This past week, I had a friend passing through on his way to Las Vegas for an entrepreneurial seminar. Myke came in from Calgary, and we spent a few days working, training, and chatting. Lots of chilling, eating, and great conversation took place.
Among the good eats, and long days at the coffee shops working alongside each other, we talked about training and dieting, like, a lot.
We discussed our training history, how we got into fitness, and what we’ve struggled with. Like me, Myke is a former fat boy with all of the psychological trappings associated with such a mental state.
Myke, too, has experienced his fair share of injuries as a result of intense training over the years. Alongside those injuries comes a healthy dose of the typical consequences, such as unplanned time off, lack of concern to control our diet, and lots of feeling sorry for ourselves.
This is what typically turns someone, who was once in a great shape, into the person they wish they’d never be again. It’s the story of that guy or gal who pushes too hard for too long, gets an amazing body, only to get injured and a one-way ticket back to their pre-transformation state.
I have a history of being all-or-nothing. My temperament, to put it lightly, used to be very extreme. I had a hard time accepting middle ground, or any gray areas in training, dieting, and my life, in general.
It was black or white, no arguing.
As we talked training, I asked about his injuries, his views on fat loss, longterm training protocols, and how it fits in with his life.
His views stem purely from his own transformational experience. He got lean through intermittent fasting, and a steady dose of low volume training and a big focus on the major movements.
Strength gains were the ultimate benchmark of progress, and ultimately, his success.
The problem came when he got injured. In his view, what got him lean was a lot of heavy deadlifts, squats, presses, and low carb dieting.
But now he couldn’t perform all the movements the way he once could and as a result, Myke proclaimed his impending doom. He admitted defeat.
He exercised less, ate more, and began the downward spiral into depression. He hated how his clothes were getting tighter, but did little about it. It’s a cycle that many of us can relate to.
I know I’ve been there, and I’ve let my shoulder injuries set me back further than they should have in the past.
But what if Myke had some more tricks in his tool belt? What if he wasn’t completely sold on the high intensity, low volume approach? Could he have maintained his fitness, and thusly his confidence, while working around the injury?