Superset 5 Sets
-Box Jumps 15 reps

– Russian Twist 30 reps



Full Squat (a$$ to grass): (45×12) (95×10) (115×9) (115×9) (115×9)

Sumo Squat (holding dumbbell): (25×15) (40×15) (45×15) (50×15) (50×15)

3 Squat Progression (close, normal, wide stance): 3s8r each @35lbs

Superset 4 sets
Walking Lunges 4s25lb plates

1 Leg Lunge Pulse 4s5r each 25lb plates


RDL (95×12) (115×12) (135×9) (135×8) (135×9)

Overhead Squat 4s8r @30lbs

Laying Leg Curl (70×12) (80×9) (80×9)







Noise Complaints

It is 11:49 pm and I am up washing dishes. Again.
In the last few weeks I have noticed a pattern of ;late-night productivity. At right about 11 I start folding, washing, and organizing enthusiastically. Last week I reorganized my mothers dresser and color coordinated my closet. Last night I cleaned my bathroom and washed, folded, and put away two loads of laundry. It seems like almost every night nowadays I am doing the dishes…That is if there are any to do.
As I clanged away at the silverware in my sink this evening, I suddenly heard my mother’s voice telling me not to wash dishes late at night. “It’s disrespectful to the people who are trying to sleep and actually have to get up in the morning”. My alarm is set for 7 hours and 58 minutes from now. I could have been asleep an hour ago and probably should be now. 

Too bad I’d rather wash dishes.
The mere fact that I cannot seem to keep myself from washing fascinates me. I patiently wait until my mother leaves for work, and then slowly but surely accelerate into an organizational frenzy until hours later I hear the slow steps up the stairwell and I hop into bed and bury my face into a book before she even opens the metal screen door. During the day I vegetate. It takes me hours to wake up,  crawl out of bed, and make it to the gym. Somehow I manage to fit feeding myself and bathing in there. I am sure, however, that my laziness and sheer lack of efficiency is either a product of or fueled by my late night productivity. Not sure which one yet. 
So here I am meal prepping while all of rational America sleeps (another common pastime of mine). It really breaks my heart because meal prepping would have the potential to be a laborious, complicated, and time consuming activity, but my restrictive competition prep diet limits me to baking chicken breasts, bagging up spinach into individual servings and cooking brown rice.
I prepare everything for the following morning. I have great intentions with my meal prepping, but my incessant need to multi-task often results in me burning and overcooking large quantities of food. I can see it now: Girl burns down house while meal prepping in a manic fit.
A handful of my nightly tasks include:
Packing my lunch and snacks for work
making my breakfast
rationing out my supplements for the next day
Writing out tomorrows workout
laying out my clothes for my morning cardio
grinding my coffee beans, measuring out the water and putting them in my coffee maker
brewing 2 pints of green tea 
getting my work clothes ready
writing a to do list for the following day
setting my various alarms
……………you get the idea. 
So what I am trying to convey  with this repetitive and uninteresting list is that my mind is a prison.
The day is manageable. There is light and noise and warmth and distraction. Perhaps I am just hungover from the sleep meds I take every night so that I am no longer burdened with being awake. (Though I would think 9+ ours of continuous sleep would be enough to get them out of my system).Still, the day is manageable. It is dreadful, and nagging, and far too long– but it is easy.
The night is a bear. I dread and long to escape from my solitude, but I am unable because I am made more alert and conscious by it. I have resulted to distracting myself with mindless menial tasks that I know I hate. I abhor washing dishes. So the fact that I continuously find myself with a soaked tummy, elbow deep in lukewarm grey dish water every night at 11 pm is fucking frightening. 

Bodybuilding…..or nah?

So I haven’t really gotten to the bodybuilding part… yes I know. It is just that the only times I feel particularly motivated to sit down and write is when I am experiencing mental and emotional turmoil and need to word vomit my feelings(or risk going insane). Often reading my own writing heps me better understand and process my feelings. 

ANYWAY, I am going to post my workouts daily here. It will be a funny little dynamic. Rigid workouts posted amidst self-important brooding rants. Adorable. (that was sarcasm)

Living in the Now

Let’s talk about the end of my Spirit Animal post. 

All of it real.

All of it true.

I still want to slap the shit out of the Kai that wrote that.

Because today isn’t that easy. See, I am trapped in the now, and it is a prison. 


Spirit Animals

I asked one of my closest friends what my greatest flaw is, and she said it is my lack of perspective.  As far as flaws go, I don’t think that one is too bad, and I’d love to claim it but I simply don’t agree.  I’m curious what vantage point she’s looking down from because compared to the tunnel vision of most of those around me, I think I see just fine.

