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/