Gym Bullies

A few weeks ago there were a spate of articles in the UK press regarding the prevelance of sexual harassment in Globo (aka commercial) gyms and the Netflix documentary on the Bikram yoga guru that really opened my eyes to what women endure on the daily. Also, not so long ago, I witnessed  another type of bullying situation that, I realized later, was not unknown in Globo gyms.  To me, the gym is a sort of universal right, the way access to clean drinking water is a right.  It’s where one goes to improve one’s physical and mental health.  When emotionally stunted trolls think they can interfere with that right, it touches a nerve.

The two types of harrassment I have witnessed in Globo gyms are varying levels of  male on female sexual harrassment and straight up male on male physical bullying.  I should preface this by saying I have never witness either behaviour in a strength training gym. Doing so in such an environment would be an excellent way to get summarily ejected from the premises and could quite possibly be very hazardous to the offenders’ health.

Sometimes everything in life seems to go pearshaped at the same time.  At times like those, it’s essential to have a healthy, productive way of working off one’s stress.  Let’s establish the baseline that everyone, absolutely everyone, deserves to be able to do so without harrassment of any kind.  One caveat, however – in serious sports training such as powerlifting, boxing, MMA, crossfit, gymnastics, etc you will be sometimes pushed to your physical limits.  This, however, is to expand your boundaries.  There should, and usually is, a clear boundary between this sort of training and “hazing”.

As guy, and not a particularly small dude at that, I haven’t experienced harassment in a gym for a long, long time (more about that later).  The most prevelant form of harassment I notice in globo gyms are various levels of sexual harassment – from the ubiquitous staring “creepers” to (occasionally) particularly egregious thirsty dudes who think they can chat up women during their workouts.  It goes without saying that 80 percent of women in globo gyms never venture into the weight room, and it’s probably for this reason.  Rather, they do classes or congregate in large numbers in the cardio area, relying of the power of numbers like wildebeest on the Serengeti.  Of the remaining 20 percent of women in the weight area, some have pretty strong personalities and God bless ’em.  It seems that even creeps know to steer clear.  Invariably, however, some thirsty dude you’ve never seen before will make a nuisance of himself to some poor woman.  (NB:  it’s usually not a regular because, at least in my experience, socially handicapped guys like this don’t last a long time).  There is a difference between normal friendly behaviour like nodding, saying “hi”, asking if piece of equipment is free, etc and thirsty-ass harassment.

A few months ago I was in the bench press area and next to me was a woman who I know very sightly.  Some dude (who I had never seen before) comes up and immediately appoints himself her personal trainer.  Now, he was a good looking guy which in his case engendered a sense of entitlement as in “no matter how clumsy and annoying my approach is, she’s going to dig me”.   This guy was all over her like white on rice with a nonstop line of bullshit that was painful to witness.  He went right up to her, started talking (making her take off her headphones) and began giving her “advice”.  Worse still, he knew F*** all about bench-pressing (which she was doing correctly, she obviously didn’t need his crap “advice” and didn’t seem to dig the attention).  It wasn’t a case of some cheeky, self-confident guy, the whole approach was oppressive and weird.

I’d like to say 2 things:  firstly, I’m not a hater, if this guy was smooth and had a good line of patter with “positive” energy, I’d be the first to give a silent golf clap.  Secondly, I’ve learned over many years to keep mostly to myself in Globo gyms.  I remain friendly, of course, but intefere in other peoples’ shit, nope.  This, however, was beyond the pale.  Luckily the guy would periodically go to the other areas of the gyms (I watched him, he was trying to “chat” up several women simultaneously with the same shit “advice” approach  – I swear you can’t make this up).  At one point this women was looking for a 10 Kg plate so I said she could take mine as I was changing plates.  I then said, hey, you know so and so who was a gym acquaintance of both of us and we started to chat about benching which, it turns out, she did indeed know a whole lot more about than this moron.  At this point your man comes back and literally interrupts us, dishing out more bullshit “advice”.  She ignored him and we continued chatting about proper form.  He tried again, employing the old “talking louder and louder” approach to interrupting.  I began to think I may have to ping this dude upside the head with a 20kg plate as there was something off here, this went well beyond a tone-deaf semi-harrasing manner of “chatting up”.  The guy was clearly off his meds.  He eventually left to go try his luck elsewhere in the gym.  The woman who was benching finished her sets and eventually left.

Now, this guy was about my size so I was not physically intimidated.  What was the intimidating was the very real possibility that the guy was crazy or having a manic episode.  I thought about the woman, though, who was maybe 55 kgs and 1m60.  What’s it like to be harassed and physically intimidated by a some big, possibly crazy dude who is clearly sexually interested in you?  Hopefully, this sort of incident is rare.  However, if I was that woman and it happened to me, even once, you better believe I’d steer clear of the weight room and possibly even attend a women-only gym.  I didn’t really understand it before but I totally get it now.  As I’ve told my daugher, if you must work out in Globo gyms, try to find one with really positive energy, with 0 tolerance for this sort of bullshit.  Better yet,  find a strength training gym.  I’m not saying this would never happen in a speciality gym, but if one chooses carefully the probability is much lower.

There is another form of gym “harrassment” which, thankfully, one sees very rarely these days.  When I started weight training as a 145lb weakling in the mid 1980s, weight rooms didn’t just “seem” intimidating, they were intimidating.  Weight rooms in North America were inihabited solely by two groups, US football teams and roided out bodybuilders.  The ambiance in your local weight room was there something akin to taking your first stroll out into the “yard” at San Quentin prison.  It’s hard to communicate just how neanderthal the mentality was.  Football teams are, I suppose, insular by definition.  They are team, after all, and perhaps more apt than most other sports to be “juicing”.  Bodybuilders in those days, however, had to been seen to be believed.  Huge, hulking super roid beasts decked out in resplendent mullets, perma-tans, ridiculous multicolored baggy “gym” pants, cutoff stringer t-shirts and, very weirdly, Rebook hightop gym shoes that were the same model their high-haired girlfriends wore to aerobics class.  It was a hugely Gay esthetic, but these same dudes would beat you to a pulp for merely suggesting that.  It wasn’t that one felt passively intimidated, if you dared to wander into the weight area you were straight up harassed.  “Who are you, what are you doing here, don’t touch that bench, I’m using it…hey, Tony, look at this guy” etc, etc. Also, I’ve heard recently that the roid rage phenomenon is rare, blah, blah.  Perhaps it is now, but I can tell with 100% certainty it wasn’t then.  Fight in gyms or anyplace that the bodybuilders frequented were common.  Perhaps the “gear” people are using those days was more apt to make them behave like mentally addled toddlers.  Suffice it say that after a few forays into weight room and basically being told to “F” off, I got the hint.  Happily, sometime in mid-90s attitudes changes and I soon found myself back in the weight room.

