for a triathlon. So, after dropping a smooth grand on a piece of equipment that is about as foreign to me as a set of bagpipes, I decided that the only logical thing to do was to mount this bitch, and ride it tell I broke, it broke, or someone ran over us, and broke both of us. I had some running to do for Coach Von. The workout was:

Running Drills

10 Minute Warm Up

6X400M runs with 3:00minutes rest in between
I live in Byhalia, MS. For whatever reason, i thought it would be a good idea to ride my new bike from my house to the Olive Branch City Park track, and perform my running drills, at about 3:30 in the afternoon. I rode the 9.6miles to the track, did my drills, and am fairly certain that I suffered a coronary, had a heat stroke, suffered 3massive heart attacks, was beaten up by a lady, raped by a midget, blacked out, and kissed Jesus on the mouth, all before I found myself back home, wondering what the f-ck had just happened. The sh*t that happens to fat, lazy people, when they try to become less fat, lazy people is not talked about often enough. When you combine meat, heat, and a bicycle seat…. things are gonna get real, pretty quick like. To say that i was “chaffed” is the understatement to end all understatements. You could have lit a crack pipe off of my nipples, and heated a pot of soup on my ass crack. There is no doubt, that a satellite view from space would have detected geothermal readings, that would have linked the heat radiating from my thighs, to the melting of the polar ice caps. I was like an overweight ET with glowing nipples, instead of fingers, and an ass light. Judging by the amount of Gold Bond spread across my bed sheets, my bedroom looked like I had come off one helluva night with Pablo Escobar. Some dinner, a good nights sleep and a little rest took care of all these things, and I have never felt more focused. I am back in the game and ready to keep progressing, however slowly.  Staying positive, feeling the flow, and loving my coaches and CrossFit family.
Peace, Love, and all things Beef related.
Wilson Horrell

Dr. Beefcake’s Prognosis

Today’s Workout:

Warm-Up Drills

1/2 Mile Light Jog

10X 200M runs with 1:30 rest in between.

I was a little hesitant to exercise today because, my back has been really sore from a combination of deadlifts, and catapulting about 5 kids around a swimming pool about 1,000 times in the last 2 days. However, I really wanted to run today, especially because I had the opportunity to run with Amanda Drogmiller. She is an actual “runner”. Amanda has been finishing in the top places of her age group, as of recent 5K races. She and her husband Chris are competing in various sprint tri-athalons, and she has every intention of making the push to be an elite runner. She is a product of Von Rall’s endurance training. After making it through 6 rounds of 200’s, I was tired and hot, but my body felt great. On the very start of my 7th one, my back felt like a bolt of lightning went through it.

Now, i’m gonna give you a few tidbits of information about Dr. Beefcake, as well as his medical history. First, I am totally full of shit…about everything. I don’t try to be, I just am. I convince myself into thinking that I have the right answers. A friend of my dad’s summed me up perfectly when he said, “I am seldom right…but never in doubt”. In first grade, I convinced myself, and my parents, that I was going blind, because my friend had glasses, and I decided that I would like glasses as well. I even got a note of concern sent home from my Bible teacher. Also, my first year sober, I spent most of my time in bed, googling various health problems that caused me to feel like shit, and only wanting to sleep. What I concluded was that I had about 5 TERMINAL illnesses, ranging from a brain tumor to Thyroid Cancer. All these, while ignoring the fact that it could have had something to do with a decade of constant pill popping, coke snorting, dope smokin, vodka drinkin, and a recent uptick to about 3packs of Marlboro’s a day, coupled with my newfound love of 3am Chocolate Cake and fast food benders. For ten years, if it did not come from a gas station, a liquor store, or a drug dealer….it did not go in my system. I had no problems convincing myself that even after going through all of this, that I have all the answers. So, technically (and by technically, I mean according to me), I am a medical miracle.

