Living with a SEAL: 31 Days Training with the Toughest Man on the Planet

by Jesse Itzler

Every day do something that makes you uncomfortable.

“Okay, I’ll do it with one condition,” he said in a tone that was slightly motivational in a psychopathic drill sergeant way. “You do everything I say.”

He begins to laugh, but it’s a haunting laugh, like the Count on Sesame Street.

I definitely think I got my creativity from my dad. And as far as I know he’s pro-Novocain, but unfortunately he wasn’t the one driving me to the dentist. The part of me that would grow up to hire a Navy SEAL, that came from Mom.

There is some kind of mutual warrior vibe going on that they are connecting with. I’m picking it up too, but I’m not on the same warrior vibe radio station as them.

“SEAL, I have a problem,” I say to him. “I didn’t bring any extra underwear.” “So what?” “I can’t run without underwear.” “Nah, bro, you can’t run without legs. It’s on.”

Now, I’m not sure if you have ever seen an ultra-marathon before, but the competitors are an interesting breed of humans. As Sara said, “It’s like they put ninety people from an insane asylum onto a Greyhound bus, drove them out to the desert, blew a whistle, and said run for two days.” She wasn’t far off.

“When you think you’re done, you’re only at forty percent of what your body is capable of doing. That’s just the limit that we put on ourselves.”

I read that having the proper cushion on your sneakers minimizes the impact on your legs when running and therefore reduces the chance of injury. I don’t know if that is true or if that was created by a sneaker company, but I bought into it hook, line, and sneaker. Regardless, New Balance are part of my routine.

“What do you want, a fucking leotard? Man, we start, and then, motherfucker, we finish. That’s what we do up here,” he says.

Okay then. So at 0600 today we head out to Central Park for another run. No stretching. No preparation. My warm-up is putting on my warm clothing. I get it.

Crystal didn’t say a word. She was the perfect guest, albeit one with thirty-eight-inch perfectly shaped breasts that stretched the limits of the white Nirvana T-shirt she wore, but was quiet at dinner.

Then, right on the heels of the name Eleanor Roosevelt coming out of Spit’s mom’s mouth, she decides to weigh in. “ELEANOR ROOSEVELT???? I would not say she was that influential,” she said. “Why’s that?” Spit’s mom asks. “Well, all she did was fuck a president,” Crystal responded.

Mrs. Spit looked like someone had just taken a crap on the dinner table in front of her; but Mr. Spit, God bless him, sort of cocked his head and let his glance drop ever so slightly down o...

SEAL glares at the waiter as he takes our order. “SEAL, what’s up?” He whispers, “Man, this motherfucker right here. I don’t trust that dude.” “Our waiter?” “Yeah, whatever he says he is,” he says. “I’m pretty sure he’s just our waiter.” “Nah. I’ve seen this movie before, man. I don’t trust that motherfucker at all.”

You can get through any workout because everything ends. —SEAL

SEAL greets the FedEx guy at the door. It appears Christmas has come early for him, or maybe for me. He ordered me my very own fifty-pound metal-plated weight vest for push-ups and to “increase the level of difficulty” of my runs. You’ve got to love SEAL. I didn’t even know my runs needed a higher degree of difficulty.

It’s not a bad walk, but today we stand out. I think we look like suicide bombers from a J.J. Abrams movie. Shoulder to shoulder, black guy, white guy, down Park Avenue looking like we’re going to blow some shit up just for the sake of blowing some shit up. We are walking with some purpose down the street.

He showed up at my house with a backpack. For thirty-plus days. One backpack. We have closets full of shit we never use, millions of pictures we took that we never look at, stacks of files that collect dust. He’s a master at keeping it simple, and I have to say his simplicity looks attractive to me. I sort of want what he has, but I still want what I have.

If there is one thing I’ve learned about marriage, it’s not the gift that counts, it’s the effort. That’s kind of like SEAL, I guess.

These guys are looking at me like I just invented the Internet. They’re blown away. It’s like when a stock on the New York Stock Exchange is halted and no business can be conducted. They’re obsessed with our dynamic. They keep asking questions.

It’s like everyone wants to sit next to him, but nobody wants to sit next to him. Most of the people at the party have been following the blog. So they know what to ask but are afraid to ask it.

When all is said and done, SEAL’s food intake constitutes 75 percent of the dinner bill for the night. Amazing.

If you’re hungry, run faster. You’ll be home quicker.

All you really need to do is get your push-up and sit-up routine consistent, and you can see amazing results.

“It’s not what you do, it’s when and how you do it. It’s all about the conditions. Remember that.”

“Hey, SEAL, what do you think about when you run?” “Finishing.”

The local news in Connecticut is advising everyone to “STAY INSIDE UNLESS IT’S AN EMERGENCY.” “This is fucking perfect,” SEAL says.

Fear is one of the best motivators. Anger is the other.

A thousand push-ups is something I could never have imagined doing. It just shows that repetition and consistency equal results.

If you can see yourself doing something, you can do it. If you can’t see yourself doing something, usually you can’t achieve it.

The simplicity that SEAL has is one of the most important things in life. He gets to do what he loves every day. He lives stress-free.