Bottom line – don’t ever accept harassment in the gym.  It’s everyone’s right to be there and to train without some asshole ruining it. It’s relativey easy to spot a gym that tolerates an evironment that allows for harrassment.  If that’s the case with your gym, find a new one.

 

Why Powerlifting does not = Chick Magnet: a Primer

In past posts I have expounded at length about the many benefits of powerlifting.  We’ve also examined the “why” of powerlifting; namely, it’s insanely fun to be able to lift heavy shit.  However, nobody every tells you the shameful truth underlying this otherwise laudable sport.  Sit back, gentle reader, and clutch your emotional support pillow as your fearless author lays some truth bombs on your (lard)ass.  Powerlifting maybe life, chico, but the lifestyle and everything about it is kryptonite to many women.  Why?  Glad you asked:

  • You fuscular, son – Powerlifting ain’t about aesthetics.  Every weightlifter knows that weight moves weight.  If you’re  serious about the sport, you will gain weight both in muscle mass but you’ll more likely than not have some fat on top of it – aka “fuscular”.  Which looks bulky AF and, as every powerlifter knows, makes buying clothes a neverending challenge.  The body type is decidedly not straight up fat guy, but neither does it scream Adonis.  So, if you take your nutrional and body comp advice from Mark Rippetoe of Starting Strength, you will undoubtably lift more weight.  You just won’t be using those strong, strong arms to beat back the hordes of admiring women.
  • Strong body equals weak mind?  – I know, I know, logically speaking this doesn’t make sense but stereotypes die hard.  Lifting weights is for meatheads goes the old trope.  You must be some sort of emotionally and intellectually stunted moron to want to lift weights.  What are you trying to compensate for?  Obviously, lifting weights doesn’t automically qualify you as a genius, but neither is it evidence of being terminally dim.  Why, then, is this attitude so prevelant?
  • Classism:  Simply put, any sport that requires strength is for the lower classes, the hoi polloi.  (Ironically underlining how far we’ve deviated from the classical physical ideal of ancient Greece).  This explains the persistent classist attitude in the US regarding baseball vs. American football.  Baseball is famously the favorite sport of American intellectuals while football is seen as a very blue collar, working class past-time.  While I myself prefer baseball, I have to admit the football is actually the more intellectually and strategically interesting.  It’s the Art of War in real time and in 3D.  Nevertheless, tennis, running, baseball and cycling are all sports that get the upper middle class seal of approval.  Your girlfriend or partner would not frown on you discussing these sports at her BFF’s next cocktail party.  Not coincidentally, while these sports will make you fit, you will not be jacked unless you’re taking the same “vitamin” regime as A-Rod, Jose Canseco or Barry Bonds.  On the whole, however, being more muscular than the average and engaging in a strength sport is akin to advertising you’re working class (and possibly illiterate) in blinking red lights.  And that is a huge turn off for many women, although many would not admit it.
  • Intimidation:  This is weird one, but I understand it on the surface.  I’m not saying that powerlifters intimidate people the way MMA fighters do.   Most women, as we’ve illustrated, will have taken one look and classify you as a bulky simpleton with low earning potential.  Some guys, however, will manifest a similar response but with a “competition” angle.  More than once I’ve found myself in, literally, a cocktail party where some guy will ask me if I lift, what my PRs are, etc and then mention that he did better – back in high school.  My dear Sir, if that is indeed the case, kudos to you. Never, ever call this into question.The only sane and mature response to that is “Cool” and then swifty change the subject.  Or you get the guy who will try to subtly spin the “you’re dumb”  or “you’ve got issues” tropes because that’s what some guys do in social settings.  Whatever.  Very rarely, you’ll meet a secure dude who will ask you questions about powerlifting either because he’s interested in the subject or maybe just being social.  Which brings up another important point, which is…
  • The first rule of powerlifting is you do not talk about powerlifting.  This means do no just casually bring it up in conversation or, God forbid, try to “humble brag”  about your lifts, training, etc to a fine young Thang.  For one, It’s a niche sport and a boring one at that unless you are actively involved in it.  Basic decency and rudimentary understanding of social etiquette require one to keep to topics that are relatable and, hopefully, even interesting to the other person.  Nothing quite screams socially stunted Incel as bragging about your lifts, unbidden, or worse droning on about your training.  And no, if she does Crossfit this doesn’t give you a hall-pass to talk shop.  For one, she probably knows tons of much more “shredded” guys from her “box” (I’m referring her Crossfit gym, you animals).  Also, you’ll invariably bring up the whole “AMRAP”ing heavy weights by an already tired athelete is a recipe for disaster, encourages bad form, etc, etc…and she’ll shut you off for contradicting Crossfit canon.  Currently Crossfitters are the notorious “fitness bores” of the lifting community…let’s keep it that way.
  • The exception to the rule:  On some rare social occasions the fact that you powerlift might come up, either from a acquaintance or a particularly efficient “wingman”.  Now, gentle, lardy, powerlifting reader (see, we read) this is your one and only shot to do discuss your nerdy, niche passion in public.  Don’t f##& it up.  And by that I mean respond to the question, as in “Thanks Julio, the competition prep is going well, I hope to PR in bench”.  And then quickly change the subject to say, the relative merits of Cabernet Franc and what it brings the overall Bordeaux “assemblage”.  This works because you will look a renaissance man, a multifaceted James Bond like character schooled in many different arcane arts.  I sincerely hope for your sake that powerlifting ain’t the ony thing you got going on, Bucko.

Let’s talk about depression in young men

I’ve reached an age when the children of people in my social circle are now young men and women and are taking their first tentative steps in establishing their adult identity – leaving home for university or, in some cases, going directly into the work-force.  2 of them, young men, are displaying signs of depression.  Discussing their issues immediately brought back a flood of memories of my own experiences with what I now recognize as fairly serious depression as a young man.  As I learned more about what these young guys were going through,  two thoughts  echo’ed in my head “Just hang on, it will get better” and “I wish they knew what I know now”.

According to a recent CDC study, “The percentage of adults who experienced any symptoms of depression was highest among those aged 18–29 (21.0%)” **.  (Please note that what follows are my opinions based on my own personal experience.  I am not, in any way, an expert in the field of mental health.)  Given my experience, I was not surprised by this result.  As far as I can tell, there are 2 types depression: situational (caused by stress, events) and innate (genetics, body chemistry, etc so that one may be predisposed to depression even in the best circumstances).  If you’re already predisposed to depression, taking those first steps into adulthood creates a lot of situational stress which, in my opinion, creates a perfect storm for a really bad bout of depression.  This is made worse by one’s relative inexperience with depression – not knowing what is happening to you or if it will ever get better.  This is why colleges famously get their share of freshman freakouts or worse.  I don’t know if it’s an apocryphal story, but we were told the reason that college dorm room windows don’t open completely is because of “jumpers”.

