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Mad Mobility | A lot


Body:
 
How many stairs did you take?
 
A lot.
 
How many steps was it up?
 
A lot.
 
How many steps was it down?
 
A lot.
 
How times did you do it?
 
A lot. 
 
How much progress did you make?
 
A lot more than I thought. 
 
Me and the lady against the world, or my leisure nature. Something that started with a choice was continually driven by a single scare and a sweet glute pump. 
 
I’m not one for waiting on elevators. How far does one actually have to go, and what might you be carrying that is so damn cumbersome. Wired for comfort, likely we are. 
 
Third day of the resort down in Mazatlán. Hopped out the hotel room en route to the beach for an evening stroll. We awaited for one of the 4 elevators on our side to arrive at the 15th floor. Doors opened, we stepped in and began our decent. The vator stopped a few floors down and another flip-flop dawning gentleman stepped in. We continued our decent only to stop aggressively somewhere around the 8th floor. It shook violently, dropped a little, and then went still. Simona crushed most of the bones in my hand and rang the bell a few times. The bell rang down the shaft through the silence. The three of us shared a few concerning looks. After what felt like an eternity for Simona the elevator finally started moving (questionably) down to the safety of the lobby, but alas, the door didn’t even open and the death trap took us for a joy ride back up 6 terrifying floors. It then stopped and opened up. We hopped the fuck out. The other dude said “cheers” after a nervous chuckle, and I replied with “safe travels” as he decided to ride out the trusted machine. We walked down the rest of the way, and up, and down, for the next 11 days. 
 
319 from the food/pool/beach to the room and 319 from room to the food/pool/beach, about 3-5 times a day pending on itinerary. Simona says her butt feels amazing and looks even better than before. I agree, and also kept my calf size. 
 
Before all this I figured we would put some time aside each day to run through some training. As stated earlier, I’m a man of leisure. Put me up in an atmosphere of indulgence and we have a showdown of ‘meh’ pic proportions. I really had no intention of working out. I know myself well enough to mould the lifestyle to create what I want/need. Do you really think a handful of time in the gym a week is offsetting the loads of time in every other movement void scenario. It’s the everyday shit that keeps the world turning and our bodies transforming. 
 
Aside from crushing flights of stairs, I worked in some joint rotations by the pool/beach, strategically consumed large amounts of food, and spent all the indulgent guilt free time with the lady of a lifetime. Throw in some dancing, always dancing. Frequency and consistency for the win. 
 
It’s what we do every day that influences change.
 
Don’t wait for the elevator to drop. 
 
Every day is a lot. 
 
Coach Chesty