Over 35 years old? You’re pretty much screwed. That’s it for this blog post. Have a good week! Seriously, if you’re past the age where living in mom’s basement is socially acceptable, you’re at a major disadvantage. At least in terms of building your body. It’s not that there’s a shortage of decent muscle building information. It’s just that it’s hidden from you, buried in a deep sea of...

Miss me yet? As the tired expression goes, rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated. Or more appropriately, I’m not dead, just in Canada; a polite version of purgatory. No, the reason for no blog post last week is that I simply got swamped with good old-fashioned work. On top of my every day stuff, I got through a whopping 24 diet and training plans. Yes, 24 – and I didn’t even bust out...

You know what you’re doing. No “just get a pump” workouts for you. You’re too smart for that. Instead you’re following a popular “strength routine.” Your numbers are based off a “training max” and the weekly progression is conveniently plotted in an iPhone app. Like I said, smart. Now you just need to hit your numbers every workout and presto, it’s off to NYC to shoot for Men’s Health. Not so...

Hey, you – dude over 30. Your workout sucks. And not for some technical “sets & reps” type reason. Your big screw up occurred way before you even started. The good news is I can help you fix it. It begins with a very small yet crucial first step. I’m entering my third decade in this “industry.” For the record, I do not see this as a source of pride – quite the contrary. Among my former high...

I'm not dumb. At least not anymore. Most would say that I’m a smart lifter. Seriously. I’m cool with that. Except that sometimes, I miss my ignorant ways. The first day I walked into a gym I was dumb. Like, really dumb, even by 1980’s standards. I was 16 years-old. I wore a string tank top that desperately needed filling out, jean shorts, and boat shoes. In my gym bag were two cans of Coca-Cola,...

I’m dying. Okay, I’m not technically dying. I’m not typing this from a hospital bed and no one’s told me to get my affairs in order, unless being reminded to empty the dishwasher qualifies. Just physically, I’m degrading. Eroding. Getting smaller and weaker. Getting fatter. I’m becoming less the person I want to be -- the person I’ve worked so hard to become -- and more like what I don’t want......

Advice from the Muscle Goat One of my (many) character flaws is that I can get kinda cantankerous, especially if I haven’t eaten in a while (sorry, fasters) or have too much running around to do. Whenever I get particularly cranky, my wife will usually refer to me (affectionately) as a grumpy old goat. She even bought me a shirt with the word GOAT on it, just in case the subtlety of the insult...