Get a LIFE already!

There comes a time in a person's life when you take stock of what you do with your time. When you've been in school and/or training for an extra decade, such as Matthew and I have, you realize you HAVE NO LIFE.

When people ask of you, "what are your hobbies?" and you say, "umm, work?" Then they say, "No, I mean, what do you do in your free time?" and you say, "sleep," you come to realize you are boring. Really. Mind-numbingly. Boring.

It's not like we don't have any free time...okay, I have A LOT of free time now, but just a few months ago I did not; and Matthew has approximately one day per week that he doesn't work from dawn to dusk - Saturday. The point is, what we do in our free time is terribly uninteresting.

We both like to read.

Which reminds me of a scene from one of my favorite movies, "Best in Show"



So anyway, we both love soup and we like to read. We are the exciting couple who go to the bookstore on a weekend and wander off to our preferred sections to select a book, then reunite to come home and sit on the couch together and read. Now we each have a Kindle, so we go to the bookstore, pick out books we think look good, write down the names and go home to buy it through the Kindle. We are party animals.

We also watch a lot of movies (as you may notice, given the frequent references to movies). I am connoisseur of comedy, while Matthew is a fan of action and we both like sci fi (and soup). We go to movies and/or rent movies on a pretty regular basis. This hobby is really only interesting if you appreciate the ability to relate nearly every moment of regular life to a scene or line in a movie. Not an ambi-turner? We've got a movie reference for that.

We also enjoy eating. Not that you would know this by looking at us, but we really enjoy good food. And by good, I don't mean 'plentiful,' I mean tasty. See, also, my sheer joy on day one in Detroit when we had sushi at 10pm. I believe sushi is soul-sustaining, not just in the way that it provides necessary calories for sustaining bodily functions, I mean spiritually sustaining. Maybe one of these days I'll give you a full review of the sumptuous food we have had since moving here. Big cities = many, many restaurants = better chance of really incredible life-changing food.

Case in point: Vietnamese food. Love it. I have what may be considered a clinically significant addiction to Pho, which if you've never had it (and I mean, had it at a REAL Vietnamese restaurant, the kind where you are the only non-Vietnamese person in the whole place), then you haven't LIVED. Pho is typically a beef-broth-based noodle soup with thin slices of beef, spices, Thai basil, bean sprouts and other added yummies for desired spiciness. I am so obsessed with good Pho that I will go to great lengths to find it (I used to drive two hours to Philadelphia for it - Pho in Harrisburg was watered down with poor quality ingredients; Pho in Portland is best at the restaurants you're not sure could pass the health inspection).

Let me show you what my heaven looks like.


Yes, I actually took a picture of my Pho and the avocado milkshake (seriously, it's really good, I promise...and somewhere around 7,000 calories, but every now and then it's worth it for the extra 75 miles I would have to run to burn that off) from my new favorite restaurant. And guess what? It is ONE mile from my house and that bowl of deliciosity (making up new words) is only SIX DOLLARS! Yes. $6.

(okay, I'm going to have to take a break mid-post and go get some Pho for lunch. Clinically significant addiction is not an understatement people...I'm jonesin')

******************************************
And I'm back. And, yes, I really did go get me some $6 Pho and an avocado milkshake and can now bask in the post-Pho glow (I am, in fact, "Pho-drunk" as my friend Lauren used to call it).

Where was I? Oh, yeah, I was explaining that we don't have 'hobbies,' so to speak. When you move to a new place and meet people (or are interviewing for jobs, which I hope to be soon) they tend to ask: do you have any hobbies? What they're really asking is: Are you interesting in any way?

Answer: No. Categorically, no.

The most interesting thing I do is CrossFit, a strength and conditioning program used by military/law enforcement/tactical operations teams/martial artists and other athletes. But, honestly, unless you're into fitness, exercise and weight lifting yourself, you're not going to be interested in my one rep max snatch or clean and jerk, let alone what my "Murph" time is (very long, it took me an hour the last time and I don't even wear a weighted vest). When I try to explain it to people I can tell how well-versed they are in exercise just by the glazed look that comes over their face.

I find it more instructive to have someone try one of the benchmark workouts, like "Angie" (some workouts are named after original Crossfitters, like Angie, and some are named after fallen soldiers or law enforcement, like Murph). Angie is 100 pull ups, 100 push ups, 100 sit ups, 100 squats in a row, no breaks, as fast as you can (i.e. "for time"). Try it, you'll understand CrossFit.