Circling back around to today’s injury. I have done some research, combined with my vast history of medical knowledge, along with what I consider to be logical, and my prognosis is this…

“I have an acute dislocation of my #2 lovehandle, combined with the stress of having the “ugly” fall off through strenuous excercise.”

I believe that as the “ugly” was falling out into the street, like a bad transmission, it created an imbalance in my midsection’s gelatinous flow, affecting the ratio of the jiggly to the wiggly. While not critical, it is rather painful, and will require a few days of rest and frustration. Those who do not know me, might suggest a doctor’s opinion, but the rest of you are well aware of my history of good decision making, as well as my propensity to have all the answers. There are very few things for which I do not have an answer. Often, I just need some time to provide an answer, which allows me to believe that I actually know the answer.

I feel so fortunate to be able to see this as “just a setback”, as opposed to the end of the f-cking world…. a complete collapse of everything that I believe, hold to be real, and true…a massive collision of all matter simultaneously, right in the middle of the Apocalypse, and during halftime of the Rapture. I told Von today (not the ever listens to anything that I have to say…ever. He is a coach/programmer, not a therapist….and imma big, whiney baby), that my body and my joints feel so good, that this is no big deal. For months, every moment of each day was terribly painful. That pain has suddenly disappeared and my body is feeling good and strong. After the medical guide’s suggested rest period for a dislocated love handle, then I will be excited to pick right back up where I left off.

Peace, Love, and all things Beef related.

Wilson Horrell

 

A New Day

Soooo, yesterday was Deadlift Day. Beefcake’s day. A day for me to attain a goal, which I have been chasing since about day 10. That goal is to deadlift 400lbs. I WAS READY! It was gonna happen. I have never been so sure about anything in my entire life. Quite honestly, I had expectations of about 430lbs. Why? Cause the deadlift is designed for me. Ain’t nothin fancy, fast, or pretty about it. Bend over, grab huge weight, stand up. The biggest requirement? ASS. I have ass. Huge ass. Big, bulbous, protruding, ass. Beautiful, fat ass. The slapping kind. You outta see it. I digress. So, under the instruction of my man, Coach John Brown, I begin ascending in weight to reach my 1 rep max. As I increased my weight, I was feeling worse and worse. I got to 385 and it was HARD, and I was seeing stars when I dropped it. My attempt at 400lb was anti-climatic to say the least. The most exciting part was my post attempt rant, of an intelligently constructed, string of curse words, at the top of my lungs, while scanning the area for something to break, kick, or throw.  “Muther f–ker, g-d damn, shit, f-ck, son of a bitch!!”. This is not unusual. That is why I love this place. I feel fairly certain that John and Von keep a tranquilizer gun in the office, because they know that I am capable of ramming my gargantous head through every inch of sheet rock in the place, and then moving on to the tenants next door, like a modern day fairy tale of an overgrown baby with a huge melon. I also, think that I heard John yell, “Omaha” to Katie, which I believe is a safe word to let her know that I have reached maximum pissed-off-ittude, and to command her to load the tranquilizer dart. BTW- Katie Brown is John’s wife. I love her dearly. She is my ideal woman. She is a friend, therapist, relationship advisor, day planner, life coach, and my biggest cheerleader. She is also the only woman I know, that I can, quite literally, call a mother f-cker as I storm out of the gym one day, and slap a high five, on the way back in the gym, the next day, no questions asked. She is a wonderful mother and a fantastic person. Also, she happens to be stronger than hell. Which.I.love.

The workout proceeding our 1 rep max was:

3 Rounds for Time

21 Deadlifts at body weight (250lbs)

15 Burpees

9 Box Jumps (Step ups)

I did terrible, felt terrible, no gas, no energy, had to lighten my weight, took forever, embarassed, worthless, fat, weak, disgusting, and wasting my time with all of this crap. You feel me? I bet you do.