Looking back, I realize that I was predisposed to depression.  I was a fairly depressive kid and this was only exacerbated by factors in my childhood.  I was a sensitive kid with a very active imagination who was constantly daydreaming.  I’I had some good times, but also downright bad times.  I learned at an early age that life was often unfair and unpleasant, and there were times that the best you could do was to slog through, to endure.  It comes as no surprise that when I drank my first beer at the age of 15 there was an instant attraction.  My anxiety (briefly) vanished, and the incessant monkey mind chatter in my head was silenced.  Of course, the following hang over just made my anxiety levels sky-rocket.  Self-medicating with alcohol was, and is,  a viscious circle but I was young and very oriented toward short-term results.

As I’ve related in other posts in this blog, I left home at 18 and moved “back” the States.  In many ways, I was very much on my own.  I had a bit of money and the addresses of some friends I could stay with as I got on my feet.  Lest this sound like I’m playing the world’s smallest violin (woe is me), I did quite a bit to deserve this situation.  I barely, just barely graduated my senior year in high school so obviousy I hadn’t bothered to apply to colleges or even think about them in any material way.  I was, in short, a real handful my last 2 years of high school.  Rebellious, never home and more often than not partying with friends.  So my brilliant plan when I hit the US was to live some sort of bohemian working class existence that was part Jack Kerouac and part Bruce Springsteen.  Embarassing, but true.

Spoiler alert – it was a lot more difficult than I had anticipated and rather less glamorous.  I really scraped, scrounged and couch surfed.  I worked a multitude of shitty jobs, at one point working two full-time jobs simultaneously.  Looking back, I’m sort of impressed by what I achieved and the discipline that I imposed on myself.  The dark side of this achievement is that I had painted myself into a corner.  I really had no other options other than what I was doing – working and trying to get by on my own.  After about a year, I had managed to find a decent bottom rung of the ladder corporate job – working in a mail-room.  The pay was better than retail or restaurant jobs and the job actually had benefits like medical insurance and a 401k.  It seemed like things were looking up, however I soon found myself in what seemed like a black, bottomless pit of despair.  It felt like a dull physical pain and it made everything that much harder.  Getting out of bed, acting normal around people, going to work and not just suddenly walking out because I couldn’t deal with it anymore required gargantuan effort.

Because I was young and had relatively little life experience, I didn’t know what I could do to remedy this situation…so I just continued dragging myself to work and trying to ignore this heavy feeling of suffocation.  Finally, one day at work my body began to seize up.  I literally could not move my neck, it was frozen in place and I began to have a full-blown anxiety attack.  I excused myself from work (they were not at all understanding) and went to straight to my shitty HMO (US Healthcare, I  realize now, is a travesty) where I had to wait 3 hours to see a doctor.  When I did get to see the doctor he said there was nothing wrong with me and accused me of trying score drugs.  No counseling, no advice as to where I could get appropriate care, no concern about mental health at all.  I did the only thing I could think of – I scored some beer and drank.

The beer helped in the short-term, but when I woke up with a hang-over my situation was worse.  My anxiety was off the charts.  I realized my only option was to will myself to relax, one small step at a time.  So that is what I did.  It was horrible, I could only focus on the immediate – on literally hanging on.  I had no immediate safety-net.  I could completely lose my shit, but that would land me in unknown, possibly much worse, territory.  I still had to work, of course, so my major challenge was going to work, toughing it out and trying hide everything I was feeling.  Still, each day I did this was a small victory, and each time I was able to check my anxiety and will myself to do something positive gave me a very small measure of confidence.  After a while, I realized that I was not going to drown in this tsunami of anxiety and depression.  I could keep my head above water, if only barely at first.

I didn’t suddenly wake up one day without depression, happy and refreshed.  This bout slowly lifted in very small increments, two steps forward, one step back.  What did happen is that one day, many months later, I realized that I was making it through the day more or less normally.  I wasn’t particularly happy, per se, but neither was I being crushed the darkness.

Life is not a Hollywood movie.  I would like to say that I never suffered bouts of depression after that, but I did.  None of them were as scary as that first one that hit me at the cusp of adulthood.  Also, with experience I was/am able to handle depression better.

That experience taught me a few things:

  • Just. Hang. On.  You are stronger than you think.  Sometimes the only thing you can do is focus on small victories.  Forward momentum, no matter how slight, is key.
  • You need something that imposes structure in your life.  Staying in bed all day is only good for deepening your depression.  It can be as small as setting a goal such as today I will take a shower, get dressed and take a walk in the neighborhood or, as I did, go to work.  This was exhausting for me, but one positive aspect is that I was forced to focus on something other than myself for part of the day.
  • Substance abuse makes your anxiety/depression exponentially worse.  Avoid it.  I’ve had issues with substance abuse in the past, however during this episode an innate survival instinct made me avoid alcohol for the duration.  I was literally scared of ramping up my anxiety even further.
  • Find a competent mental health professional ASAP.  Keeping trying until you find one.  My experience was inexcusable.  We’re not in the 80s anymore, so I sincerely hope mentalities and overall compentency in dealing with depression have evolved.
  • Physical activity is the most effective way to alter your mood.  This is why it’s the most popular method addicts use to help modify their behaviour.  Walk, run, swim, bike, lift weights…golf, tennis, whatever it is, do it.

Finally, I think that depression hits young men differently than young women because men famously do not talk about their feelings and, if they do, certainly not with friends.  That being said, I think it’s key for young men suffering from depression, as it was for me, to spend time with their friends.  What male friends are good for is talking shit for hours, playing dumb video games, hanging out and doing whatever.  In the case of depression, this might actually be a better approach than endless talks about feelings.

** 2019 CDC Study about rates in the US

Pikliz – Haitian spicy pickled veggies #Superfood#takethatkimchi

Dear readers, I apologize for not having brought this recipe to your attention before.  One of goals of this blog is share healthy and tasty recipes that elevate your daily cooking.  Pikliz does exactly that – it adds a zingy, spicy, crunchy texture on top of fried foods (such as falafel), rice and sandwiches.  It is a painless way of adding a few more vegetables to almost any dish, which is alwas a good thing.  I also love dill pickles and Korean kimchi, but I find that pikliz is on a whole other level.

