Brace Yourself, Here Come the Resolutioners

by

Late December.

Lights bright. Music steady. A couple of familiar faces. Everyone moving like they belong there, like the place has muscle memory of its own.

Then the calendar flips. January hits.

Brace yourself. Here come the New Year’s Resolutioners.

Overnight the sanctuary becomes a theme park. The quiet clank of plates gets drowned out by motivational podcasts playing out loud, someone supersetting five machines like they’re trying to beat a high score, and a small tribe gathered around the dumbbells Googling “how to lose belly fat fast” between sets.

I don’t hate them. Not really. They arrive full of hope, wearing brand-new shoes that still squeak on the rubber floor, eyes wide like they just stepped into a monastery made of mirrors.

I’ve watched this migration for years. It crests in early January, peaks somewhere between treadmill and protein powder fatigue, then fades like fireworks smoke in cold air.

By February the crowds thin. The dumbbells find their homes again. The gym exhales. The iron remembers who actually lives here.

That’s the funny part about resolutions. They announce themselves. They arrive with banners and promises and neon-colored water bottles.

Consistency doesn’t.

Consistency is the guy wiping down the bench after tough sets on a Tuesday in March. The woman loading plates at 5:30 am in the middle of September. The quiet nods between people who never had to say they were serious.

So welcome, Resolutioners. Enjoy the chaos while it lasts. I’ll be right over here, doing what I was doing last month, and the month before that. And every month.

The gym doesn’t belong to the people who start loud.

It belongs to the ones who are still here when the resolutions hit the dust bin.

Nothing Changes If You Don’t

by

Happy New Year.

The calendar flipped. Confetti fell. Maybe you made a promise to yourself in the quiet.

But hear this:

A new year isn’t coming to save you.

Non one’s going to lift for you.

Nothing is different unless you are.

If you showed up in 2025—trained, built, stayed honest—keep going. Double down.

And if you didn’t?

There’s no shame in that.

There’s only today.

No resolutions required. No perfect plan needed.

Just one rep. One brick. One choice that moves you forward.

Because January doesn’t magically create a new you.

That’s on you, any and every time.

Sonny the Alien: The New Year

by
Sonny the Alien

Earth Log Entry #4: Temporal Celebration Protocols

Chad knocked on Sonny’s door.

“You wanna go to the bar tonight?” Chad asked. “It’s New Year’s Eve.”

Sonny looked up from his desk. “Why?”

Chad paused. “…because it’s New Year’s Eve?”

Sonny considered this. “Yes,” he said slowly. “But what has occurred?”

“A new year,” Chad said.

Sonny blinked. “Time has continued.”

Chad frowned. “What?”

Sonny gestured gently. “Yesterday, time existed. Today, time exists. Tomorrow, time will exist. Why is this considered an achievement?”

Chad leaned against the wall. “It’s just…tradition, dude. You celebrate, you drink, you kiss someone at midnight.”

Sonny’s eyes widened slightly. “Kissing is now synchronized with planetary rotation?”

Chad stared. “You’re overthinking it.”

Sonny stood and walked to the window. “On my planet,” he said, “we celebrate when something changes.”

“Like what?” Chad asked.

“When a moon leaves orbit. When a species evolves. When a new planet has been discovered,” Sonny replied.

Chad blinked. “…we just drink. And make resolutions.”

Sonny turned back. “So humans gather to honor that nothing significant has occurred?”

Chad rubbed his chin. “It’s not nothing. It’s…symbolic.”

“Symbolic of what?” Sonny asked.

“That we made it through another year.” Chad said.

Sonny thought for a moment. “You have made it through every day,” he said. “Why is this day superior?”

Chad exhaled slowly. “Sonny…you wanna go out or not?”

Sonny considered this carefully. “Will I be expected to cheer?” he asked.

“Probably.” Chad replied.

“Will I be expected to shout numbers?”

“Definitely.”

“Will there be loud music and crowded spaces?”

Chad nodded.

“And someone may attempt to kiss me?”

“Yeah.”

Sonny paused.

Then he reached into his mini-fridge and removed two king-size Snickers bars and a quart of milk.

“I require confectionery stabilization,” he said calmly.

Chad stared. “…is that a yes?”

Sonny thought for a moment. “Yes,” he said. “As long as there will be women.”

“Cool,” Chad said. “We’ll leave at 7. You drive.”

Sonny nodded and Chad left.

He then took a big swig of milk and started typing into his Earth Log device:

Humans celebrate the passage of time despite its indifference to them. I find this confusing but socially important. I will participate because human females will be there. Chad says I must wear something ‘festive.’ I do not know what that means.

The Physique Builder Mirror

by

The past year is a mirror.

Not the kind you flex in—the kind that tells the truth.