Unfortunately, if I'm in a job interview I can't exactly say, "well, I do this strength and endurance training program, it's hard to really explain it, so let's just do this workout called Linda, or '3 bars of death' - we'll just be doing 10 deadlifts at 1.5x's your body weight, 10 bench presses of your body weight, and 10 cleans of 3/4 of your body weight...then we'll do 9 reps of each, then 8 of each, then 7 of each, then 6 of each, then 5 of each and so on until we get to 1 rep of each. And we're going to do it as fast as we can without resting between sets. You might want to take off your high heels and your pantyhose for this."

See, your eyes just glazed over READING that, imagine how boring it is talking about. Unless that person is also a CrossFitter or a masochist, then there could be some common ground to work with. Even Matthew gets his fill of CrossFit (it makes him nauseous and sometimes throw up, which might be the reason) and refuses to do anything but run, which I personally find horrific.

Here is a fun video of an incredibly fit guy doing "Angie" - Click here.

I love how the dog keeps coming up do him and checking him out, like, 'what is wrong with my hoomin? He acting very weird?...Hoomin? Are you okay?" Then, gets bored and lays down next to him. If I lay on the floor to stretch or do crunches Bandit climbs on top of my chest and lays down. Once I held on to him and did a couple sit ups (I figured it would be a little extra weight to make it harder), but that pissed him off and he rolled and tried to lick my face the rest of the time.

What else do we do in our spare time? Umm. I cook, indulge my OCD with deep cleaning, dabble in health foods and supplements (see, also, Chia Seeds)...

Matthew is in even worse shape than me. With more work, longer hours, more years of residency the sum total of his hobbies include "used too's." As in, he used to be a competitive kick boxer (as in, real fights, not like the classes my mom and I used to take when she kicked that guy next to her because she was going the wrong way), he used to run, he used to downhill ski, he used to water ski and wakeboard... okay, we both did that recently on our trip home to see the family, but once a year is hard to call a hobby.



But now he has time for an occasional hour of pleasure reading or trolling the internet for interesting stuff, which is what led him to our new hobby. And, I might add, our first 'Couples Hobby.'

We're brewing our own beer.

Stay tuned for more Adventures in Brewing with the Budges

Michigan - Not an ambi-turner

Have you seen the movie Zoolander? No? Well, let me introduce the following scene from the movie:

Derek Zoolander(Ben Stiller) is a male supermodel who has been challenged to a "walk-off" (competitive runway walking...don't ask, I don't know either) by his rival, an up-and-coming male supermodel Hansel (Owen Wilson). Here they are in the walk-off ---



Immediately after this scene Zoolander is talking to a reporter, Matilda (Christine Taylor, also Ben Stiller's wife in real life, FYI) and explains that the walk-off didn't have to be so sophisticated. All Hansel would have had to do is turn left.

Apparently, Derek Zoolander cannot turn left on a runway. As he explains,

"I'm not an ambi-turner"

Well, let me tell you something: Michigan is not an ambi-turner. You cannot turn left onto many of these roads.

How the hell does that work? That was my question when we first came out to visit, but I'm getting the hang of it now and, if I may say so, it's actually quite brilliant.

Woodward Avenue, also known as US-Hwy 1 and the first paved road in America (see, you're learning things from this blog!), is a busy road that runs diagonally out of downtown Detroit northwest to Automation Alley, now known as broken down empty buildings and burned out factories. You cannot turn left off of Woodward onto another road.

No left turn lanes.

But I don't want to mislead you, you are allowed to turn left here. It's not like they removed the left turn signal from my car when I registered here (and yes, I did get Michigan plates, I managed to live in PA for two years without switching out of my Oregon plates, but I had to break down and embrace the Michigan department of transportation - which is actually the "secretary of state" office here...learning learning learning!).

Instead of turning left directly onto the street of your choice, you have to go straight through that light and immediately after there is a switch-back cut into the median. Or, you turn RIGHT on the the street you actually want to turn left onto, and you take one of those switch-backs to go the direction your want. Seriously.

So you get to make U-turns. Legally. Frequently. (This is difficult for me to describe in writing, so I may force Matthew to drive while I video the process because I know how interesting this is to you all).

