You Can't Rush the Harvest

Sorry to bust your bubble, but you can't add 40 kilos to your squat overnight.  It takes time and a lot of small incremental gains to reach a twice bodyweight squat.

When training, several people have approached me and asked the same question, "How did you get strong?"  Now, I would argue that I'm not anything special, although I have squatted double bodyweight for multiple sets of five AFTER an hour of snatches and cleans, but this is child's play compared to the numbers of some other big-time weightlifters.  Nonetheless, my response is always the same, "Patience and stubbornness."

If I were to address the biggest problem that I see holding back these people's strength numbers, it would be their unnecessarily complicated "Secret Squirrel Super Hybrid" training program, as John Welbourn calls it.  These programs often fail to produce results, because they are unable to balance training frequency, intensity and volume.  Quite simply, if someone does not have at least a year of consistent training with linear progression, they are leaving a lot of strength on the table, particularly in the squat.  This is a huge no-no for weightlifting, as all the other lifts – the classic lifts as well as their respective power variations – are derived, at least to some degree, from the squat.  For this reason, I call the squat an individual's "denominator strength," and I have never come across anyone who is too strong.

A basic linear progression in the squat would look very similar to Mark Rippetoe's Starting Strength template, i.e. working up to three sets of five across on three non-consecutive days each week, with two kilo adds between training sessions.  If a person is squatting as part of a larger Olympic weightlifting program, the squatting would occur after any prescribed snatch or clean work.  In my opinion, a beginner should snatch, clean and squat every workout, even if the reps are performed with only an empty barbell or pvc pipe.  Consistency is integral for developing fast and efficient pull lines, end of discussion.

Eventually, every individual will need to reduce their inter-workout jumps to only one kilo, but this is not a big deal.  Successfully adding one kilo every workout for a standard six-week training block (18 training sessions total) would still produce an 18-kilo gain, that's roughly 36 pounds for my American powerlifting friends.

Linear progression is not ideal for the snatch and clean and jerk due to the technical components of these particular lifts, but I would still argue that taking it slow is the most efficient way to skin the cat over the long run.  Donny Shankle recommends never repeating a PR in training, but instead always going for one kilo more.  I've adhered to this philosophy for quite some time now, and I think it's excellent advice.  PRs build confidence, and confidence builds PR. thus this approach is a self-fulfilling prophecy. 

Three sets of five across, three days per week, for at least one year, preferably two.  When a person starts missing reps, they should not get frustrated and scrap the program.  Everyone is human, and everyone runs out of recovery capacity at some point.  Glenn Pendlay recommends dropping 7-8 percent, sometimes more, off the heaviest sets, and then working back up towards that previous PR.  Hopefully, in six weeks or so, that individual is challenging his previous best. Just keep rinsing and repeating this process. It isn't terribly interesting. It isn't terribly sexy. But it does make you strong, and that is the goal of many.

Stay patience, stay the course, and fight like a wounded grizzly bear for those one- and two-kilo adds.

Paleo Diet Nitty Gritty Details Revisited

 

Barbell Shrugged is a really cool podcast.  I strongly recommend people check them out.

In my first post on nutrition, Paleo Diet Nitty Gritty Details, I discussed several of the nuances associated with the Paleolithic Diet, including cost concerns and complications brought on by travel obligations.  This piece continues that discussion with an examination of how a Paleo Diet follower can effectively coexist with a non-Paleo spouse, partner, fiance, or boyfriend/girlfriend.  Admittedly, that sentence is ridiculous, but any major life change can cause significant relationship friction.  Moreover, this is a subject with which I have significant experience, having lived with my non-Paleo wife now for over four years.

First and foremost, don't judge your significant other.  I learned this lesson the hard way earlier on, but it nonetheless stands to be repeated.  Most people don't like to be told what they are doing is wrong, and their resentment towards your "judgy judgy" behavior, as my wife calls it, will only torpedo the rest of your argument, regardless of how well it is formulated.

Second, don't try to convert your significant other.  Results always speak louder than words, so focus on the meals you can control, and let any body composition or performance changes speak for themselves.  For most people, breakfast and lunch are solo acts, with some exceptions. Between these two meals, if you consistently consuming a plentiful amount of high-quality protein and fiber-rich fresh veggies, you are off to a great start.

