Eat Clean Train Dirty....and so it begins!

So I don’t blog often. It bores me and saps my bodily juices of creativity that I normally savour for:

A: the kitchen (as a self-confessed Masterchef)

B:  the bedroom (as an often highly acclaimed Pornstar);  

C:  my hunt for the next crazy arse pain inducing adrenalin fix

(Note: at least two of the above comments are a lie).

But, here I find myself, on the end of a keyboard tapping away, letting rip, juicing away!

A lot has gone on since my last blog. Been electrocuted, carved up by ice, nearly avalanched, almost blown off Beachy Head cliffs, eyeballed a shark,  smashed a few mountains, smashed a few Sambuca’s , almost smashed a sheep.  

So what’s next? Well I’m starting a new health programme with my boot camp known as “Eat Clean, Train Dirty”. Not rocket science, just eat clean non-processed healthy foods and train as hard as your body will allow without breaking it. Simples.

The goal is six weeks to turn this slightly flabby relatively fit exoskeleton into a lean mean running burpeeing machine. So for the next six weeks it’s no booze, no takeaways, no sugar, no crap. Basically, if you were to mentally paint of picture of everything you like to eat as a treat, cross it off the list! Except for sheep…they are still allowed but only if you cook them first.

On the list are anything that grows, especially if it’s green, except marijuana, anything bloody with four legs, chickens (result), stuff that grows on trees, things that live in the sea (except Whales, whales are definitely not included. Nor penguins, too cute.) and finally anything that looks like water, tastes like water and basically, IS water!

It starts tonight, so in preparation I have gorged myself on shit for three days. Weighing in this morning at an all-time great of 73kg my goal is simple. Be strong in the head, work hard, eat clean, encourage others and just do your best!

I’ll be recording everything I eat plus all my exercise (except sex as the calorific loss is negligable) and I’ll be logging and blogging once a week, probably, if I can be arsed. So, if you’re not interested. Do one and go and eat a cream bun.J

Have fun, good luck and love to all the EcTd team, especially my training partner Mrs S xx

Jeremy Kyle, Everest and the Yeti

It’s been a long time, again, since I’ve updated my blog. Mainly because my blogs only get about 50 hits per hours so it’s really not worth the effort of blistering my fingertips tap tap tapping away on this poxy keyboard. Any case, who wants to read about an adventure seeking, egotistical, slightly backward wannabe Roux Jnr. That said, if you Google random blogs you will find many more dull and less interesting balderdash  blogs than the shite I’m about to write. Per example:

Kevin aged 18, Birmingham

“today I took my dog for a walk and it was windy and it was wet and my dog barked at a squirrel and the squirrel run away up a big tree and it was funny and then I went home and fingered my girlfriend and watched myself on the Jeremy thing show and laughed more and my dog barked at the TV when he saw me on it and it was well funny. Then my dog bit me so I hit my girlfriend in the face coz I hate her and all my mates shagged her when I went to the shop to buy a pizza and now she’s had a brown baby and I’m not sure if I’m the dad but I don’t care coz really I do luv her  l luv her so much, I luv her nearly as much as her sister who gave me a blowy on the toilet yesterday and her mum who is well fit and has lots of different blokes every night at her house cos she is so fit but she is not happy as she screams and moans  a lot and the other day I heard her shout f*ck me f*ck and I think she meant me and not the bloke from the council housing association who was inspecting her bedroom for bed lice or somink. I’m gonna bone her”….  

KEVIN

(I’m  now struggling to write something more interesting than Kevin. Dammit).

Yeti Head! Not every day you see one of those is it? Well I am one of the few to have had such an experience. I was on a Himalayan mountain, Everest in fact, alone, in a blizzard at 7,255m above sea level in November 2013. Visibility was down to 10m, storm force winds and ice ripping into my skin like a babies arse in a shot blaster, when the dark shadow appeared in front of me. At first I thought it was a Polar bear but there was not an Iceberg around for 1000 miles; then I thought it was a hairy bearded Nepalese woman but it was far too tall and not quite so smelly. Confused and dazed by altitude and not having eaten for 11 days I stupidly said “What are you”.  I was not expecting the reply that came.  It was the most ferocious roar that penetrated through my snow filled ears sending shivers down my spine and dropping me instantly to my knees….I shall never forgot those words………”I’m a f**ing Yeti”!!!! I shit my pants, literally, shit my pants. Fearing for my life and expecting any moment for the formidable and ferocious beast to tear me limb from limb I knew I had to stall him. Buy some time. First thing that came into my head I asked “What’s a nice bear type thing doing on a lovely mountain like this” and before he/she could answer I whipped out my 47 multi tool penknife and cut its fucking head right off!

THE MOUNTAIN

 

 

 

THE YETI (before I cut his f***ing head off)

After feasting on a few slivers of juicy warm brain flesh, I kicked the Yetis head all the way back down to base camp, obviously after a quick run to the summit and planting my Westham Flag on top of the world. Exhausted from all the kicking, I sat down on a Himalayan cactus for a rest which is where I met Tarquinii. Tarquinii was a middle aged bald bloke from Tibet who claimed people often refer to him as the Dalai Lama. Isn’t that some kind of horse / goat creature? What a weirdo! Anyway, we got talking and before you knew it we were both laughing at our stories of old, getting smashed in Thailand and ending up copping off with a lady boy and giving them the old crocodile Dundee treatment. That’s when he looked down and asked me what that thing was stuck to the end the end of my crampon. “Oh it’s just some old Yetis head that I cut off a few hours ago”.  His eyes popped out like ping pong balls on stalks; jeez he looked just like Grasshopper, for those that remember. Apparently old Lama and his ancestors have been on a quest to find the true mountain Yeti for over four centuries. Like I give a shit. I swapped him the head for a kit-kat chunky and off he went, holding what was really only a cracked up skull that looked a bit like the top of a hairy coconut shell.

I thought nothing more of it until later in my journey back to Lima I visited an historic and beautiful Sherpa temple and had to queue for 45 minutes and pay 500 Rupees to see an ancient and sacred Buddhist temple treasure.  As I entered the incense filled room  to the sound of Harry monks blowing a monotonous hum drum out of a conch shell,  I saw the sneaky little f**ker. 

HARRY MONKS BLOWING ONE OUT

 

 Dalai Lama aka Tarquinii smoking a cigar and counting dollar for showing off his friggin Yeti coconut head to Buddhist and tourists far and wide “Yeti slain by Sir Edmund Hillary”.

 

YETIS HEAD

 

Fair play Tarquinii you cheeky little scroat!!

That fateful day is where I stumbled across Roomie, my ginger bearded fellow mountaineer.

More adventures to follow…..