Ingredients:

  • A decent size Mason or a recycled and santized jar from the supermarket (I actually use recycled Dill Pickle jars)
  • Thinly sliced or grated cabbage  **  If you grate instead of slice, you are looking to use the larger grater blades that give you you long thin slices and don’t “crush” the vegetables.   Also, I’ve used cabbages of all colors for pikliz – they all work well.  What’s important is the crunch and texture.
  • 1 or 2 large carrots, peeled and thinly sliced or grated.
  • A lesser amount of bell pepper, seeded and thinly sliced (for added color and texture) *** Pro tip/cheat code – if you can find bags of presliced or grated cabbage, carrots, peppers and celery  (meant for salads)in your local supermarket, by all means use this .  If you make as much pikliz as I do, it’s a timesaver..  
  • 1 decent sized onion, thinly sliced (do not grate this)
  • 1 spring onion, thinly sliced (including the green stalk part).
  • 2 to 4 Habanero chiles, cut in half and seeded ** (the Habanero imparts the zingy spice notes so I cut it in half to allow it to do so.  Some people cut it thinly which means you’ll eat the pickled Habenero as well.  Generally speaking, I love lots of spice, but in my opinion the that is not the raison d’etre of pikliz.)
  • A few garlic cloves, finely chopped
  • Kosher salt or larger grain sea salt
  • A pinch of black peppercorns
  • 3 good pungent cloves 
  • 2 to 3 cups of white vinegar ( I find the Heinz variety does the trick)
  • Lime juice (extra points for key limes, but if not, any fresh lime juice will do)

Instructions:

This is a very basic method of pickling which means marinating the sliced vegetables in a salty vinegar acidic solution.  This is a cold picking method but I know people who heat the liquids first with the cloves, peppercorns and salt and it works just a well.  Ideally you should make pikliz at least 3 days before consuming it as this will allow the vinegar solution to meld all of the flavors as well as drive excess water from veggies.

Quantities – I have shied away from citing exact quantities because it really depends on how much pikliz you want to make and how big a jar you are using.  Suffice it to say that the cabbage, carrot, onion and bell pepper make the backbone of this dish, and the other parts play a supporting role.  

Add all of ingredients, save the salt, lime juice and vinegar to your pickling jar.  Now add the salt (at least a few teaspoons, but it shouldn’t be overly salty either), the lime juice and the vinegar until all the veggies are covered by the liquid.  Use a wooden spoon to mix everything together well.  Use the remaining vinegar to “top it up”  a bit more but the vegetables should just be covered by the solution, not swimming in it.

That’s it.  Pikliz should as month in the fridge, at the very least.  At my house, we eat it quite a bit so it doesn’t last long enough for me to test it’s preservation properties.  Enjoy.

Where do you want to live for the rest of your life?

 

I don’t feel old.  Nevertheless, if I was in States I’d probably start receiving mailers from AARP as of next year (I’m in my mid 50s).  Thanks to training in powerlifting for the past 7 years I’m fair stronger now than I was in my 20s or 30s.  I’m not a senior citizen nor will I be one in the near future.  I am, however, smack in the demographic that should be in the “end game” part of retirement planning.

The impact of technology on the work/life balance of modern corporate workers has been dramatic – and Covid-19 has accelerated the process.  There is effectively no barrier from you and your work – and no real or tacit “down time” is allowable.  Corporations obviously know that short term gains will be followed my mid-term burnouts and therefore pay a lot of lip-service to “disconnecting” and “wellness” but this belies their real productivity expectations.  For most corporate workers, the only realistic way to meet current expectations is to work long hours and on weekends.

For all of my career, including the present, I’ve always worked hard and never been hesitant to put in what ever hours are needed.  Recently, however, I reached the “wall” to use a runner’s term.  I cannot literally sustain or “increase” my current pace of work for another 10 or 11 years (if I was to program a traditional North American retirement age).  I’m literally living to work, with some short “family time” and powerlifting training (becoming harder to fit in as we work later and later) breaks thrown in.  Real vacations, where one could actually stop working, have become rare indeed.

I’ve reached an age where many people I knew growing up are passing away on a more regular basis.  Some of them were adults when I was young, but a number of them have been my age or younger.  Given that I started working full-time at age 18, by my calculations I’ve worked approximately 35 years so far.  This, of course, forces one to ask that existential question – what is the purpose of life?  I know the answer isn’t “work to live”.

My current situation:

  • Senior Manager in corporate setting.  Reducing hours or taking a more junior position is not possible.
  • In the country where I live, I’m at the age where employers start to find ways to “off-load” older employees quietly, so chances are I wouldn’t make till 65 even if I wanted to.
  • It goes without saying that employers here do not hire older people for the same reasons above (higher “social” costs than younger staff) so an “end of career” change is not likely.
  • I’ve two children – 1 in university and 1 in high school

Therefore my current goal is stay employed until my youngest is has finished his bachelor’s degree.  The country I have lived in for the past 23 years is a great place, I owe it almost everything.  One thing it is not, however, is cheap to live in.  Therefore, I’ve actively started looking for a country suitable for retirement.  My criteria are the following:

  • Reasonable cost of living (this includes real estate cost as well as reoccuring expenses).  The goal is to be able to live comfortably on a retirement income.
  • A decent infrastructure, political stability and in an area that will be hit less by global warming in the next 20 years (i.e. no beach front property in 3rd world nations).
  • Language – it should be one that I already speak fluently or speak to some degree.  Croatia is flat out great, but realistically I’ll never probably speak the language beyond a rudimentary level.  Ditto Thailand.  I know a lot of English-speaking expats don’t mind living in countries where they don’t speak the language, but that would quite frankly bother me.
  • Culture/Cuisine – Very important…is it a country that, as my kids would say, I “vibe” with?

The countries on my shortlist:

  • France:  this checks all the boxes (provided you avoid the more expensive parts) , I know it very well and it’s the language if I feel most at home in after English.
  • Spain:  Even cheaper than France, love the cuisine and culture.  Very cheap real estate and living costs (save utilities). My Spanish is both rusty and Latin American influenced, so there’d be a learning curve, but it’s almost a plus.  I’d look forward to improving my Spanish.
  • Portugal – As above, only my Portugese in non-existant.  Harder to learn than Spanish by all accounts.  Still, it’s such a cool place I’d consider it provided I spent the first year in intensive Portugese classes.
  • Mexico:  I know what you’re thinking, Mexico is corrupt and has almost entirely taken over by the Cartels.  Vast swathes of the country are flat out dangerous.  Still, there are still pockets (Merida, San Miguel de Allende, etc) that check the boxes above and remain relatively safe.  For how long, though?
  • Italy:  This should tick all of the boxes above and I feel that Italian would be easier to learn than Portugese.  Amazing country, but I’m not sure I want to live there.  However, given the right reasons, I would consider it.

I am currently planning trips to Spain, Portugal and France as soon as travel restrictions are relaxed a bit.  My first order of business if to find a house in good shape that I can buy cash and use a vacation rental to help cover expenses until I retire.  Realistically, this phase might take a least a year.  I don’t anticipate “jumping on a property” right away unless it absolutely meets all my criteria.

I guess it’s interesting that retiring to my “country of origin” is not even on the radar.  I don’t really have a compelling reason to go there.  It’s not particularly cheap unless I want to live in some areas 100s or thousands of miles away from the remaining family and friends I have there…there are a lot of great things about it, sure, but there are a lot downsides too – that are obvious to those of us living outside the country, but less apparent to some living in the country.  I wasn’t born there nor have I spent most of my life there.  If I had to go, so be it, it’s just not my first choice.