Dining with your significant other, or your kids (sorry, no experience from this angle just yet, folks), can be a bit tricky, but here are a couple of things you can do.  For starters, be the “first actor” when it comes to grocery shopping.  If it's not in the house, it's all the more difficult to eat. Additionally, on the relationship side, my wife always appreciates it when I take on certain household responsibilities that were once "delegated" to women.  I'm not about to walk through that minefield, but guys need to pitch in as participating partners.  Nuff said.

Planning ahead will also serve you well on those nights when things simply aren't going your way, but you still need to fill up before a tough day of squatting and/or conditioning.  Trimmed meat (center cut pork chops, bone-in chicken breasts, steak, etc.) from the butcher will save you time on the preparation side of things, and certain veggies require little to no additional knife work (asparagus and baby carrots immediately come to mind).  I'm also a huge consumer of sweet potatoes so I tend to buy a dozen or so at one time, but the key here is looking for sizes that will easily cook through in the microwave (medium length, medium thickness, no homo).

Another way to ease into Paleo dinners is taking note of what specific meat or veggies your significant other enjoys.  My wife loves seared skirt steak – rare, of course – with broccolini on the side. I'll microwave a sweet potato as an additional side dish, and I'm off to the squat rack tomorrow morning with belly full of beef.

If you aren't buying into the Paleo diet hook, line and sinker (this is something I would actually recommend to most people), you can always make room for compromises at communal meals. Personally, I've been strict Paleo for so long that lots of foods now irritate my digestive track, including milk, which is unfortunate because it's a very easy and powerful tool for getting big and strong (I've experimented with the grass-fed stuff, but it still makes my face and back breakout. No thanks, I'm too old for zits).  But other people might have different results.  If you start experimenting with non-Paleo carb sources, such as white rice or gluten-free rolled oats, etc., I would strongly, strongly recommend trying new foods alongside fiber-rich veggies, as the fiber will blunt an immediate digestive problem. Grilled pork chops, broccoli and homemade mac and cheese make for a great summer meal (my wife's mac is one of the few foods I make an exception for simply because it's so damn good). Nonetheless, I still load up on the broccoli and keep my mac serving more conservative.

The Legs Feed the Wolf

Game Over.

My experience with competitive athletics stems primarily from my ten-plus years as a swimmer, during which time I competed at both the national and NCAA championship level.  This pursuit of ever faster times in the pool invariably shaped my personality, but it also taught me many excellent life lessons, one being the importance of bringing up weak points.

Prior to my arrival on campus, I had enjoyed two consecutive "breakout" seasons as a high school junior and senior, respectively; the first thrust me onto the State level in New Jersey (not a major power like California, Texas, or Ohio, but respectable nonetheless in the upper tier), while the second catapulted me onto high school's national stage.  I ended my senior year with automatic All-American times in both my primary events, the 200- and 500-yard freestyle.  Not wanting to rest on my laurels, I spent the summer after my senior year training with a top notch USA Swimming program.  There, my training volume doubled, almost tripled, from a modest 6,000 yards per workout to upwards of two 10,000 yard workouts each day (in fact, during "Hell Week" we swam at least 20,000 meters per day for ten consecutive days while at altitude in Colorado Springs).  All signs pointed to a third straight breakout season for me as a college freshmen.

Funny thing is, that third breakout season didn't materialize, as I expected.  Aside from a huge improvement in a relatively new event, the 200-yard backstroke, my freshmen year was by all accounts quite pedestrian.  I qualified for the NCAA championship early in the season, but I failed to put it all together when it counted the most.  At the championship meet, I took both of my freestyle events out fast, in keeping with my past racing style, but each time the field passed me midway through the second half.  Swimming as the unofficial "rabbit," I failed to advance out of the preliminary heats.  Not accustomed to laying eggs on the biggest stage, I was befuddled, frustrated and later angry.  At that same championship meet most of my other training partners also performed below expectations, all but one. Jonny, a junior and one of my best friends on the team, swam great, achieving All-American times in all three of his individual events.

In a later conversation with Jonny, I vented my feelings over my sub-par performances.  I'll never forget his response: "Dick, you need to learn how to kick. Your kick sucks."  You gotta respect brutal honesty.  None of my other coaches had described my weakness in such blunt terms.  A few days later, I was ready to leave the pool after another average when Jonny said the words that would change my swimming career at the collegiate level, "Dick, go get a kickboard."