Anyway, I think this is just about perfect for me because I am ALWAYS going to wrong direction and frequently have to turn around. It's like they built these roads just for me. Not only are they set up with built-in U-turns, but they are laid out in a grid - roads go either North/South or East/West (except Woodward, which goes kind of diagonally, but I can handle one wonky road). And they have easy to understand names like "13 Mile Road" (the road we live on) which is exactly one mile south of "14 Mile Road" (ho ho! Clever!) and one mile north of...wait for it...yes, "12 Mile Road."

I don't even have to use my GPS here, which is good, because I used to plug it in, program the address and promptly ignore it. The GPS would say "take a left at the next light" and I would be, like, "nah, that can't be right." As it turns out, the GPS was pretty much always (okay, always) right and I was wrong, so I still did a lot of turning around and back tracking (all while the GPS is screaming "MAKE A LEGAL U-TURN").

So Michigan isn't exactly an ambi-turner, but it's is a u-turner, which is even better.

I think we have a problem...

This is a familiar tableau at my house. This is my dog with his face stuffed in the wine tower. I don't know what the deal is, this thing was in our house in Portland - he ignored it - and the townhouse in Harrisburg - he ignored it - and now that it's here in Detroit? Well, let's just say I think he has developed a problem.

As far as I know, Bandit hasn't had a lot of alcohol in his life (he's only 10, that's way too young to be drinking). I've caught him licking the top of a beer bottle, but he was pretty uninterested once he got a taste. Wine doesn't seem to hold any attraction, but he does enjoy an aperitif or after-dinner drink, specifically, Bailey's Irish Cream Liqueur (thanks to Matthew "giving him a taste" of mine when I got up to use the bathroom).

But this is getting ridiculous. The other day I caught him with his paw in one of the cubby-holes trying to pull out a bottle of vodka. At first I thought maybe he had gotten a toy stuck in there, since that's what he does when one rolls under the couch, but, no, nothing but vodka. Now I'll hear him whining and find him with his face stuffed in the slot that holds the scotch. Seriously?

While we love Detroit, it has driven the dog to drink.

Some thoughts...

1) Bacon is a very strong odor. If you cook bacon when your house smells like curry, it does not replace the smell with bacon. It makes your house smell like curry-bacon. This is gross.

2) I think that I would like to conduct my meetings, workshops and/or classes with a full gospel choir backing me up. It occurs to me that, anything you say with a gospel choir backing you up, sounds much more authoritative.

That is all.

Olfactory Girl

If I was a superhero my super-power would be a preternatural sense of smell.

Why would I choose to have a superior ability to detect odors? PLEASE people, I would never choose that on purpose, I'd rather fly or have X-ray vision so I could see exactly how much cash my husband actually has in his wallet before I ask him for some (plus, I'd hone my craft so I could see how much every pair of shoes at Nordstrom costs without having to pick each one up until I find the pair that won't rival my school-loan debt).

But, if you know anything about superheros, you know that they don't get to choose their super-power, it is 'gifted' to them by some cosmic power or freak accident. Well, I don't know if it's a cosmic power, freak accident, or horrible genetic mutation, but my sniffer is both large and in charge. I seem to have an above-average olfactory capacity (hmm, maybe I can fly, too? I'll check that one out later).

Having a super-sensitive sense of smell can be used for good (fresh baked bread) or evil (Matthew's GI system post pepperoni), but it cannot be tamed. I am constantly saying, "do you smell that?" to which Matthew is frequently saying, "it wasn't me!" But it isn't just poo that I smell, I smell EVERYTHING like it has been crammed up my nose.

It doesn't necessarily bother me, I mean, I not one of those people who can't stand when other people are wearing cologne or perfume (I don't wear it because I am lazy and that would be an additional step to complete when getting dressed and frankly, just wearing matching socks can feel like a burden sometimes). I love the smell of flowers, especially the really fragrant ones like stargazer lilies, and fresh-cut grass is yummy.

I like seasonal smells: Fall mornings in Oregon, around 7am when it's cool and crisp and it smells like I should be wearing new school clothes; Winter snow fall in the mountains by our cabin smells clean and damp and makes me want hot-chocolate with mini marshmallows; in the spring, after it rains and the sun comes out and warms the pavement and every Portlander puts on their sneakers for a jog, or a bike ride, or to walk the dogs or just to be outside in the sun and smile at their neighbors; and summer in Central/Eastern Oregon or Couer d'Alene, ID smells like warm pine cones and sap and dry brush and I feel like I should be basking in the sun trying to catch chipmunks with my brother.