I think my situation is only unique in that it’s unusual even now for Americans or Canadians to expatriate or immigrate and even more so for retirees.  Most of the rest of world’s population, this option has always been on the table (if people were given half a chance).  Even now, as I vist Canada and the US and I explain that I live in Europe, I’m often asked “why??” by truly surprised or puzzled people.  I feel this is shifting and will continue to shift as we’ve seen a lot of recent US or Canadians immigrants going back to countries like China, India, Nigeria, Ghana and Mexico as opportunities in those countries grow and as the trade-offs of living the American or Canadian dream become less worth it on the whole.

Question to you my readers:  What country would you consider retiring to and why?  Please put your answer in the comment section below.  

We all need a party-trick – or the fun of cultivating obscure, semi-useless natural talents

Talent is the natural aptitude or skill one has in any given action.  If one is really fortunate, one is able to combine their given talent with their livelihood.  If you have a calling, as the saying goes, you will never “work” a day in your life.  What I’m talking about is something that comes easier to you than it seemingly does to others although one must work hard to refine this talent.  Most of us, if we’ve lived at least semi-full lives, have discovered a number of things we are terrible at,  a smaller collections of things we are middle of the road average at and a very small list of things that, for one reason or another, we kick-ass in.  This post is a celebration of the cultivation of those weird, random talents.

When I was 11 I begged my mother for months to let me take martial arts classes.  It’s not that she didn’t want me to, it’s just that we didn’t have that much money at the time.  Finally, she relented, and we found a suitable dojo/boxing gym.  This place was open 7 nights a week – the first 2 hours for boxing, the 2nd two hours for Shotokan Karate.  I usually went a minimum of 5 days a week and attended both training sessions.  After 10 or 11 months of this the following things became apparent.  I was shitty boxer and at best I was able to attain a level that didn’t provoke outright embarassment in onlookers.  On the other hand, I was better in Karate…and what really distinguished me was my flexibity, speed and kicking ability.  My kicks were well above average, and my hands, even in Karate were, well, meh.  For those of you who are new to martial arts, Shotokan is a Japanese style that is not generally known for flashy kicks.  I , however, lived for such, so this being the early 80s I ordered books (yes, kiddies, no Youtube tutorials) written by well-known Korean Taekwondo practitioners that gave detailed technique breakdowns of many jump-spinning kicks, double jump spinning kicks and the like.  Soon  I started to do tournament sparring and it turns out I was relatively succesful.  I was painfuly shy at this point in my life so nobody at school had the slightest idea what I was doing with my spare time until my tournament results got some very localized media attention.  But perhaps even funnier, of the “party trick” variety, was the reception I got at first in the actual tournaments.  I remember once I destroyed this kid, a black belt, 3 points to 0 with rapid fire high kicks.  As we finished the head judge said “Hey, outstanding job for a yellow belt, you do Taekwondo?”  When I replied “No, Shotokan”, he did a doubletake and laughed.  The thing is, I trained 10 to 14 hours a week on this really obscure (especially at the time) skill that was really only applicable in this very specific setting.  I have never been a skilled fighter, I don’t have the instincts.  What I was very good at, however, was this very specific form of “tag” that is tournament karate sparring.

Another very, nay, extremely unlikely skill that I possess is the benchpress.  If you told me at 18 that one day I’d be that dude in the gym who benchpresses more than everyone else, I’d have laughed my ass off.  Until my mid-40s, I had a slimmer atheletic build.  I’ve always had fairly broad shoulders but otherwise I wasn’t big-boned, hairy chested or, at the time, overly burdened with muscle.  I was, and in some ways remain, the original metrosexual.  Benchpressing was for Neanderthals.  I was much more focused in my 20s and 30s on my 10K times than powerlifting.  Fast forward 2 decades in time and almost 8 years of Powerlifting training.  My deadlift is pathetic by almost any standard, my squat is respectable when I’m not injured but my bench is another matter.  On any given day in a commercial gym I can probably outbench anyone in the gym, even the heavier guys.  I might not out-bench everybody in a powerlifting gym, but I’ll at least make a good showing for myself.  I don’t grind out my benchpresses, they go up easily, even when I’m very close to my 1RM…until I’m over that limit and it doesn’t move.  I never train to failure and I only fail lifts a couple of times a year.  As my coach asked me the other day, “So what’s it like having this one weird thing you’re really good at?  I bet it doesn’t come up much in cocktail party chat”…

Finally, the last thing I’m weirdly good at is Trivial Pursuit or Jeapordy type games.  My cousin actually had a week long winning streak on Jeapordy program (RIP Alex Trebek) in the 90s so perhaps it’s in the genes.  So much so that I immediatey vibed with with the move Slumdog Millionaire when it came out.  I just happen to know a lot of weird, random facts for a number of weird, random reasons.  I clean up in pub quizzes, as long as it’s general interest and not too (which can happen where I live) UK specific.  I’m always getting the “WTF, how do you know that?!?!” reaction.  What can I say, I guess rampant boredom and no TV growing up had something to do with it…

We all need these party tricks, these obscure skills that maybe don’t garner much public glory but make us feel good about ourselves.  Firstly, because skills or talents are only discovered and developed because you’ve gone out there and tried many things until, lo and behold, here’s this crazy thing that you’re better at than most people.  Secondly, you need to work hard take the skill in question to the next level.  All of the skills I mentioned above were examples applying many hours of hard work to a specific apptitude.

Tulum – Douchebag mecca or victim of it’s own success?

If one were to magically procure Admin rights to Instagram and was able eliminate all post from Tulum, I’m fairly certain that’d reduce total content on the platform by at roughly 30 percent.  Why is that?  What makes makes Tulum the ideal backdrop for the willfuly self-obsessed narcissists weirdly expending a great deal of energy to convince strangers they are “living their best” lives?  Is it Tulum’s fault, or is this once sleepy beach town in Quintana Roo the victim of the creeping, malignant douchery that has infected global culture since the invention of social media?  Sit back and relax, dear reader, as your fearless correspondent attempts to “downward dog” in this particular minefield.

But first, full disclosure:  Your scribe is of a certain age, so what follows is a bit of the ol’ obligatory “things were much better in my day”.  Sure, but bear with me, there is a reason for it.  In any event, I’m not unfamiliar with Mexico, but let’s face it, I am still very much a gringo.  I claim no deep cultureal knowledge of Mexico and only a slightly better understanding of issues in the Yucatan and Quintana Roo states.  My Spanish, once half-way decent, has atrophied by many years in Europe.  Suffice it to say, however, that my first travels in that area were decades ago, roughly around the time (or perhaps before) most of the IG influencers in question were born.  I had just resigned from my  job and was taking an extended, hyper low budget backpacking trip with Guatemala, Belize and Mexico.  We had crossed the border from Belize into Chetumal and were looking for cool, but above all, cheap places to visit.  In those days internet technically existed but it was not the tool it is now.  There was no social media or forums where one could get travel tips.  There were, however, travel guides such as Lonely Planet and, of course, word of mouth.  Once you were “on the circuit” with other young backpackers, people exchange information and “humble brag” about the places they’ve visited.  The modus operandi of this form of travel involved taking cheap buses to whereever you wanted to go and then, once onsite, immediatly hitting cheap guest hostels that you had heard about to procure a room, bunk or hammock.  As an interesting cultural aside, in 7 weeks of travelling like this I ran into very, very few Americans or Canadians.  My fellow travellers were almost entirely European, Aussies, Kiwis and Israelis.   For one, Yanks and Canucks have very little vacation time in general so to take such a trip would be (as was my case) an exception.  “Gap years” is not a thing in North American culture.