The kickboard looks humble enough, it's a simple foam flotation device that swimmers can use to immobilize their arms while relying solely on their legs for forward propulsion.  Most swimmers hold it with their hands atop the foam, their arms fully extended, and the bottom of the board resting against their chest.  While it may have been a device originally crafted for old ladies, I can assure you that it's a gnarly, yet indispensable, piece of training gear.

"I don't care how slow you go," Jonny said as we began, "but you can't stop kicking for twenty minutes."  True to his words, after a 100 yards or so, I was indeed moving quite slowly.  Meanwhile, Jonny, by far the fastest kicker on our college team, was buzzing back and forth.  In fact, now that I think about it, he may have lapped me twice that first day.  Afterwards, we loosened up with some easy swimming.  We left the pool that day long after our teammates had already departed for the dining hall.

We repeated this mini kicking workout at the end of every other practice, usually three to four times per week, never using more than just the kickboard.  Back and forth, back and forth. Away from the pool, Jonny showed me how to subtly stretch my ankles while sitting in class.  I was very diligent about doing this whenever possible.  Slowly, yet surely, I started to keep it closer with Jonny, and after a few months I was unquestionably faster.  Prior to swimming the 200-yard freestyle in an otherwise meaningless dual meet that fall, Jonny pulled me aside and said, "Dick, swim as easy as you can for the first 100 yards while staying within striking distance of the field, then, at the halfway point, go to your legs."  Respecting his opinion now more than ever, I did exactly that -- swam even with the field for 100 yards, then went to my legs, switching from the distance swimmer’s two-beat kick to the sprinter’s six-beat kick.  After 75 yards, there was significant daylight between myself and the rest of the field.  The rabbit had now become the wolf.

Over the next few months, Jonny and I continued to kick together after practice for longer and longer sessions, sometimes we ended up staying an extra forty minutes (racing the last 25-50 yards, of course).  But I didn't complain, because I was slowly learning how to use my new weapon when racing in practice.  The confidence of knowing that I owned the second half of races was probably an even more powerful psychological weapon for me.  About three weeks before the NCAA championship meet, Jonny took his old ratty kickboard and flung it towards the cabinet where we all stored our training gear.  "No more kicking, Dick, the hay is in the barn."  (Farm kids and their folksy sayings . . . ).  I continued to stick to Jonny like glue for the next three weeks, attempting to absorb everything he said about tapering, warming up, resting, and racing.  Surprise, surprise, a few weeks later at the NCAA championship meet, I swam lifetime bests in all three of my individual events, and earned several All-American honors.

Over that offseason, I continued the kicking regiment Jonny had taught me, pushing myself to hold faster and faster paces.  Even without a terribly high volume of aerobic work, I knew I was getting much, much faster, especially in the sprints.  Why?  Because I was now single-mindedly focused on bringing up my biggest weakness.  Over the next season, I did nothing to change the kicking ritual.  Fast forward to the NCAA championship meet that March, and I swam three more lifetime bests, times that put me on the map at the collegiate level.  People even came to fear me in the back half of races solely because of my closing speed.  It even got to the point where I started to use my kick as a psychological weapon of mass destruction, "Start looking over your shoulders at 75-yard mark," I would joke with our team’s best sprinters, "because if you look for me at the 100-yard mark you might get whiplash." 

The point of this long, drawn-out story is that all athletes must be honest with themselves when assessing their own performances, and they must come to recognize their own weaknesses.  At this point, sufficient time must be dedicated to turning these weaknesses into strengths.  In the world of competitive powerlifting, Louie Simmons of Westside Barbell preaches a similar philosophy: performance assessment – weakness recognition – tailored training programs.  I never could have made the same improvements without Jonny's help, and I always attribute a large degree of my collegiate success to his tutoring.  I tried in vain to pass on these same lessons to my younger teammates, but sadly only one ever listened (for reference, he, too went on to earn multiple NCAA All-American honors).

Be humble enough to admit that you suck at something, then be strong enough to do something about it.  People don’t often like working on their weaknesses, but this must be done in order to continue progressing.