The 1000 Squats

    Most of you are familiar with the average contingent of gym-goers. You have undoubtedly heard or seen, at least once, that individual who is always 'sharing' how intense his last workout was, or what he will do to the barbells if it had not been for this or that injury. Hell, on several occasions I have been that same guy, pumped up and psyched about results, which at that point I considered worth bragging about. We all have our moments.

    Nevertheless, you might have also encountered a second, more rare, and in my personal observations, nearly extinct breed of enthusiast - the quiet one. These are the people who come in, greet you with a smile, grab a key and head for the locker room to begin their workout, without any excess fuss. They keep to themselves, doing their thing, blending with the equipment to such a degree, that sometimes it's like they are not in the gym at all. Until one day you spot the person in question Military pressing his bodyweight for reps, or doing one-arm pull-ups with a 20 kg plate hanging from a chain, wrapped around his waist, all with strict from! They never told you, or anyone else for that matter, that they were planning to get in there and humiliate the weights. You probably don't even remember seeing them training for that particular exercise. They drive the point home without uttering a sound, better than I ever could, even with a hundred words.

     So far, I might have created the impression that this is a blog solely dedicated to my personal achievements. Although the majority of posts may be focused directly on me, that does not exclude the option of giving credit to other protagonists, every now and then, when credit is due. If you, dear reader, are looking forward to another self-centered article about me and my diaper shorts, then I suggest you close the tab right now, for there will be nothing up ahead for you. We'll be looking in to an average evening at the gym, which in the course of just a few hours, was transformed into one of the most memorable events I have had the honour to observe in person.

     Like all stories worth telling, this one begins with what is commonly known as 'the catch'. 'The catch' could be anything from an abstract idea, to a physical, living, breathing human being.  In our present case it is a combination of the two. Alexander Kolev, a 16 year old weight-lifter, who strolled into the gym, climbed up on to one of the bar stools, released a drawn-out sigh and told me he's about to attempt one thousand barbell squats!

     Here is a short background for those of you who are not familiar with Alex. His age aside, the boy is the epitome of an athlete who lifts $hi7 up and puts them back down. He has been moving weights ever since he was fourteen, and I'm not talking about the mundane chest and bis on Mondays! Ass to the grass squats, power cleans, cleans and presses... you name it, he's on it, and with poundage to bend the bar at that. Was he on gear at any given time throughout his career? I will put it this way: He is breathing chalk, day-in and day-out, rather than getting permanently wasted like, sadly, the majority of most other teens . You can get a clear view of his quads even when looking at him from behind, and he basically has more resemblance to a mountain range than a homosapien. He has had several injuries, the most recent of which earned him a trip to the ER, followed by a spinal disc herniation diagnosis. To this day Alex is still training and competing in events throughout the country and abroad. Are there illegal substances involved? Let the more authoritative bodies, and Internet bashers, pass judgement on this one. I am here to salute and honour, both the mental and the physical strength of a bright young talent.

     Once all small talk was over, and it became clear that Alex was really going to go through with the 1000 squats, we knew we were going to be the ones closing the gym that night. The first thing that needed to be done was to devise a somewhat precise plan of action. I grabbed a sheet from my (t)rusty journal and we used that to record the repetitions and weights for each set - simple yet effective.

     Although one can never be called 'prepared', in the true sense of the word, for a thousand squats in one evening, a good warm-up was a must. After the initial lightweight sets, Alex agreed to do straight 10s' starting off at 160 kg and dropping plates as soon as he failed to maintain good form on those 10 repetitions.

    The first 300 went down in a blink. Our boy would go in the cage, get under the bar, tear it off the hooks and squat, without giving it much thought. He ticked off each set on the piece of paper, occasionally sipping some water, or stopping for a breather, whenever he felt like he needed to cool down a bit.
    
     If I had to place some sort of a fictional divide to the challenge, it would definitely go right in the middle, at the 50th set! Alex had finished 490 squats so far, gradually reducing the weight down from the starting 160 kg to 80. The reps were beginning to show on his face, as well as in the form of a small puddle of sweat on the counter he used for resting inbetween sets. Just under three hours into the gig, and with 500 squats left to go, doubt was beginning to creep in on us both. I remember Alex telling me that his quads were starting to feel like liquid jelly, but a quick pep-talk of how this madness was halfway over took care of morale, at least for the time being. I figured he would either continue to drop plates, until there was nothing left but the bar, or he would eventually bail and put an end to the endeavour...

