Who lives in Paleo town?

White knuckled tree climbing cliff jumping vine swinging hirsute and horrible ancient Homo Paleolithus and his beautiful, wiser and better half, Fem-Paleolithas.  Known for lifting tremendous weight, feared the world over for the worthy war cry springing from the depths of dark and dangerous gyms where (gasp) free weights are thrown around, where boxes and stumps are jumped upon, where bags are smashed, pig iron flies, and the only humidity control is the sweat floating in the air.  This is Paleo town.

How many times will you see those monsters growling and bending, ripping away with rugged fingers and grasping hands at the heaviest piece of 1970's weight room furniture they can tear free from it's moorings?  Men and women alike, ripped and hard, tatters of clothes, who cares about fashion when you can move?  When anything that needs to be lifted is at the mercy of your group, your clan, your tribe.  When unstoppable is your life, when never-ending is your quest, when twisted cables are your arms, when clear and bright far-seeing lights are your eyes, then you begin to realize the true power that has always been yours.

HEY!  YOU!  How long can you watch before you join in the ancient dance of work, pure and clean and hard and simple.  Will you watch with wide eyes, scared at the dancing of the flames deep in the eyes of a being totally and completely dedicated to performance through utter dedication to an unpolluted goal; work in its most physical sense.  Or will you join?

This is YOU calling, this is your human spirit screaming to be let free, this is your battered and primitive age worn soul, pulsing backwards through countless eons, begging and blustering and beating it's hairy and heavy chest, yawping with a fearful wildness to be let free, to let you see just how strong you can be, to see how much weight you can throw, to embrace fully the enormous potential of power you have.

We're not talking "open yourself up, sweet baby," we're talking heart-bursting power, capable at a moments notice of running down any 4 legged creature on the planet over unending savannah miles, capable of landing on an elk's back from 20 feet up, dropping through the air and mingling with gravity, connecting with a heavy thud and ripping through the tough and protected neck skin with obsidian-sharp rock to get at the bright red arterial iron rich blood deep beneath, to feed directly from the circle of life, to get the hell away from plastic and processing, to never again set foot in a grocery store where eating is too easy.

This is you calling, your old caveman self, your old fire-burning stone-smashing true love, the wild and primal side that you feel on those early cold mornings when the sun has yet to rise and the sense of warmth is only within you.  This is your life.  When will you see with you own eyes the meaning of being fully responsible for what you eat? Hunt it.  Kill it.  Eat it.  Don't ever look in a mirror, you already know what you are.  More human than human.

Uncontaminated with the trappings of a modern gym, using only iron sticks and steel stones, rough ropes and thick logs and ancient heavy weights and crackling red-blue lighting burning bright in every heart.

Blended with technique honed over many moons of the same movement practiced over and over.  The quick twist of the hands, the graceful and deadly curve of a throwing arm, the compressed and deadly accurate power of a panther's leap, all coiled up in a thigh muscle.

The lithe movements of the strong and flexible, the cunning and wisdom and experience rolled into that 3 pounds of grey fatty tissue a-top a machine built to live self-reliantly.  This is you.  This is the gift you've been given, this body, this mind.

How will you treat it?  Will you learn the best ways to use it, to move, to run, to jump, to lift?  Will you memorize your owners manual, will you try new movements, will you jump that log, sail off that cliff to the far side tree, will you grasp and windmill and grab and keep gripping and grasping until you come to a heart pounding stop?

Will you eat clean and pure, feeding this holy machine of yours the best ingredients you can find?  Will you shoot straight, tell the hard truth over the easy lie, will you run when you can walk, will you stand when you can sit, will you climb when could crawl?  What will you do?

You want pristine food, pure and unmingled with everyday additives, undefiled by artificial sweeteners, immaculate in its Paleosity, virtuous in its total embracement of whole food, nothing more, nothing less.  When you're ready, you'll get it.

Too much reading...
How about dessert?

Take me to the store

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