I spent months trying to figure out what my spirit animal was. I was pretty situated on it being mouse until my friend told me that your spirit animal is a symbolic representation of your greatest flaw. That’s how all this perspective business first came up. Up until that point I had been operating under the assumption that your spirit animal is one one that bears likeness to you. I never really agreed with her, but the corresponding animal she suggested was a hammerhead  shark. So basically once I got her blessing to start calling myself a bad ass shark I just went with it. Shark over mouse any day.

I see certain people in my life so simultaneously preoccupied with all of life’s problems they they never take take time take time to sort them out individually. I on the other hand find myself so absorbed in the now that becomes difficult to be anything but content. I don’t claim to be in a never ending state of happy, but I tend not to experience very extreme emptions. Most of the worries in my life have come from anticipation and regret. Nervousness. Nervousness and frustration. All about what needs to, didn’t, can’t,  shouldn’t, and won’t happen. The way I see it: unless a moment is filled with physical pain, the moment itself isnt causing me pain. The emotional pain comes in living in everything but the exact second of now. In fact, now is often the only safe place to be. I just live in right now, which weirdly enough is actually easier. It’s not that I lack perspective,  I’m just closing my eyes.

Little things

Ever since I got sober, my life has become a never ending series of rituals. It’s pretty funny considering that I have always been known as spontaneous. Dangerously impulsive.

Growing up I used to watch my dad and his patterns. Waking at exactly 6:32 with no second alarm.  He always got up the first time. He woke up my brother and me at 6:38 and was in and out of the shower by 7:10. Breakfast was ready by 7:30, and by 7:37 he walked out the door. No earlier, no later. His obsession with time was baffling to me. Why the rush?
When I would forget my lunch or not make it out until 7:40, I knew the cold stare that was waiting for me when i opened the car door. I’ll never forget that look. I knew the rules, I knew the schedule. Somehow, by wasting those three precious minutes, I had betrayed him. How dare I come between him and his rituals?

It wasn’t until years later i learned he is an alcoholic too, and now I wish I had been only a bit more tolerant.

On an artsy whim, my dad bought three identical clocks and hung them on his bedroom wall, one above the other. I figured he would set one with the local time, and set the other two with times from different cities. You know, one for Tokyo, one for London, and one normal.  Nope, not my dad. He set them all to the same time. I watched him go nuts as time passed and inevitably one of the clocks would fall slightly out of sync. Tick half a second too soon. Weeks passed before he took the batteries out.

You can see now why I saw him as trapped; bound by the minutes of the day.

When you are powerless to an intimate object, you start to wonder, what can you really control? Your whole life becomes about proving that you have power over things. People. Or in my dad’s case, time.

So now that I find solace in my routines,  I finally know what it is all about.

Every day I stand under the shower head while sipping a glass of hot lemon water. Soaked and steaming, I hop out and pour one pill from four different bottles into the palm of my hand. I sit on the toilet and stare at them, before throwing them into the back of my throat and washing them down with the last two sips from my black mug.

It is in the smallest of actions that we find therapy.

It’s about time.

Hey. My name is Kai, and I am an alcoholic. I am also a bodybuilder. Now- before anyone panics, I am “in recovery” (for the normies out there- thats the fancy way of saying “I’m sober”). I just imagined all of the fitness fanatics reading that and immediately questioning the validity of my label of bodybuilder. Everyone knows how absolutely impossible it would be to train for a competition while accommodating the calorie count of alcohol.

Is alcoholism something I should keep private? Sure. Probably. It definitely isn’t something I tell guys on first dates. In fact I really try to steer clear of the whole addiction conversation altogether. And trust me, when you are as self conscious of a topic as I am of it, you can tell from miles away when there is a chance of it surfacing.
But my close friends know, and my family of course. I guess with time anyone close to me would have to find out. Still, why broadcast it right? I know. I am still a little unsure about it myself. It sucks because once you label yourself as an aloholic, suddenly people just see you in a different light. You don’t get the benefit of the doubt. It is a dirty label. And I hate that.
However, I am convinced that “outing myself” is worth it. There is an important story being written in every gym across the country that for WHATEVER reason, isn’t being told. Everyone knows those people in the gym- the ones who you see training relentlessly. The ones who always seem to be there no matter what day or time you come. The person with their head down, hands on their knees gasping for air, or grimacing as they push out their last rep. If you had to guess, they might be an aspiring fitness model. Or perhaps a mom determined to work off that baby weight. Who knows, it could be a girl trying to get toned before spring break, or a college athlete… you don’t know their reasons.The reasons are countless.
Or maybe, just maybe that person is like me. Trying to cure their illness with iron. Searching for something, or just trying to use the pain and exhaustion as a means of escape. Maybe they are a prisoner to the gym, maybe it is their only release. Maybe they haven’t given up on chasing the high. Maybe they cant.
This blog is for those people.