     Of course, every good story also needs a 'turn', or a 'twist' - an unexpected change, which leaves the mind open and hungry for the grand finale.  I was wrong to think our boy would not make it all the way through, though Alex's own resolve was wavering from set to set . Аnd that is when it happened! At No: 50 Alex just switched off. He stopped reducing the weight, ceased all chit-chat, and went on like some unstoppable force of determination. Looking at him from behind the bar, I had the feeling he could keep at it all night. His pacing was brilliant! He knew exactly when to rush himself, and when to lay back and allow for a few more extra seconds of recovery, in order to get the next set done right. With a couple of hours on the clock before standard closing time, and no new faces coming in, the gym was growing ever quieter.


     22:30h - 90 minutes past closing time. Alex was busting out the last remaining sets while I paced around the cage, anticipating every upcoming rep. The closer we got to the endgame, the more we were overcome with a swelling sense of pride.

     Set No: 100.
8-9-10 and it was done. Just like that. Alex's ludicrous challenge was over. He didn't cheer, or laugh, or show any outward indication, whatsoever, that he had just completed something most people on the planet would never undertake in their lifetime, let alone finish and come out victorious. He simply slumped down next to the cage with a groan, leaning on it like a fallen tree, hand raised high, and smiled at me from across the gym. I didn't feel like cheering either, lest is spoiled that tranquill moment where sweat, pain, humility and the residue of fading strength co-existed in equilibrium.

       Being a part of something as unique as what Alex did that night does indeed tend to stir your sub-conscience. I vowed to him, then and there,  that his effort would be remembered and that an article will one day be written and released to solidify his achievement.
 
      Although procrastination has ruled over motivation these past few months, there is one thing I've  learned from Alex and his approach: sometimes you have to face life's obstacles head on, and sometimes you just have to take your time and do it right. (mm)

Project I.G.I. Part 2

     In part one of this article about Ignat, Gerry and I, a.k.a. Project I.G.I., we covered the in-door session at ' Power and Motion'. This second post, regarding subsequent events of that day, will delve deeper into our adventure and take you on a virtual walkabout to a most peculiar of places...

     We stood staring at those taunting ruins across the river, my tremulous hands resting on the windowsill, both my friends already smiling, knowingly,  at either side.  We agreed that the task was only halfway done, and that  there was more to be squeezed out of the situation. I braced myself, grabbed my lady's hand and jumped in the back seat of Ignat's car. The initial idea was to stop by our town's version of Subway and resupply for the trip to come. Aspirations of rewarding ourselves, for the good job done so far, evaporated quicker than a 2lbs bucket of protein powder on a kitchen counter. We arrived at the fast-food joint only to find it locked down for the weekend. Having admitted defeat, with growling stomachs and nothing but a bottle of water in the car, we set off towards the originally intended destination.

     Driving up to the restaurant proved no biggie. Traffic was non-existent and Ignat's cruising made for a smooth ride. Hands down, we were at the spot. That's when the seriousness of the matter dawned on us. Apparently the roof of the structure had collapsed due to heavy rain those past couple of weeks.

 
     The entrances to the building were wrapped with police line from top to bottom, sealing them off to the general public. According to local newspapers, a partial collapse of the interior had claimed the lives of two people in recent years. The way we saw it, there were two possible outcomes: turn tail and bail or go Bedrock style! Needless to say, option No:1 was immediately discarded. We were determined to see the shoot through, come what may. Keeping our surroundings in mind, and cautiously examining the scene, we made our way to whatever was left of the restaurant's once grand balcony.

     Once on the top floor, safe and sound, we took our time, enjoying the peaceful view of the world below. Our world. People often refer to it as 'City of the Tsars'. There is no need here for gleaming epithets or lengthy descriptions, only a yearning hope that you, reader, would be able to one day find yourself in our footsteps and witness first hand the primal beauty of 'The Old Capital'.

