Over at my new gym there is a trainer named Jay, which is probably appease-the-Yanks for something like Jaroslav or Javor since he is from Serbia and speaks with a lilting, musical accent. He spends most of his time putting thirtysomething males with athletic builds through fairly grueling workouts, the most notable of which involves a truck tire. I used to see this tire thing on the World’s Strongest Man competition and it ate into my imagination. Yes, you can look up a how-to on the Net.
Fortunately, the tire at Gold’s is a pretty modest sized starter tire that belongs on maybe a Ford F-450 at most. I got my hands under it the other day just to gauge the weight. I need a little more time to bring my left leg up to speed but I reckon I can do this thing.
So when the Serbian Executioner took a break from coaxing a neighborhood-league basketball player through plyometrics to grin at me and ask how I was liking my workouts (I was slinging some luscious kettlebell at the time) I told him I had bought into five training sessions — I never paid trainers in my life before, but there are too many new toys there and I want to learn them all tomorrow. “For my last I want you to torture me with the tire,” I said.
He looked at me like I had two heads. I suspect not many bespectacled ladies approaching the age of sixty present him with this request.
I explained what I usually squat. He smiled, a little evilly. “Okay,” he said, “you can do my drill.”
I want to work through more kettlebell and the weighted balls and some mixed leg routines first, but now there is a Grail glimmering in the distance. A big black rubber Grail with a ruthless Eastern-European strength guru attached to it. I will try to arrange video.