I once read a quote by Ben Franklin, or Homer Simpson, actually I don’t know who said it, and I might have made it up, but it’s true. It is as follows:

“Oft times, the difference between miserable and wonderful is a good night’s sleep”

Truer words have never been spoke. ***SIDE NOTE– Actually, truer words have been spoke. You know the commercials where Sam Elliot exclaims, “BEEF…its whats for dinner”? That is TRUTH. END OF SIDE NOTE*** Anyways, this morning was a new day. Back in the gym for some gymnastics practice, where I walked nearly the entire distance of the gym on my hands. Unbelievable. I also had a friend of mine, Susan Stout pay me the most sincere compliment, and I decided to graciously accept it, BECAUSE I needed to hear it, AND Susan ain’t no bullsh*tter. She had not seen me in quite sometime and she told me that I appeared very fit, and much more slim. Today, I choose to accept that. The workout was “HELEN” which is:

3 rounds

400M run

21 KB Swings w 53lbs

12 Pullups

Big Boy was smokin! I have been doing everything that John and Von recommended and my 400’s were like ice, very choppy, slushing, jiggling ice, but ice, nonetheless. My calous ripped in the middle of the 2nd round of pullups and I had to do ring rows (Booo), but life could be worse. To be able to compete in that WoD at 250lbs is something I would have never deemed feasible.

Yesterday, was my entire identity, even that above being a father, a friend, a good son, a child of God, really contingent upon the 15lb difference in a deadlift? Did 385lbs make me a failure at EVERY aspect of my life, whereas 400lbs would have made me a complete being? When I walked into a room of people, were they going to see Wilson, the weak, fat, bastard, who cannot achieve his goals? The guy who will probably never do it anyway, so why pay him any attention?  The dude who is never gonna get laid again, because he is 15 deadlift pounds too small? At the time, I truly felt this way. I aint real smart, but if I heard you talk like that…I would slap the shit out of you, and that is not a saying. I WOULD SLAP THE SH*T OUT OF YOU! I don’t think that I would be able to see the ridiculousness of my thoughts, if not for this blog. Coach John and Coach Von, I love you both very much…and look forward to violently cursing both of you, while breaking your sh*t on my bad days, and giving you bear hugs on my good ones.

Peace, Love, and All things Beef related.

Wilson Horrell

My Brain Ain’t Worth A Shit

Alright, I am officially the Beefcake Blogger. I think there is something to this blogging thing. When Von suggest it, I thought that it sounded like a pain in the ass (because I am incredibly lazy). However, the last two days of training, I have felt more accomplished than ever before. I am a drama queen, so I only have extreme moods. Either my training sucks, is a waste of time, and I’m not going to amount to anything….which was yesterday when I was timing my 4X400’s with a 3:30 break. OR I am Fat Carl Fucking Lewis, the rising star, the next ultra competitor….which was today, as I was performing my 6X200’s with a 2minute break.

Having recently become a World Class Blogger, I spent a lot of time reflecting on my workouts, as well as how I perceive them. What I concluded was, that I don’t perceive worth a shit. I concluded that I am neither of the extremes. I concluded that I am a guy who is trying to be a little better everyday, and that is the long-short of it. Each day, little better. I needed the time spent pondering on this blog to achieve a more accurate perception of what I am doing.  I will never forget finishing my first “real” 5K (my first ever was about 6 months out of rehab…44minutes) and being frustrated at myself for not finishing in under 30 minutes (32:30). I was pissed, as usual. Von asked me, “how do you think you did compared to the other 250lb guys?”. I responded, “I didn’t see any other 250lb guys”. His retort, “Exactly…they are still on the couch, where it is comfortable.”

Perspective is one helluva thing. This first blog post helped me to achieve it, but not before I pulled muscles trying to pat myself on the back, shortly after blacking eyes by beating myself up. I need this blog, I need Coaches, and I need teammates….cause at the end of the day my brain ain’t worth a shit.

Peace, Love, and all things Beef related

THE (ALMOST) DAILY PONTIFICATIONS OF SOME FAT DUDE NAMED BEEF.