ATOMIC DOG
Tuesdays with Davies
by TC

The Atomic Dog is a weekly feature that isn't necessarily about weight training or bodybuilding. Sometimes it's about sports in general, sex, women, or male issues of some kind. At times it's inspirational, but it can also be informative, funny, and even a little weird, but hopefully, always interesting and a little controversial. We hope it reflects the nature of Testosterone magazine in that, just as no man is completely one-dimensional and only interested in one subject, neither are we. If it makes you think or laugh — or even get angry — it's served its purpose.

I'm sitting outside the Brick and Bell Café in La Jolla, California this past Tuesday morning, sipping on a Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee while waiting for Coach John Davies.

It's almost 11:45 and I'm wondering if he's going to be late because he's one of those guys who's never been late in his life. A dentist's dream. He's got exactly 30 seconds and I'm counting them down to see if his long-standing record has been broken by a traffic jam, a flat tire, or some surfer chick with an itch.

But as the second hand sweeps up within nanoseconds of the 12, I hear a commotion from the street. It sounds like some construction company's laying out planks of wood on the concrete so they can erect a new bank, bistro, or boutique:

KA-THANK! KA-THANK!

I scoot out from my chair and peek around the corner of the building. Instead of a construction company, there's a long-haired dude wearing what might best be described as surfer togs cleaning out the back of his truck. The street is littered with surfboards, a skateboard or two, a whopper of a kettlebell, and one of those nifty Indo boards that are used to train balance and flexibility.

His long hair and beaded wrist bracelets (made of hemp?) make him look like someone who just left Ozzie Osbourne's Ozzfest, the strains of I am Ironman still ringing through his ears. Either that or he looks like some freewheeling New-Age type from some commune setting up his flea market stand so he can make enough money to start an organic kiwi farm.

Meet John Davies. Surfer dude, sk8ter boi, and Super Coach, secret weapon of dozens of college and professional football players and hockey players.

I'd invited him down to train a few of my friends, all personal trainers/coaches with their own businesses. The group consisted of John Swain and Skip George from Optimum Fitness, Bram Wiley from Frog's Fitness, and Lance Goldman from Balance Fitness (where we ended up lugging all the crap Davies had dumped in the street). These guys come from mixed backgrounds, some Chek certified, one an ex-Marine, another a chiropractor, at least two ART certified, and one an ex-IFBB employee who used to drug test the pros; but all supremely qualified.

But Davies presented a new paradigm for these guys. This coach, this throwback to another training era, this velociraptor in Billabong clothing, knew movements and techniques that these guys — all products of the modern era — had never tried. But don't get me wrong, Davies' ain't no old-school codger whose techniques are now considered quaint. Many of his movements, albeit "old school" in origin, had evolved into modern variations that can bust your present day balls.

We began with an introduction to the kettlebell. While most gurus of this particular piece of equipment will eagerly "certify" you over the course of two days for a thousand dollars, your home, and a romp with your girlfriend, Davies taught us all how to be reasonably proficient in 15 minutes for nothing but the promise of a romp with our girlfriends. In otherwords, a fair price.

For those of you who haven't used one before, the kettlebell looks like something you see in grainy black and white photos of turn-of-the-century "physical culture" studios. And that's exactly where they originated. They're really nothing more than cannon balls with handles and this particular one that I'd lugged half-way across town weighed 52 pounds.

Through patient and skillful instruction — quite unlike the horror stories I'd heard of him dragging football players through their own vomit — Davies explained how to do various kettle bell movements ranging from kettlebell cleans to bent presses, which are probably the oldest lift known, the kind you often see old-time strongman Sandow doing in those old black and whites.

Coach Davies demonstrates the intricacies of the kettlebell

The trick of these damn things is hip speed, to let your momentum move the weight. Your arms end up being not much more than sinewy bungee cords. My mistake was to try and muscle the thing up and my feet literally started to leave the ground, seemingly in defiance of physics.

"No, don't muscle it…it's not rocket science," explained the coach. "Enhance the speed of the countermovement..use the downward motion to propel the weight up…push the weigh through…snap your wrist underneath as it comes up…disembark the weight…soften it, soften…that's it."

