STFU: Confessions of a Reluctant HIIT Man

If you happened to read my essay for Outside about quitting a 3-mile obstacle race, you’d know I’m a confessed beta male.

Walking off the course was an affront to the Spartan ethos.

Fortunately, I have a sense of humor about it. But for a variety of reasons — including the birth of my son Raleigh, and newfound fascination with The Art of Manliness — I’m finally answering the call to STFU.

I’ve recently embarked on a crash course through modern fitness culture. And with the help of my HIIT-happy wife Amber, and under the guidance of the one and only Hunter McIntyre, I’ll live like a CrossFitting, SoulCycling, caveman dieting, Quantified Selfer. I’ll do my best best impression of A.J. Jacobs, my literary hero and one of the funniest voices in my forthcoming sufferfest doc.

And hopefully by February 1st, when I tackle Tough Guy again, I’ll be well on my way to fulfilling the promise I made in DNF:

I want to be more than the filmmaker who champions OCR and spotlights people who’ve found salvation through it. I want to be one of those people. Especially since my wife and I are trying to have a kid. There’s no place for a just-enougher in fatherhood. I want to be strong, fit, ready. And to do that, I need to embrace the suck, push myself past that VO2 mid, and Spartan the fuck up.


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