There are smells that aren't good, per se, but are necessary: like when someone is getting sick and their breath smells different. When Bandit isn't feeling well or he's stressed out he smells different. Not bad, just a different dog smell than his normal dog smell. (Matthew swears I'm imagining this, but I can smell it and if I'm having olfactory hallucinations, that's a sign of a brain tumor, not schizophrenia, so he shouldn't be making fun of me, what kind of doctor is he anyway?! Sheesh.)

But I am having some issues lately with my superpower. First, it was Halibut.

I don't know what I was thinking, but I bought, like, two pounds of Halibut at the store (it was on special) and I got it home, opened the paper and thought, 'uh oh, that's smellier than it should be.' Clearly my fish wasn't as fresh as they were advertising AND there was way too much there for the two of us to eat before it went totally south, so I decided to freeze part of it. This is easier than it sounds.

According to the internet (the source of all reputable information) it is best to 'glaze' the fish before wrapping it. This involves dipping the fish in really cold water, then setting it in the freezer on wax paper until that layer freezes and repeating the dip, freeze, dip, freeze, until you have a coating of ice around the fish. Then you can put it in a freezer bag or some other container for longer-term storage.

Well, let me tell you what this process did? It made my fridge smell like fish...and my freezer...and my whole damn house. I did everything I know to do to prevent and/or correct this: I took the trash out immediately, I put fresh boxes of baking soda in both the fridge and freezer, and I bleached the hell out of the kitchen surfaces and eventually every inch of the freezer (bleach freezes quickly, just so you know...I recommend NOT spraying it directly into the freezer, lesson learned). After a few days with the windows open and about a gallon of bleach I was able to walk in the front door without saying "ugh, it smells like a sick vagina in here."

Halibut smell = vanquished.

But I may have met my match: Curry.

Oh how we love curry, but DAMN that is some smelly spice! Not only does it infect your home, it starts coming out of your pores after a few days. It all started when I made the mistake of taking Matthew to Trader Joe's.



First of all, taking him grocery shopping is like taking a young child to the store, minus the tantrums (he doesn't read this blog, he has no idea that I'm tell you all this). Every time I turn around he has added something to the cart and that 'something' is ALWAYS junk food (chips, cookies, those "pepperoni" sticks that are really just ground-up assholes and udders). Let me be clear here, that I am not opposed to junk food. We always have a few treats around the house, generally we don't eat junk unless it's homemade (i.e. no Hostess cupcakes or Tasty Cakes or Twinkies, etc - although Oreos and ice cream are allowed because I don't make those). My reasons for this rule are several: a) less processed gunk and preservatives; b) I think they taste better; c) I don't feel compelled to make tons of junk food, but it's very easy to buy tons of junk food, making it too accessible.

But the primary reason: it is a complete waste because we don't eat it all before it goes bad. For example, I made chocolate chip cookie dough a week ago. Notice I say "dough" not cookies, because Matthew only wants to eat the dough, not cookies (it's like salmonella roulette). I prefer my cookies fresh, so if I really want a cookie, I have to preheat the oven, bake them and wait for them to cool enough so that they don't remove a layer of flesh from my mouth. When it's all said and done, it takes about half an hour and by then the urge has passed and I leave the four fresh cookies on the counter. Sometimes I'll eat one, say, with breakfast (yummiest with coffee, but not so much with eggs), but usually they go stale and I throw them out.

A week later, half that cookie dough is left because we haven't eaten it. And we're not going to. (But I'm making dark chocolate cupcakes with dark chocolate frosting next, so I feel okay about being done with cookies for a while).

But I digress, where were we? Oh yes, at Trader Joe's. So Matthew isn't just a cart-stuffer with junk food, he is a pretty equal-opportunity impulse buyer. So when I see him heading toward the frozen food isle (back away from the dinners in a box that you will never eat!) I redirected him to the meats where he picked up the Trader Joe's Curry Chicken Tenders. Basically, they're just chicken marinating in curry and they were FAB.U.LOUS.

The morning after Curry Chicken Tenders the whole house smelled like curry and it was clear it was not a situation that could be remedied with bleach (I'd already tried). Plus, there were leftovers to fashion into a second meal that wasn't exactly like the first meal. Day two of Curry Chicken Tenders became Curried Coconut Chicken and, effectively, a curry-fogging of the entire apartment.