It shows how you trained. How you ate. How you slept. How often you chose comfort over effort.

Did you hit the reps? Did you push the last set when it burned? Did you feed your body what it needed—or what was easy?

You can’t cheat this mirror.

It shows up in your waistline. In your posture. In the way your joints feel when you get out of bed. In the quiet pride—or frustration—you carry into the gym.

If the work didn’t get done in 2025, nothing changes at midnight.

New programs won’t build muscle. New motivation won’t lower body fat. New calendars won’t fix broken habits.

Unless you resolve to show up every day, no matter what year.

Consistency matters.

So use the New Year energy—but don’t waste it on resolutions.

Aim it at your plate. At sleep. At progressive overload. At showing up when you don’t feel like it.

Consistently.

Because your body isn’t moved by the year.

It’s moved by you and the mission.

How to Not Get Soft and Sloppy When You Love to Eat

by
How to Not Get Soft and Sloppy When You Love to Eat

You can bet your bottom dollar Brickwall loves to eat.

I don’t nibble. I don’t “just have a bite.” I eat.

Sometimes I scare myself with how much food I can put down.

But here’s the line I never cross:

I refuse to become soft. I refuse to become sloppy. I refuse to let comfort turn into decay.

So I don’t eat like a monk—I eat like a disciplined animal.

Here’s how.

1. Protein and Fiber At Every Meal

This is the foundational brick.

At every meal, protein and fiber hit the plate.

Why?

Because once your body gets protein and fiber, your appetite stops screaming like a toddler in a candy aisle.

If you’re still hungry after that? Good—now you’ve earned the rest.

2. Eat Slow Like You’re Paying Attention to Your Life

Fast eating is how grown men accidentally inhale 1,200 calories and wonder why they’re still hungry.

Slow down.

Put the fork down between bites. Chew. Taste your food like a human being.

If you eat like you’re running from wolves, your body gets the full signal too late.

3. Liquid Calories Are the Silent Assassin

Soda. Juice. Sweet coffee drinks.

They slide in unnoticed—and leave your waistline bloated and confused.

Drink:

  • Water
  • Black coffee
  • Unsweetened tea
  • Milk (within reason)
  • Zero-calorie drinks if needed

Eat most of your calories.

4. Indulge—But Not All Damn Day

I don’t believe in food prison.

I believe in windows of permission.

You can enjoy pizza, burgers, ice cream—just don’t turn Tuesday into a 14-hour buffet.

Have the thing. Enjoy the thing.

Then get back to mission.

5. Train Like You Mean It

You can’t out-discipline a lazy body.

Hard training creates demand.

When your muscles are starving for recovery, food becomes fuel instead of fluff.

Lift hard. Do your cardio.

Push limits.

Make your appetite earned.

6. Sleep Like It’s Part of the Program

No sleep = no brakes.

When you’re exhausted your hunger hormones turn feral.

You don’t want more food—you want rest.

Sleep is appetite control in disguise.

Bonus: Boost Your Metabolism with Coffee and Tea

Coffee and tea give you a small metabolic edge.

Caffeine slightly increases energy expenditure and fat oxidation—not enough to replace discipline, but enough to tip the scale in your favor.

Have them in the morning. Enjoy the ritual. Then shut it down.

The trap? Overuse.

Too much caffeine:

  • Spikes cortisol
  • Trashes sleep
  • Leaves you wired at night and ravenous the next day

And when sleep gets wrecked, fat gain accelerates.

So use coffee and tea like a tool—not like a life support system.

One to two servings early in the day.

That’s it.

Final Brick

You don’t need to stop loving food.

You just need to stop letting food run your life.

Eat with power. Train with intent. Recover like it’s your job.

Stay strong. Stay sharp.

Sonny the Alien: The Silver and Black

by
Sonny the Alien

Earth Log Entry #3: A New Allegiance

Sonny was introduced to American football at a bar on a Sunday.

Chad explained that it was very important.

Men and women watched intently. Voices became louder. Emotions escalated rapidly.

“This is football,” Chad said. “You gotta pick a team.” he said, studying the menu.

Sonny watched closely.

Large humans collided at high speeds. One man was praised for violently tackling another. The crowd cheered.

“This is…ritual combat,” Sonny said.

“Basically,” Chad nodded.

Sonny studied the teams carefully.

Some wore bright colors. Some wore stripes. Some had mascots that appeared non-threatening.

Then Sonny saw them.

Black jerseys. Silver helmets. A pirate logo.

“Who are those?” Sonny asked.

“The Raiders,” Chad said. “Why?”

Sonny’s eyes widened. “They dress for intimidation,” Sonny said. “They have chosen darkness and metal.”

Chad looked at the TV and squinted. “Yeah…I guess.”

