Three Strikes: Week 1

So, I'm a week into this self-designed workout programme. 

I've upped my pec deck record by two notches, and gone two plates up on cable crunch using the rope handle. Cable crunch can take it out on your hands and wrists at the same time as working your stomach, meaning you burn out before you put your abs under serious pressure. The upside is that your grip strength starts to improve along with abdominals.

I've hit three strikes on the abs machine, so that's the fist machine to go from the routine. As I'm so massively obsessed with abs, I think I'm going to do more sit-ups and medicine ball work to compensate.

I've also hit three strikes on cross training in reverse, the first cardio workout I cut from the routine.

There's a number of things I can do to stop from gassing out on these machines. Getting earlier nights for more sleep is one. Eating less sugar is another. Eating more protein is an obvious one. Before I moved out I was eating LOADS of meat, and I was getting ridiculously strong. Time to regiment my diet a little. So there's a plan for the next week.

And what achievements have I made away from the gym?

I've been volunteering at a sound recording studio recently- a centre for developing musical creativity in young people. I have written and recorded a voiceover for a promotional video advertising the studio's recent achievements. I'm pretty proud of it in all fairness! Expect a detailed blog post very soon.

I've got somewhere with Christmas shopping, and even found something that both me and my mum found interesting- the new Bond film.

Skyfall gets the thumbs up. The franchise is starting to edge back to serious espionage rather than the ridiculous action fiascos of the naughties, fronted by Pierce Brosnan.

There was a bit of a discrepancy in that Bond seemed to recognise the Aston Martin- presumably the exact vehicle used in 1964's Goldfinger. Wouldn't this mean Bond was about 85 years old? It kind of ruins the suspension of disbelief. But what a Goddamn awesome car. I think, like myself, the majority of men in the audience shared Bond's volcano-level feeling of fury when the bad guys blow the car to smithereens.

As Lance (Eric Stolz) says in Pulp Fiction, “It's chicken shit. You don't fuck with another man's vehicle.”

Oh, and I did NOT recognise Albert Finney with a beard.