If curry was a pesticide there wouldn't be a living bug within these walls...EVERYTHING SMELLS LIKE CURRY!

Windows open - not working
Bleach - not working (smells like curry-bleach)
Baking soda - not working

Is it possible?

Is curry my kryptonite?

From the vault

We are completely settled into our digs here in DetroitRockCity (I refuse to call it anything else) and I'm reminded of The Big Move across the country just a few years ago. I shipped all my stuff out in a pod months before I moved so that, by the time the school year ended at Reed and I said goodbye to my family, friends, beloved mentors, colleagues and clients, we were able to load up my car and head out.

My mom, Bandit and I set out in the early morning in my little car to drive across the country. We had a borrowed GPS (took us 45 minutes to figure out how to turn it on) and a brand new video camera that we intended to use for our "vlog" (video blog)...except that we could barely figure out how to record, let alone download the videos and upload them to a blog. Back then, we blogged old-school (in writing), but just today I ran across the videos we took.

Hilarious. At least, I think they are. The rest of you, dear readers...well, don't judge us too harshly. We were in a car for 12-14 hours a day for 4 days with nothing to amuse us but our own somewhat ridiculous sense of humor.

Pulling out of the driveway: that is my brother you hear in the background saying "this is already funny, they can't even get out of the driveway. (Hey Ben, you're on video, I CAN HEAR YOU! I'm gonna freeze all your underwear at Christmas, FYI. )



This one is of us turning left...seriously... we had been in the car for two full days by then. You'll also notice we're really mastering the "time zone" system. And seriously, who is really hoping to "end up in Lincoln, Nebraska?"



Here we are in Chicago. At a toll booth. Actually, we had a valid reason for videoing this part because, as you'll hear, it was my mom's first time at a toll booth (we don't have toll roads in Oregon).



The moment of truth...(sorry, it gets a little "Blair Witch Project" in this one - might want to take a Dramamine if you get motion sickness)



Needless to say, there are a lot of pictures of us at gas stations:

(Eastern Oregon - can't pump your own gas in Oregon)








because that's all we did. Drive, gas up, drive, eat, sleep, drive some more.

Now that I think about it, the move to Michigan was WAY easier.

No Loud Grunting

What is the definition of "loud grunting?"

Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

I ask this incredibly important question because we joined a new gym here and they have some very specific rules, some are clear and make perfect sense, such as:

Re-rack all weights and equipment.

This was also a rule at Gold's, where I previously spend most of my free time. Unfortunately, quite a few people felt that putting away their toys at the end of their workout was 'beneath them' or something, because it was not infrequent that I would sidle up to a bench station and find three or four 45lb plates...on each side. Just pulling those off and putting them away was a workout. It got so bad that they put up signs every 18" on the walls and mirrors saying "MEMBERS WHO DO NOT PUT AWAY THEIR WEIGHTS WILL LOSE THEIR MEMBERSHIPS IMMEDIATELY" (except that it was mis-spelled "immeadetely" which drove me to distraction...until I brought a sharpie and corrected them).

New Gym also requires:

(Appropriate) Gym attire only: no jeans, cut-offs, zippers, buttons, boots or sandals - gym shoes only.

This was also (supposedly) a rule at Gold's, but again, not enforced. One of my gym friends, a particularly enormous man named Louis, consistently wore jeans and heavy construction boots to his nightly workout. JEANS. Can you imagine anything more uncomfortable during exercise? The chafing alone would send me to the nut house. However, Louis had pecs the size of my entire torso, so I believe he is in the weight category of "I'll wear whatever the f*** I want." Light to Welter weights, such as myself, follow those "appropriate dress" rules to the letter.

[Also unappreciated is the gym-goer (male) who does not feel the need to wear tighty-whities/boxer briefs and then wears shorts. It is a given, my friend, that we will see your junk when you do squats. Keep the hairy beanbag to yourself.]

There are some rules at new Gym that I find difficult:

No jumping rope in the gym.

Seriously? NONE? Don't get me wrong, I don't really love jumping rope because it's hard, both cardiovascular-wise, but also in terms of demand for coordination (lacking in the latter). But sometimes the Workout of the Day calls for jumping rope, or worse, double-unders (the rope goes under your feet twice with each jump) and if I'm going to do it, I have to go outside and jump on the sidewalk. Next to the nail salon and the Indian food restaurant.