     The moment for romantic contemplation winked out faster than we would've liked,  as we were reminded, by an increasingly loud rumbling in our intestines, that there was still work to be done. The lens was off and within minutes Ignat already had a fair number of shots to show us. Having to thread lightly, lest we find ourselves two stories down the quick way, and steering clear of the enormous cave in at the centre of the balcony, made for thrilling shoot.

      Naturally, after being confronted by a worthy challenge, in the face of such unstable terrain, and retaining all of our limbs by the end of the session, we would have packed our gear and called it a day...
      But!
      One question kept us on that balcony. A nagging uncertainty that just wouldn't go away.
      What if this was it? What if this was our final shot, the last we would see of this place? For all we knew, next time around the entire structure could be gone. The walls that have stood for years, perched on top of the hill, looming over Veliko Tarnovo, and the memories they held within, reduced down to nothing more but a pile of rubble.
     With two whole floors to explore beneath our feet, each one with its own set of risks and potential, we decided to go for broke.
     The end result?Well now... as a good friend of mine would say:
    
     '... a tale I choose to be relived and retold,
       a tale of friendship, adventure and gold.' (mm)
               

 

Project I.G.I. Part 1

Following the events at P&M with Michael that midsummer evening  I was presented with a most interesting offer: to shoot a solo session at the gym with Ignat. A peculiar characteristic of my friend is his passion and will to act. Feed him something, an idea for example, sit back, grab some popcorn and observe how that idea morphs and snowballs into something epic. Having said yes to this bold venture and being in a relatively decent shape at the time I decided to go for it. 

We wanted to make it a classic indoor shoot - dumbbells, flexing, white towels and what not. We wanted it to happen at a time when the gym would be fairly unpopulated and we also aimed to catch some good natural lighting. Having the above in mind Ignat and I got together to discuss how each of us was going to approach this new endevor in detail.  

First thing we did was select a date. That was probably the easiest part of our planning.  Five minutes into the talks unexpected complications were aready starting to pile up. After doublechecking both our schedules we were left with but one option: to do the shoot at 6:00 in the morning. That of course meant no clubbing for Ignat and no late-night raiding in World of Warcraft for me the night before. There was also the problem of 'Power & Motion' opening at 9:00 AM. Having a key to the place certainly made the matter somewhat easier. No complaints were voiced from the (awsome) owners. ;) Thinking of a spot in the gym where the  lighting would best suit our purposes came naturally to Ignat. The planning was going so well we even allowed ourselves to choose a place to eat and recuperate when all was said and done.

Next stop was the individual preparation. Old lences had to be dug out and dusted, tripods assembled and light-reflectors packed. I myself was forced into a two week low-carb to no-carb regime with the occasional load,  accompannied by a couple of days of dehydration.  I believe having unergone similar preparation in the past was of great use. The reduction in both calories and water was much more gradual this time, straining my body far less than my previous reckless attempts.

There was, however, one minor detail both Ignat and I forgot to take into consideration: Gerry. Once my girl found out about our little adventure there was no leaving her behind. Despite everything she needed to finish that day she found the time to tag along and lend us her unwavering optimism and much needed support.
Thus Project I.G.I. was a go!

On the morning of the shoot Gerry and I met up with Ignat downtown, all three of us a bit anxious but just as qeually as excited about what the next few hours would bring. We had a cup of coffee each, taking our time, savoring the aroma in complete silence. I made a few minor adjustments to the musical playlist on the gym's computer while Gerry assisted Ignat in setting up his equipment. We were getting more and more psyched up as the caffeine and bass started to kick in. The stage was set.

I began by doing a short warm-up bodyweight  routine followed by some basic free-weight movements in order to get that blood flowing. Pull-ups have never been so tough, especially when you're feeling like a one ply sheet of slightly used toilet paper. With the sought-after pump now present and eyes bloodshot from Ignat's incessant flashes we were ready to move on to the actual posing.

It was amusing to watch Gerry stumble over dumbbells and climb onto various machines in an attempt to position one of the remote flashes. I haven't exactly realized how much my mouth was parched up until the point where I had to smile at our mutual bustling. Ignat on the other hand was a complete opposite. In his element he was on a roll, changing angles and distances as best he saw fit. A manifestation of enthusiasm, he was ducking under bars, crouching behind benches and leaning on walls, all the while giving useful advice about my posture.

