prowler 101

Get you a heavy, runner-ed, push thing. Some people call them sleds, some prowlers (tm).  Others prefer not to name them or even really speak about them, so evil they are.  Some people just use cars. (Take the brake off, find neutral).  FUT BIRST, have three babies that grow to roughly 20 kg each.  Put them, the plate babies, on the push thing. Try to balance your load unless you want the added fun of compensating for a right or left pull, reminiscent of a misaligned auto.  Next, push the push thing and the plate babies like a good christian would the devil to his home in hell.  Hard and fast as you can manage.  It's fun to tell yourself the babies souls are depending on you because, let's face it, they are.  You'll slow down but you'll feel like you're working harder, these phenomena, the slowing down, the seeming increase in gravity, are magically proportionate.  Speed down, work up.  Yet, oddly, speed up, work also up.  This is the magic.  This is the reward.  Savor it, kinda like you do orange juice after you've already brushed your teeth, the way you do skunky sunflower seeds,  like you savor the taste in your mouth after you vomit.  Do this--push, devil, hell, guilt trip, savor,  a bunch of times, 'til you start to taste metal, 'til one of the plate babies says you're slowing down. 'Til you stop caring so much about who's going to hell or souls or who are the twerps on my push thing? and they sure are well-fed.  Yeah, do it say 40yds x 10.  Feel your heart explode with joy or hatred, self-pity or lactic acid or something.  Boom goes the ticker.  Cough a lot.  Try to find some saliva.  Calculate total weight.  Get confused by addition.  Call it 250, 255.  Whatever.  Three babies.   But FIRST first, 12x2 dynamic box squats, dynamic dead lifts 8x1.  GHR, reverse hyper, lunge steps.

Upon four-legged forest clouds the cowboy angel rides.  That's me, hiding in the back, the cowboy angel.  Just cowboy for short.