In any event, as we made our way up the coast we made plans to stop in Tulum to see what sounded pretty cool – a pyramid on the beach!  At that time Tulum was a little bit out of the way and from what we heard, a bit of a gamble in regards to lodging.  We had heard there wasn’t much, so the concern was if we got there too late we wouldn’t find a cheap room, or whatever, and would be stuck because there weren’t lots of buses on a daily basis.  We made it, however, and were able to score lodging.  Tulum was really, really basic back then, what I remember most about it (away from the beach part) was the dust.  It was pretty hot but that’s to be expected in the Yucatan in August.  The pyramid was definitely worth the trip, though, for the setting as well as wildlife surrounding and/or in it.  There were some hippy dippy, cheap new agey backpacker type hostels and cafes that were a fixture of this whole “circuit” but they were relatively few.   Most of what you see now in Tulum, whether in the town itself or on the “fabulous” beach zone, didn’t exist yet.  There were no high end boutique hotels, no condos, and no real fanfare about the place.  I remember thinking, indeed, this place is cool but not really great for an extended stay unless you had a car (and could visit the surrounding area which as many interesting things) or was a hardcore beach lover.

Anyway, we eventually made our way to Playa del Carmen which back then was going through it’s “Tulum” moment, although much more under the radar as the whole “hype” machine was not as efficient back then.  It was the anti-Cancun.  Small, affordable, laid-back village that was still “identifiably” Mexican.  None of the silly adult Disneyland vibes.  It was just a big village on the coast with really, really nice beaches.  At that time there were these big palapas on the beach and you could rent hammocks for roughly 2 bucks US a night.  It was bigger than Tulum, for sure, but still very manageable.  There was no city vibe at all.  Yes, there were  the same hippy, new agey backpacker establishments that we’d seen in other places.  I don’t remember any high end hotels and certainly nothing over 2 or 3 stories.  It reminds of Progresso as it is now, only the town was less grubby and the beaches much, much nicer.  Kilometers/miles of unspoiled beaches and a really special vibe.  Mexico was and still is a pretty socially conservative culture yet, for some reason, a pretty permissive feeling reigned over Playa del Carmen.  At this time, topless sunbathing was still a norm in much of Europe and therefore, due to the high concentration of European backpackers, it was tolerated in PdC.  I thought I had died and gone to heaven.  Sleeping on a hammock on the beach, grabbing cheap beer and food from taquerias and surrounded by scads of attractive, scantily clad eurobabes.  I remember taking a long walk on the unbelievably beautiful beach ( no sargasso seaweed back then) one day and stumbling accross a nude photo shoot.  It wasn’t close to the action, sure, but it was not that far.  It was a professional affair with the requisite photography paraphenalia and 2 two breathtaking, butt nekkid models.  However, no gawkers or weirdos… people would might stop to look briefly but it would have been deeply uncool to sit there and drool.  Was this an example of cultural and economic imperialism?  Yep, it probably was.  Nonetheless, it was cool vibe without descending in some of the tackier and dodgy “druggy” vibes that you often encountered in backpacker “towns”.

Fast foward a few years, I was installed in Europe and had convinced some European and US friends to meet me in PdC for a 2 week holiday.  My first impression, not surprisingly, was that travelling to Mexico all the way from Europe is a big, long deal.  It’s perhaps even easier to go Asia from here than go to Mexico.  When I arrived in Playa, the town had grown to, I guess, a small city but it was still recognizable as the place I had seen before.  A few more hotels, cafes and bars, but still not Cancun-like by any means.  I remember looking for the palapa where I had rented the hammock, and I think it was gone.  The vibe was a little less “backpacker” counterculture than it was previously, but it was fine.  Restaurants, bars and clubs were cool but without the “exclusive”  vibe or preciousness that would later install itself in Tulum.  One day I rented a jeep so my friends and I could go Sian K’aan and check out Tulum on the way back.  However, when the day came my friends were all sleeping off hangovers.  I had one too, but since I had reserved the jeep I felt obligated to go.  It was a really cool trip, at one point I was on a single track road in the jungle near (but outside of) Sian K’aan and I was just surrounded by thousands upon thousands on butterflies.  On the way back I stopped in Tulum.  It had grown, but it still was still small-scale.  It reminded of PdC when I first visited.  In fact, I thought to myself that it’d be cooler to stay here now but we were locked-in hotel wise and besides some of my friends were not fans of the backpacker hostel on a jungle beach thing.  (Two of them fruitlessly searched for any place that served Champagne in PdC and couldn’t find any.  Oh, how things have changed…).

Years pass, I now have a family and am back in Mexico visiting some family and friends who live there.  They tell me how Playa del Carmen has exploded and indeed has become the fastest growing city in Mexico.  I couldn’t really conceive of this, but, I said to myself, I guess it was only a matter of time.  Even over multiple trips to Mexico during this period I didn’t make it to the “Mayan Riveria” right away.  I did land in Cancun each time though, and I’d note that the sign posting on the highway  for PdC and Tulum(!) which I noted with interest.  Anyway, roughly 7 years ago I went to a very secluded bunch of beach huts in Sian K’aan with some family and friends.  As the crow flies, the beach huts are not that far from the Tulum but given the state of the road it was good, bumpy 2 hour drive.  Anyway, on my way from Cancun airport I stopped at the PdC ADO bus station to pick up a friend…my brain was literally wrecked.  I could not equate the place I knew before with this big sprawling city.  As we continuted on, we inevitably arrived in Tulum.  Yes, it had grown, but not like Playa del Carmen.  To get access the Sian K’aan road you must past through the Tulum beach hotel zone.  It had changed, it was more upscale in design and no doubt pricewise, but it retained the jungle beach feel.  The clientele seemed to be mostly youngish, as before, but not of the backpacker sort.  There were lots of tanned, ripped Abs gay dudes cruisiing around (in both senses of the word) on fat-tired beachcruiser bikes, and lots of quite frankly really hot, bodied up yoga bunnies trailed inevitably by straight dudes who seemed to be feverishly dreaming of strategies of relieving said yoga bunnies of their Lululemons.  Man-buns, pork-pie hats, signs for yoga retreats and fucking pretentious locavore organic restaurants chef’d by gringos were everywhere.  Tulum was still cool and the natural setting still beautiful, certainly, but the vibe had become more”exclusive” and therefore douche-ier.