We were making good time despite, or maybe because of the occasional burts of laughter provoked by my awkward diaper-looking shorts. The entire gig was over in under two hours. Early visitors had begun making their way to the gym, so we took that as our que to start packing. Once the qeuipment was back in the bags we each sipped on an iso-tonic, reviewing the shots and wondering if this was all the day had in store for us... 

Gazing out the window at the ruins of a broken-down  restaurant, my firends and I shared a thought, a spark easily seen in our eyes: We weren't done quite yet...

For an inside view of what's new at 'Power and Motion' Fitness go to: facebook.com/Fitness.Power.Motion

Chance and Opportunity

An old friend from school by the name of Michael, who I haven't seen in ages by the way,  despite the fact that we both live in the same town, came up with the brilliant idea of getting together for a snack one evening. How this seemingly casual night-time arrangement escalated to the picture below is definitely a tale worth telling.

I agreed to meet my buddy downtown at the Mother Bulgaria monument around 8PM. The residents of my home town Lom aren't known for their punctuality. I had a better chance of planting a tree and watching it grow than hoping Michael would be on time.  Naturally, I resorted to my headset and switched on the shuffle button. I was forced to spend an extra 30 minutes stranded on one of the cold sidewalks because the benches that still had planks on them were occupied by either people three times my age or by shady underage gypsies, smoking discarded fags and glancing suspiciously at my new Adidas pair.

As you could probably begin to guess the first familiar face to cross the monument grounds wasn't that of Michael. Instead, I was greeted by Igi, a fellow from the gym, who happened to be out on a stroll. By the time we were done with the formalities and small talk my school-mate finally arrived! Unperturbed and as always with a 24-carat smile he made his acquaintance with Igi and on the conversation went.

I was growing increasingly hungry by the minute, as were the eyes of the surrounding gypsies, and since our chat wasn't likely to reach its end any time soon something had to be done. After a few more minutes of rigorous debating we managed to convince Igi to join us for dinner at a nearby restaurant. He made a quick trip to his car, picked up his camera and we were well on our way to feed our muscle children.

Our first mistake was picking a joint which was in the vicinity of 'Power and Motion' called "Rich" - a peaceful little hole with a balcony overlooking the Yantra. Owned by a couple of pensioners, obsessed with German football, the restaurant was the ideal place for grabbing a hot tripe soup and a chicken steak. Our second mistake was to 'drop by for just a little while and check on the boys at the gym'. It turned out that EVERYONE had decided to hit a late night training session!

Upon entering we beheld the sight of half a dozen half-naked men, each one engulfed in his own sets. The mixture of  sweat, air freshener and testosterone was so thick, you could slam it in a blender, along with a dose of whey and treat yourself to some instant muscle gains!

Needless to say, it wasn't long before Igi and I were warming up with the rest of the crew, while Michael was hopelessly wondering on which end of Igi's camera to stand behind. In no time we were all psyched up, but in no case entirely ready for the out-of-the-blue cascade of blinding flashes that followed. Vlado's girl and Michael took turns in trying to sear our retinae right off, which wasn't even that bad, considering most of us had near-to-no idea how to act in front of a lens.Combining what scarcely little we knew about posing, equipment worth more than four times my monthly salary and a sheer amount of gut we pulled off some fairly decent shots.

At one point the 'photographers' got tired of following us around the gym, so we called it a wrap and made our way out into the night in one neat bundle of enthusiasm, bodily fluids and hunger.

By midnight we were finally enjoying our tripe soup and grilled chicken at "Rich", laughing at the absurdity of wearing jeans to a gym photo shoot. (I still wake up at night, silently screaming, wondering whether or not I should've picked up more appropriate clothing.) Igi took advantage of the mesmerising weather conditions as well as our vantage pont on the terrace and caught a few more shots of the vapor-surrounded monument down by the river. He even helped a family of tourists fix their own camera's settings. :)

All in all, RANDOM couldn't even begin to describe that evening. Nothing went according to plan! But then again... if I could go back in time, I wouldn't have it any other way. :) 

For more of Igi's work check out his page http://www.facebook.com/i.ignatov1

I against I

To me training with a partner is like eating with utensils: I do so when I have the chance, but missing a fork won't stop me from having breakfast.

