Happy Birthday Leah!

Strength:
Back Squat
3×5 @ 75%
(if you don’t know your 1RM then find it… and memorize it… for-ev-er)

Metcon:
AMRAP 15min
5 Dumbbell Push Jerk 50#
7 Box Jump 30″

 

I realize not everyone may geek out over youtube video of Oly Lifters, but for those familiar with Klokov and the rest of the motherland beasts you’ll get a good kick out of this:

Reader Submission: Hanging with the Russians

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If you missed it yesterday, we announced on our facebook page that Dmitry Klokov will be coming to the US with a bunch of his buddies to train and host seminars. If you live in the Northeast, this is probably something you don’t want to miss.

On that note, our friend Paul Sousa drafted a silly story on what he thinks a day hanging out with the Russians would entail.

A Perfect Day with Russians Who doesn’t love Russians?  Let’s be honest, if Louie Simmons is right about anything, it’s that Russians are awesome.  I was thinking about this fact the other day, and I began daydreaming about what a perfect day of hanging with some Russians would look like…

It would all begin with my Misha alarm clock playing some accordion music to wake me up.

After doing a little wake up dance to it I would head to the kitchen where Akkaev would have made me pancakes.  He makes the best pancakes.  We’d eat together and talk about the weather forecast, go-karts and the other usual stuff.  Then we’d strap on our KGB era rocket shoes and fly to the beach.

At the beach we’d meet up with Klokov and Belyaev for a rousing game of beach volleyball.

Tight jeans and body oil are the official uniforms of course.  Akkaev would set me for a killer spike to win the match, then we would all go get soft serve ice cream cones.  After that we’d rent paddle boats and have races.

After all our beach fun we’d be hungry, so we’d head to Malanichev’s house for a feast.  Malanichev and KK would have just gone bare hand bear hunting and brought back a couple grizzlies for the rotisserie.  We’d dine on bear meat and drink vodka, and after getting a bit tipsy we’d start wearing the grizzly heads as hats and reenact Where the Wild Things Are.  KK does the best wild rumpus.

All of this would have tired me out considerably, and Misha would descend from the heavens riding a milk carton.  He would fly me back home and tuck me into bed, then sing me sweet lullabies while I faded into dreamland.

 

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