Nonetheless, it was fun to chuckle and play hipster bingo during our visits to Tulum every few days for supplies.  One day, I even went to Tulum with a friend in an attempt to “go out” for an evening.  We tried, we really did, to hit the beach hotel zone first to get a drink and then dinner.  And, yes, it’s very pretty and there is, to paraphrase 10,000 IG posts, a sort of special energy that is perhaps a product of the natural setting and, if you want to get more “woo-woo”, maybe even the pyramid a few kilometers away.  But holy shit, the clientele, that has changed.  Not everyone, but a significant minority, acts as if they are being trailed by invisible camera crew that are documenting the utter fabulousness of their lives.  There is energy, for sure, but some of it seems forced now.  Instagram, let’s be honest, is used for presenting an airbrushed, photoshopped versions of most people’s lives.  Hanging out in beach zone was like inhabiting a surreal IG live-feed.  And I get why so many people were and are posting almost obligatory pics from Tulum.  It’s cool, it’s hipster, it’s the anti-Cancun.  The subtext, which is not very subtle, is  that I’m not one of those obese, infantile lobster red masses wallowing in low brow massed tourism.  But there is now an strong undercurrent of “trying too hard” that would have frowned upon before.  We just couldn’t hack all of the fabulousness and forced smiles so we went into Tulum town for some beers and seafood – and had a grand old time.

Another reason Tulum is THE grand-daddy of all IG tourist spots is an absolutely brilliant marketing strategy which I think was discovered accidently but is now being overtly executed.  If you are easily trigged by non-PC truths, dear reader, please skip this paragraph.  In any event, because of it’s setting and probably also a well developed new agey scene in Mexico itself, Tulum slowly started to attract yogis, massage therapists and other sort of new agey types. Yoga, massages, organic food, crystal therapies, visits to cenotes to vibe with “positive energy” etc, is the sort of stuff that attracts straight women and a certain type of gay man.  A byproduct of all that yoga and well-being are a clientele that are relatively fit.  In short, Tulum became known as a destination filled with yoga MILFs and their gay equivalent hotties.  And that, my friends, attracted the dudes (straight, gay or whatever).  Which leads to more “peacocking” and and exclusiveness as said dudes feel the need to compete.  And, yes, also some of the women are shallow as well and require “cute, trendy cafes and shops”, etc.  Shallow, yes, simplistic, yep.  But true, yeah, it is.  Take a look a most of the leading establishments in Tulum.  The marketing strategies are exclusively targetting yoga yummy mummy and IG hottie demographic.  For real, read the promotional drivel and ask yourself if somewhere there is a straight 30something man going “wow, that sounds like exactly what I’m looking for”.  No, the establishments attract the women.  Some of these women are IG , ahem, influencers.  They post a few butt pics from the beach to score IG credibility points and/or because of a promotional deal with a hotel.  IG puts it out there that this place is filled eye candy.  The hotels and other establishments don’t need to market to guys.  If they attract the flowers, the bees will come.  Kudos and a golf clap to all those involved.

So, the final question, has Tulum jumped the shark?  I havent been there in 4 years or so but it seems to have achieved terminal saturation on IG.  Reports of Tulum’s demise have been heralded repeatedly for the last few years but it’s still a contender and still hasn’t gone “Playa del Carmen” although the reasons for that are both encouraging and discouraging (It’d take another post to explain).  At some point soon, people will move onto some place “less discovered” and therefore cooler in the IG-sphere.  And there are indeeds spots like those, a few hours drive from Tulum.  The saving grace is that represents, unlike Tulum, a longish trip by car or bus from Cancun airport.  But inevitably those spots will go the same route of Tulum.  If it brings much needed money and infrastructure to local (most Mayan) populace, then I’m all for it.

 

Training after the Covid-19 Lockdown – First, the good news…

Depending on where you live in the world, things are either opening back up slowly or they are going to Hell in a handbasket because things never really “shut-down” in the first place.  If you’re lucky enough to live amongst a majority of people who don’t think that every possible issue is proof of a huge consipiracy and a have a modicum more self-discipline and sense of civic duty than sugar-crazed toddlers than chances are that gyms are opening back up.  And that, of course, is at least a small amount of good news in  seems to be an unending stream of bad craziness.  If 2020 was a person, it’d be that person you hooked up with very briefly in your early 20s before you realized they were absolutely bat-shit crazy…mad, bad and dangerous to know.  For a brief unsettling period you are on high alert, ducking and weaving,  as you scramble to extricate yourself and come out the other end with your sanity, finances, health and reputation intact. Yep, 2020 it a bunny-boiler of a year.  Adversity, sayeth the hackneyed cliche, is opportunity in disguse.  So what have we learned from this shit show, what nuggets of wisdom and metaphorical chicken soup for the soul can we glean?

  • Mindfulness – This is the biggest payback from all the  fear, loathing and general unpleasantness of this situation.  The best news?  You’re not trying and pitifully failing to become mindful (via silly apps, youtube videos, etc) – it’s a byproduct of the situation.  We’ve stopped taking a whole lot of things for granted and realized our true priorities.   Enjoy this time (yes, even now) with your loved ones.  Being present comes easier when we are forced to realize don’t have a lot a time in this mortal coil and nothing is guaranteed.  The rest, as the Buddhists say, is maya or as I like to call it, bullshit.
  • Gratitude – see above.  You can’t and won’t be mindful if you don’t have gratitude.  Are you and your family/friends healthy?  Do you have a place to live and enough to eat?  If the answer is yes, chances are you’ve been contemplating this a lot recently, and gratitude has manifested itself even in your bling, bling, cheeto-eating, Kardashian-watching vacuous lifestyle.  And we’re all the better for it.
  • Good habits are reinforced because, well, we don’t have a choice – Just before the lockdown, my Ex and I put our jointly owned appartment on the market.  As we wanted to show it “empty” she moved into my place for what was going to be 2 months, tops (the RE market was red hot where I live).  Yep, the sale we had lined up within 2 weeks evaporated like petri dish of water in Death Vally with lockdown (talk about bad timing).  Next thing you know, we are all stuck in lockdown at my place and we’re obliged to get along for an extended period.  She and I instinctively knew that we didn’t have a choice so we better buck up and be adults for the duration.  Patience, consideration and a sense of humor are the only way to get through a situation like this.  Ditto, self-discipline like making your bed and keeping the house clean all by your entitled lazy-ass self.  When your back is against the wall, you’ll rediscover those attributes.
  • Training related good news – Yes, you will have lost strength  It’s inevitable and you won’t be shocked or depressed when you finally return to the gyms as you know that a 3 month break in training does not equal mad gainz.  It’s also true that you’ll muscle memory is indeed a thing and you’ll regain the strength faster than you thought.  I’ve been back at the powerlifting club for about a month now and I’m encouraged by the progress.  Hell, I’m just grateful to be able to train. 