(Jump) Can I (jump) have a (jump) bite of (jump) your naan? (jump)

Do you know what is not a rule?

Steroid use.

I mean, technically it wasn't a rule at Gold's either, but it tends to be frowned upon by the legal community. Case in point, a couple of my workout buddies during my first six to nine months at Gold's were no longer my workout buddies thereafter cuz they went to jail. I think the kicker for them was importing steroids across international lines. And selling them. And injecting people right there in the gym bathroom. But they never, ever talked about them openly and they all tried to hide what they were doing (though it was pretty obvious to look at them).

Anyhoo, juicing is not a problem here. How do I know this?

A) These people are E.NOR.MOUS. I have never seen anything like it, even my old juicers didn't look like these guys on Vitamin S. Matthew and I look downright Lilliputian next to them.

B) They talk about it! Rather openly, I might add. I was standing next to Gargantuan Man with Bacne (see also: acne on the back) who was telling his friend he had placed in a body building competition (clearly not one for naturals) who said, "they should really tell you in private that you've won, not on stage, I mean, jeez, my estrogen was really high!" (meaning: he cried...that would be totally worth seeing). I repeated this to Matthew, just for confirmation that, yes, that is one of the side effects of steroid use. That, bacne and shrinky-dink testicles, I believe top the list for men.

So steroids are okay, but jump ropes are not. Got it...kind of.

But this rule is the one that confuses me:

No yelling, loud grunting, or profanity.

I mean, I understand what yelling is and anyone reading this blog is well aware of my prodigious use of profanity, but what exactly constitutes loud grunting?

Again, at Gold's I became acquainted with the concept of excessively loud grunting. Another group of my dear gym friends were obnoxious screamers "GET SOME GET SOME" "YOU GOT IT" "HIT THAT" "AAARRGGGHHHHHHHHHH" - So loud that you could hear them from the far side of the gym the minute you walked in the front door. That is certainly loud, but what about a little "ungh?" Is that so bad? Maybe so, because nobody grunts at this gym.

Well, except me.

The thing is, I worked hard on my grunt. Originally, when I couldn't even bench press the bar (that's 45lbs, for those who are unacquainted) I would squeak. Well, Matthew said it actually sounded a little more "sexual," if you will, rather than a squeak and he implored me to clean it up. Either I learned to grunt like a man (or at least not like a porn star) or I was no longer allowed to lift weights. At all.

I believe his quote was: That sound is like a mating call for every meat head in this gym. They hear that and they're like prairie dogs looking for prey.

And damn it all if he wasn't right: their heads would pop up over the machines and bars and weight racks and swivel like they were plopped on a lazy susan.

So I learned to grunt...like a man. And, yes, there really is a place for grunting when you lift weights heavier than a 10-year-old can manage. It forces you to breath out, rather than holding your breath and causing the capillaries in your eyes to burst (did that, once). I'm particularly grunty when doing cleans and/or clean and jerk and/or should presses. Above the head is a grunty zone, laying down I'm still a little squeaky. but improved.

A couple weeks ago I made my first attempt at benching 95lbs (that is 75% of my body weight I'll have you know and that's a lot for a Lilliputian) and I grunted. So sue me.

No one else seemed to notice, there were no prairie dogs, but Matthew said "SHHH! You're the only one grunting! No grunting!"

Pshh! They said no LOUD grunting and I am definitely not loud. And I didn't even swear, which is really good for me!

The next weekend, this other non-Roid guy, about Matthew's size, was benching and he was grunting really loud. Not loud like my old friends at Gold's, but definitely louder than me. So I peeked and he was doing very little weight. I mean, he was doing what Matthew does to warm up. Granted, he was lifting more than me, but seriously, I'm a girl.

There was a prairie dog effect (though it's starting to resemble Whack-a-Mole to me, heads popping up and dropping, where's a padded mallet when you need one?) and I felt a little sorry for the guy. I mean, some of us are little and we have just as much right to grunt as a juicer, right? And the best news is, even though he grunted VERY loud at every station on every rep of every set (doing the same weights I use), no one said a word to him about toning it down. Guess what that means?

Green light to grunts-ville.

GET SOME! HIT THAT HIT THAT! AAAAARRRRGGGHHHHH!