Davies typically uses kettle bells first in his workouts to facilitate hip speed, which is probably the crux of most athletic lifts.

While none of us became experts in just 15 minutes, it'll probably be a cold day in Minsk before we drop a grand to learn kettle bell techniques from some instructor. Most of us felt that we could now practice the techniques on our own and become reasonably proficient without additional coaching.

From there we moved to, what Davies' referred to as, "the most important lift I can think of," otherwise known as the Drop Snatch. With a barbell behind your neck, you lower your body as quickly as possible so that you end up in a squat position, but simultaneously extend the bar over your head. It's a bizarre movement for those of us who are used to conventional bodybuilding type movements because the bar pretty much stays stationary — it's your body that moves away from the bar.

Then, you squat upwards while keeping your arms stretched over your head. Tough stuff, particularly if your lower back ain't up to snuff. Again, the key is to generate bar speed.

"This is an incredible movement for increasing the flexibility of the shoulder capsule," explained Davies. "And as the weight is over your head, you also work core stability, along with stability of the hamstrings and hips.

Then, to make the movement even more difficult, the bastard starts poking us as we're coming out of the hole, trying to push us off-balance. He's like an annoying older brother torturing you as you try to finish gluing the mast on your model sailboat.

"It's called imperfection training," say Davies. "You teach the body to right itself by trying to fight against the opposing force, which happens to be my hand."

From there, Davies moved on to the Close-Grip Snatch and by this time, he's barking orders like Master Gunnery Sergeant Hartman from Full Metal Jacket:

"Don't bend over — push the butt out!" [you maggots!]

"Just a slight bend of the knees…THERE!"

"Don't look up…look straight ahead!"

"This is just a big gigantic close-grip pull up that you push through! One harmonious movement…punch it through, punch it through!"

After we do our four sets of 6, some of us more proficiently than others, Davies gives us a new variation he calls "the dive start." It's another example of "reactive strength," like where he was prodding and pushing us as we did Drop Snatches. In practice, the athlete addresses the bar, placing his hands on the bar as he would in performing the lift. But he doesn't do the lift just yet. He stands up, loosely shakes his hands, and then pulls a Stevie Wonder by closing his eyes.

Davies demonstrates the above. Then, upon an audible signal — in this case me clapping me hands — he opens his eyes and explodes into the movement.

This earthbound Maverick feels the need for speed all the time…and he wants to make me his Goose, at least for the duration of this workout (the bastard). Trouble is, in the movie, "Top Gun," Goose didn't last all that long.

While demonstrating these dive starts, and without breathing harder than he might while waxing his surfboard, he goes into explanation about relative loads and bar speed:

"…take for instance squats. If I use 40% of my max weight, I'm generating something like 2300 watts of power. If I use 60% of my max, the power output drops to something like 1800 or 1900 watts. And, if I increase to 70 to 80% of my max — which is a typical bodybuilding load — the wattage drops to something like 1300."

While this in no way negates or somehow lessens the importance of heavy weight squats, it does give one pause. Maybe, just maybe, the perfect workout routines incorporate both types of training?

The next movement makes me want to slap Davies, slap him hard. It's called the Snatch Press and it combines a squat with a shoulder press. Huh? What psycho bastard thought up this one? You put the bar on your back, a' la a conventional squat, go ass-to-the-grass, and then stay there while you pump out some shoulder presses. If you don't have flexibility in your shoulders, you will after doing this movement for awhile. Either that or your friends will start calling you "Stumpy."

"Plus," adds, Davies, "it adds bricks (of muscle) to your back."

It better, you son of a bitch, I whisper under my breath.

We continued puffing and grunting away, moving on to the Zercher Good Morning, which involves doing a semi-traditional good morning but cradling the bar in the crooks of your elbows and bringing them to the upper thighs.

"This really knocks hell out of your abdominals, and, if you do a variation where you bend your knees instead of your hips, you're doing a Zercher Squat. Teach your clients how to squat this way and you'll never have a problem in teaching them a traditional squat."