The best “plain” rice you’ve ever had

Probably the biggest sin for a Carribbean cook is to make boring rice. Carribbean cooks have, of course, a number of rightly famous and delicious rice recipes (red beans and rice, dirty rice, congo beans and rice and, of course, the inimitable Haitian riz djondjon to name but a few). Their biggest “hidden talent”, in my opinion, is to make absolutely amazing “plain” rice, so tasty that you’d happily eat just the rice by itself. In retrospect, this is a crucial skill in a poor country, when many times there isn’t a whole lot else to “go with” the rice.

In my world view, people are either “Team Rice” or “Team Potato”. At the risk of pandering to sterotype, in my experience and travels I’ve found it absolutely true that the Irish have an almost irrational love of all things potato. And Carribbean peoples are highly skilled rice cooks and, ooooh yes, critics. Don’t ever serve them plain old white rice, mes amis, you won’t hear the last of it…ever. Due to my upbringing, I’m firmly on “Team Rice”. My mother, a midwesterner of Irish/German heritage, is absolutely “Team Potato” in spite of many decades of living in “rice” dominant countries. I suppose one’s formative years play an important role.

I didn’t learn how to make rice until I left home and had moved to the States. I quickly tired of my own limited culinary skills so every time I came home for the holidays I was really motivated to learn so I coud recreate my favorite dishes. I learned this recipe many decades ago and have been making various iterations of it ever since. It goes something like this:

The Best Plain Rice

Serves 4 people (or 2, if they really like their rice)

1 coffee cup full of rice (or whatever measuring vessel you choose, the size or volume is up to you). The type rice you use is a personal choice but I find that long grain white rice works well.

Vegetable Oil or Coconut oil

2 or 3 cloves of good pugent garlic

1 bouillon cube – vegetable bouillon if you want to keep it vegan/vegetarian, otherwise chicken bouillon is a good choice. Maggi cubes are, of course, the Carribean cooks’ “gold standard, if you trying for “authenticity”.

1 respectable heavy duty cooking pot with a heavy lid.

Optional but highly recommended:

2 or 3 heaping tablespoons of Epis/Sofrito (see here for my version):

1 whole Scotch Bonnet pepper

Put a decent amount of oil in a decent size heavy pot or sauce pan. We are going to infuse this oil so you must put enough oil in the pot, a generous amount to cover the bottom, but don’t exaggerate. Put the burner to medium.
As the oil in the pan heats up, give each garlic clove a decent whack with the flat of chef’s knife and throw them in the hot oil. Using a wooden spoon, move the garlic cloves around in the oil so they do not burn and, more importantly, infuse the oil. You don’t want the cloves to burn or blacken, but a slight crispy note is about what you are looking for. This should take maybe 2 minutes.(At this point, you can add the optional epis/sofrito and mix it with the infused oil/garlic for another minute or so. )
Now add the coffee cup/jam jar/whatever of rice and mix it with the infused oil in the pot briefly so all the rice grains are covered by the oil. Turn the burner heat up to high and add your water, which would be 2 times the volume of the rice, so in this case, 2 coffee cups full of water. As the pot come to a boil, add the bouillon cube and stir the mixture sufficiently so that the infused oil and bouillon are diffused. Once you’ve achieved the boil, immediately reduce the heat by half, or maybe even just a tiny bit less than that.
At this point, you can add the optional Scotch Bonnet pepper. If you do add it, make sure it’s whole, with no rips or tears and preferably with the stem still on it. Put your tight fitting lid on the pot. It’s important that lid is tight. In a pinch, put heavy stuff (within the bounds of reason and safety) on the lid to make sure it’s doing it’s job. Let the rice cook for roughly 10 minutes. Never less than 10 minutes, and possibly a little bit longer. Once you are familiar with the rice and the pot that you use, you’ll have a feel for how long it takes. DO NOT, under pain of excommunication from Team Rice, lift the lid before the rice is done.

That’s it, the rice is ready to eat. Lift the lid and carefully extract the optional scottch bonnet pepper, if you added one. Grab it by the stem, if possible, and chuck it in the trash.

** Nutrional Commentary

I get it, white rice is just sort of nutrionally barren carbs and the bouillion cube adds sodium, etc. However, I think the infused garlic oil not only makes this dish tastier, it helps make it healthier. If you add the Epis and/or Scotch Bonnet pepper, the tastiness and nutrional value goes up exponentially.

Hello DOMS, my old friend, I’ve come to talk with you again…

Over the weekend I had the profound pleasure of actually taking part in a privately held, very much improvised, socially distanced barbell workout.  A friend of a workout buddy owns a warehouse so 5 of us gathered to lift some weights for the first time in 2 months (Note: in the country where I live,  gatherings of up to 6 people are allowable under new measures as of last week).  The barbells were most decidedly not regulation size or weight and all of the other equipment, such as it was, was a monument of ingenuity and making do what was on hand.  Nevertheless, I was absolutely thrilled to take part.  Man does not live on bike rides alone…

“So”, you might ask, “how did it go after no heavy barebell training for the last 2 months”?  Honestly, not as bad as I had thought.  Yes, I am detrained and, yes, I lost strength but I was pyschologically prepared.  You can’t expect miracles if you’ve lifted nothing heavy in 2 months.  Also, the lifting itself (deadlift and bench press) was made more difficult by a short, non-standard 8Kg barbell instead of a longer, 20kg standard one.

Deadlifts were tough.  The weights were shorter than “bumper” plate height so consequently we had to bend down further than usual to pick them.  I did 5×5 at weight that would have been very easy 2 months ago, and it proved to be challenging. I was moderately gassed by the 5 rep of each set.  After convential deadlifts,  we put the barbell between stacks of pallets to do “rack pulls” at varying heights

I was pleasantly suprised with the bench presses.  I did 5×5 at a moderately heavy weight relatively easily, especially considering the short bar and the improvised bench set-up.  I guess muscle memory is a real thing and training the movement over years does pay off.  Hopefully I’ll be able to train in this improvised manner twice a week until gyms open again.

The funniest side-effect of this training was the DOMS (Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness) that I encountered the day after the training.  My entire posterior chain (basically the muscles from my hamstrings all the way up to my Traps) were well and truly sore…And I was as happy as a clam.   I was correctly recruiting all the required muscle groups on my deadlifts, so my form hasn’t completely degraded.  Interestingly, I had no soreness in my chest, shoulders and triceps although in relative terms I was lifting heavier for bench presses.  Anywho,  it was great to be back in the saddle, metaphorically speaking by challenging my body once again.  Hobbling around and groaning like an old man is small price to pay.

Look, the confinement has meant that making baked goods and binging on Netflix are almost laudable, socially responsible activities.  I can dig it, however to enjoy the Yin of serial couch potatoing, I need the Yang of regular physical stress (aka training).