Our trainer will make you want to play Ruck Ruck Goose
SUMMARY
In Los Angeles, a staple of the genteel fitness regime is what practitioners unironically refer to as "going for a hike," but which, to the veteran eye, more closely resembles a Zoolanderian walk-off between sweat-averse yoga pant models.
Catching wind of this lunacy, Army vet and elite trainer Max Philisaire advanced on Runyon Canyon and surveilled the Hollywood hiker in his/her habitat. The rumors, he found, were all too true. Crushing an unripe avocado in each furious fist, Max declared that "this soft hipster fitness tourism will not stand!"
Because this is Max. Max doesn't hike — he rucks. Max signs his autographs "Good Night and Good Ruck." If Max were an action star? He'd be goddamned Ruck Norris.
Suffering in good company is a furnace in which pride — and great big useful slabs of muscle — are forged. Max doesn't want to be rucking Runyon Canyon alone. So he's extending an invite. To you.
Don't have 50 lb weights for your ruck sack? Use avocados. It's LA. You
know you can ethically source 100 of them. Don't have a ruck sack, you say? A blue IKEA tote on each shoulder should more than get you to muster.
The point is, once you finish Max's workout, no ruck march on earth will feel hard to you again. Because marching ain't sprinting. And if you make it through the inclined lunges, that's what you're doing next. Eating Max's ruck dust all the way to glory.
Watch as Max trains for his new movie, The Hud-Rucker Proxy , in the video embedded at the top.