Next we learned what looks like a true circus lift, the One-Arm-Snatch where, starting from a hang position, you explode an Olympic bar — yes, a 7-foot Olympic bar — overhead with one explosive movement, using one hand. Sweet Mother of God, is he insane????

While it looks virtually impossible, it turns out it's not that hard for an athlete with a modicum of coordination. Of course, a novice would probably simultaneously knock a hole in the ceiling with one end of the Olympic bar and another hole in the head of anyone standing close by.

And by now a curious thing is happening. Our individual bar speed is picking up considerably. We're getting faster, more athletic. Each lift is a accompanied by two distinct sets of clanks made by the weights and collars, the first clank being caused by rapid acceleration and inertia and the second by stopping the weight, slamming on the brakes suddenly and keeping the bar from ascending through the ceiling.

Add in our grunts and it’s like a new rap number from Eminem:

UGH, CLANK-CLANK, UGH,

I'm the real Slim Davies. Listen, listen carefully...

You better lose yourself in the lifting, the moment.

You own it, you better never let it go

You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to lift

This opportunity comes once in a lifetime, yo.

UGH, CLANK-CLANK, UGH,

The last movement we learned was the Muscle Snatch Complex, which is essentially a shoulder shrug followed by a high-elbow upright row, followed by a muscle snatch (hoisting the bar overhead), finished up with an overhead squat.

In between a discussion of the day's surfing report with a couple of the guys, surfers too, Davies tried to give some insight into his methodologies:

"Everybody talks about max effort. How many people talk about strength and endurance? If you start talking about time under tension, you get the purists coming out of the woodwork to attack you. People just don't realize the benefits. Take for example Mike Hartle, who's president of USA Powerlifting [a drug-free organization]. As part of my mentor group, he went from something like 460 to 520 in his bench press without doing any max lifts in-between. During his training, he didn't go over 60% of his 1RM."

After our central nervous systems were scorched, Davies pulled out his Indo Board, which is essentially a small surfboard lying on top of a knocked over soup can. Getting on this thing is like…well, like getting on a small surfboard balanced atop a knocked over soup can. It's extraordinarily hard, but Davies can stand on this thing — one legged — lifting weights, cutting his toenails, or playing the friggin' violin as easily as I stand on the regular old ground.

And then he pulls a trick that was too fast for my camera. He's standing on the floor next to the cylinder while holding onto an end of the Indo board. Then he slams the board against the rubberized floor so that it bounces. Somehow, straight out of an Ang Lee movie, he leaps into the air, "catches" the board with his feet and slams it dead center on the cylinder.

He hits the landing perfectly, without so much as a wobble. The judges give him 10's straight across the board, except for the French judge who gives him a 6. An investigation ensues and the French judge is disemboweled.

Impressive, even beautiful, but what's the friggin' point of all this Indo board stuff, John?

"This thing is unmatched in building flexibility — particularly of the ankles. Not only that, it obviously develops balance [duh!] and strength endurance. Standing on this thing for an hour — if you can eventually build yourself up to that length of time — is harder than running for an hour."

I gave it a try, but not before covering the floor, ceiling, and walls with King-size mattresses and donning a flak jacket. I managed to stand on the board easily enough because I'm a relatively coordinated muthah', but I had to remain motionless lest I catapult myself into the Real Estate office next door. Still, I was intrigued. My order for the board is going in tomorrow.

The impromptu seminar finished off with a few core stability moves known as planks and horses, followed by some stretches.

Within two hours, my friends had learned how to use kettle bells, the Indo Board, and enough new strength, power, and endurance movements to bedazzle almost any but the most experienced coaches and trainers. While they had walked in as virtual wide-eyed novices to this aspect of training, they left as wizened old Kung Fu masters, begging any punk to snatch that damn pebble from their hand — if they're quick enough and strong enough and willing to risk having their fingers snapped off at the joints.

Did they like it? Did they think this type of training has applications for athletes and non-athletes alike? Put it this way: we're meeting again next Tuesday.