I have a feeling I'm going to enjoy reading your journal, especially after the epic awesomeness that is the "Dude, I stink" thread.
Dear diary,
Instead of spamming other folks' threads with my nonsensical quips I'm going to post my shit here (can I say "shit"? I mean this IS my blog-journal-thingy, so ... yeah... I'm going to say "shit". Shit shit shit shit).
Is there a point to this blog/journal/thingy?
Yes. I am awesome. Also I like to hear myself talk...er .. write. I like to hear myself write.
Do I have a goal?
Besides world domination which will never happen because I hate large crowds, not really. I'm the face of my company, so "being the best me I can be is all I need" (feel free to use that slogan in your daily life. Tattooing it onto yourself is highly encouraged.)
Who AM I?
I'm Nic McCool. Father of one. Husband of... one.
Why am I HERE?
You mean MDA? Or, like, the whole "meaning of life" question? Both have the same answer, I guess. Where else would I be?
What will this blog/journal/thingy encapsulate?
I don't think you used the word "encapsulate" correctly, Nic. I don't know, dude. I'll post workouts I guess. Or observations. Or lists of my favorite foods: 1.) Meat. 2.) Leftovers of 1.
Will anyone read this?
I will, and I'm someone, dude.
Anything else to add?
I once bit the neck off a bottle of beer by accident. BY ACCIDENT is the key part. Who accidentally BITES the neck of a glass bottle?! The remaining 30 minutes of church were very awkward that day.
I have a feeling I'm going to enjoy reading your journal, especially after the epic awesomeness that is the "Dude, I stink" thread.
Dear Diary,
An alarmingly large number of strangers have been winking at me today. Mrs. McCool says it's because I'm wearing a blue shirt that makes my "eyes pop". I'm more certain it's this 8 month old little dude strapped to my chest.
Which brings me to the main reason I had a kid (well, the second reason. I mean conceiving the kid was a good bit of fun):
Children make great weights.
I tend to train a lot with weighted vests, primarily for strongman lifts, but it wasn't until Hawk (the aforementioned baby McCool) was born that I realized kids have multiple uses. Not only do I have an excuse to eat free at Kids Eat Free restaurants, but now I have my own portable 20lb weight. That smiles and pukes, like, all the time.
You know the story of Milo the Croton right? Legends say the dude carried his own bronze statue to its place at Olympia, and once carried a four-year-old bull on his shoulders before slaughtering, roasting, and devouring it in one day. He was said to have achieved the feat of lifting the bull by starting in childhood, lifting and carrying a newborn calf and repeating the feat daily as it grew to maturity.
Same goes for children. Once Hawk gets to be 200+lbs (if he takes after me this'll be in the third grade), I'll be the next Milo.
Also, tax breaks are a plus.
Today's workout:
AM
3 mile walk with Hawk (baby McCool) strapped to my chest.
PM
Atlas stone work
zercher squats
rope curls
weighted dips
horizontal cable curl/extension
grip work
I've got of one them journal thingies. One Night At McCool's
I've got of one them journal thingies. One Night At McCool's
Shit (cuz it seems OK to say).
People too weak to follow their own dreams will always try to discourage others.
Had a client today hellbent on losing 15 more pounds so she can get to her ideal bodyfat percentage. She looks amazing right now and the only weight left for her to lose is what makes her so beautiful.
Ladies,
If you don't embrace your curves I will.
I've got of one them journal thingies. One Night At McCool's
Glad you're starting a journal. Really enjoy your posts!
“There is immeasurably more left inside than what comes out in words…”
— Fyodor Dostoevsky
Um, McCool, I go to a liberal church, but even there I haven't yet lived to see a bottle of beer DURING church, off of which I could bite the neck... would you perhaps elaborate??
The closest I can come to a glass-biting situation is this: when I was a kid, my parents kept the four wineglasses they owned on the top shelf of a kitchen cabinet. Being little, and wanting to pour my orange juice into a fancy wine glass (don't remember why), I needed all four limbs to get up there and back down. So, up I climbed, held the rim of the glass between the teeth, and proceeded to climb down again. Pressed too hard with the choppers and ended up breaking the glass side off into the mouth. Mom wasn't pleased, but glad I needed no stitches in the puss, even though I bled a bit.