“I choose them,” Sonny declared.

“Bro—you can’t just choose the Raiders,” Chad said. “You don’t even know where they’re from.”

Sonny shrugged. “They appear formidable. Their aesthetic suggests danger. I respect this.”

The Raiders scored. Sonny stood up and pumped his fist.

“Yes,” he said calmly. “Violence has rewarded them.”

Chad stared. “You’re…rooting for the Raiders?”

“Yes,” Sonny said. “They are clearly the apex predators.”

Over the next hour, Sonny became increasingly invested.

Every hard hit earned solemn approval. Every penalty confused him.

“Why is aggression punished?” Sonny asked. “This is a combat sport.”

Chad sighed.

At one point, the Raiders lost yardage. Sonny frowned deeply. “They are dishonoring their armor,” he said.

By the end of the game, Sonny had committed fully. He crossed his arms. He nodded at the screen. He spoke in quiet, absolute statements. “They will recover.” “They are not afraid.” “This is temporary weakness.”

When the Raiders lost, Sonny remained unshaken. “This is acceptable,” he said. “True warriors suffer.”

Chad looked at him. “You picked the Raiders knowing they might suck?”

“Yes,” Sonny said. “Winning is not the point.”

Chad blinked. “Then what is?”

Sonny thought for a moment. “Loyalty,” he said. “And intimidation. And looking good while doing it.”

Sonny took out his Earth Log device and started writing.

Humans choose allegiance to sports teams for many reasons. Geography. Family. History. I chose mine based on armor and threat level. Chad says this will bring me pain. I am prepared.

Chad looked around and muttered, “Where’s our waitress?”

Sunday Sendoff #28: In These Complex Times, Simplify

by
Brickwall's Sunday Sendoff

I listen to the stories of my grandparents. My mom. My dad. My aunts and uncles.

Stories about how they grew up. What life was like.

Simpler times.

Before the world ran 24/7. Before the planet lived in your pocket. Before everyone could reach everyone, all the time.

Their world was what they could touch. Family. Friends. The house. The neighborhood.

Outside of that? It didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter.

Now look at us.

We carry the fears, opinions, and emergencies of eight billion strangers in our pockets.

We were never built for that.

Your nervous system thinks you’re being hunted—but it’s just notifications.

No wonder we’re tired. No wonder we’re anxious. No wonder we’re angry.

We went too far…and we can feel it.

So in these complex times, we don’t need more hacks.

We need to simplify.

Take a social media break. Put your phone away. Be fully where your feet are. Talk to the people in front of you. Be grateful for what’s already in your hands.

We don’t have to go back to 1965 to live simply.

We can choose it—right now.

Kill one app. Turn one screen off. Talk to one real human.

And notice how your body finally exhales.

The Week’s Post Loadout

12/22/25 | The Gold Standard for Movements: Repeatable. Measurable. Observable. | Gym and Training

How you can know if a movement is worth its salt.

12/22/25 | It’s Monday, Muthafucka | Raw Steel

The best day of the week.

12/25/25 | Christmas in the Brickyard | Brickwall’s Corner

A brief pause in the Brickyard.

12/26/25 | Do You NEED to Go to Failure to Stimulate Muscle Growth? | Foundations

Failure or no for muscle growth? Getting to the bottom of it.

12/27/25 | Being a Rock Star | The Brickpile

Who hasn’t wanted to be a rock star? But the dream isn’t dead: You can be a rock star in your own world.

Something to Ponder

What are some things you can do to simplify your life? Why not do 1-2 of those things this week?

See You In the Arena

This week is just about over. Next week is just about here. Let’s keep building.

Brick by brick.

-Brickwall

Being a Rock Star

by
Being a Rock Star

Who hasn’t thought about being a rock star?

If you love music, it’s only natural.

You hear a track that hits just right and suddenly you’re on stage—lights in your eyes, crowd moving with you, whole room bending to your rhythm.

Then reality taps you on the shoulder.

I don’t play a single instrument. I took guitar lessons as a kid, scratched the surface, learned a few chords, and walked away. My voice is deep and quiet—not exactly arena-ready.

And the final nail in the coffin?

I don’t have the thousands of invisible hours it takes to practice, rehearse, record, and bleed for the craft.

So the rock star fantasy goes back on the shelf—somewhere between pro basketball player and movie star. 😂

But here’s the thing.

It’s not the music I actually want.

It’s the becoming.

The late nights. The practice reps. The mastery earned when nobody’s watching.

That’s the real rock star fantasy—not the lights, but the forge.

So I’m shelving the guitar dreams.

Not because I can’t be a rock star—but because I chose a different stage.

The gym. The websites. The work.

Same hunger. Different instruments.