This particular story took place on one of those rare evenings when all the usual suspects at P&M have already paid their dues earlier during the day. An hour before closing time I was left alone with the booming stereo and a leg workout on the schedule.

Knowing there won't be any late-night enthusiasts dropping by I arranged a decent playlist on my faithful Mp3 headset, sorted any remaining plates and dumbbells lying around the gym, locked the doors and proceeded to the squat rack.

I'm not planning on wasting your time with yet another list of exercises and rep/set ranges. Arnold forbid the Internet has plenty of those. Though detailed info is mandatory in certain cases, this post will have to do without such. Shaming confession incoming: Back then I wasn't keeping a solid log on my activities. >.<

What followed was a killer session which left my legs begging for a wheelchair. At the end I was so trashed that reracking the weights felt like wrestling small, oily 45 lbs boars in packs of two. When moving iron under the sound of Maynard Keenan's voice, at this time of night, you're no longer working out - you're fighting against whatever creepy s**t is lurking in the deep recesses of your mind!

I honestly don't know how much I squatted that night. Pounds and time were a blur. The workout wasn't about that at all. I blasted through the exercises, one after the other, enjoying the cool air drifting through the open windows and looking at the flashing city lights in-between sets.
 
A most emotionally recharging experience, I'll give it that. No wonder my colleague prefers to work out late in the evening. :) Don't get me wrong, I've done my fair share of night sessions back in my street days. Nonetheless, that night at the gym was a reminder of how rewarding - in more ways than one - such an unconventional workout could be.

Feet Away From a Deadly Descent

Since I've decided to do this self-tracking of progress properly I might as well start from the beginning.

The following session is what you may safely refer to as my birth; the first attempt at an amateur photo shoot. Everything up to this point was done with cheap digital cameras mostly in the form of selfies.

It was time to get serious!

I've been hanging around on jungle gyms and parallel bars with friends for a while now. I wanted to try something new, something more solid. Some of the boys convinced me to visit this new gym downtown.

In short: I was hooked.

The place with suspicious initials P&M along with its staff made an outstanding first impression. However, I was not ready to abandon the street-fitness stage just yet.

An old friend who has been sharpening her skills as a photographer with the help of a scary Nikon entertained the idea of capturing my current state of development as a final memento before I venture off into the unknown world of in-door fitness.

A date was set, we picked a spot out of a number of impressive locations and before you knew it there was no turning back.

Over the course of two weeks I've lowered my carb and water intake down to the point where I was on the verge of jumping head-first into puddles just to take a sip. Looking back on that it probably did more harm than good.

On the day of the shoot (18.05.12) we were blessed with cool weather which was to be expected in the middle of May; chilly, cloudy and with a dampness that had the air of rain to it.The seven-story rooftop we've established for our session was not the safest of places considering its frail edges, dozens of aerials and lightning flashing in the distance but it made for a thrilling experience.

For me the process of posing in front of a tripod-mounted camera was pretty much like the first time I had sex. I had too much clothes on and I acted upon knowledge based on short Internet videos.

Regardless, the session went as smooth as a baby's bottom, considering the circumstances. We took our time experimenting with shots from different angles and with various objects found lying around. Bricks, piles of rubble and half-demolished walls were just some of the roof top's charismatic features.

Ivalina and I had a laugh over the absurdity of my awkward facial expressions and her matted hair. After all, the umbrella we've brought along was never intended for us. Keeping the camera dry was top priority!

After a lengthy period of trial and error we decided to call it a day and wrap up the equipment. We crashed at Iva's for a drink and a recap of the session. I was so dehydrated I would have drank cooking oil. Ironically, tap water was out of the question due to piping maintenance. Fml  >.< We had to settle for a quick snack at a nearby bakery. (Thank goodness that was open!) The only thing missing was The Rolling Stones playing in the background.

A couple of days later I recieved all the photos in one neat archive file. Photography wise everything was flawless, but the model needed a great deal of work before earning that title.
 
Out of about 150 shots only a few were deemed worthy. The rest won a one way trip to the recycle bin.

Photography: Ivalina Saralieva
You can check out more of Iva's work at  http://the-outfit-diaries.blogspot.com/