Everything I tried worked, then went stale. Then this.
My name is Dor. I've been training for more than fifteen years, I'm a data scientist by trade, and the weeks on this site are the weeks I trained myself, handed over in the order I did them.
I've trained relentlessly since I was seventeen. I read obsessively about how bodies and brains actually work, and I can't look at anything without turning it into a system. Every week you get is that system — the one I run on.
17
I've tried just about everything
I grew up playing sport — football, tennis, years out on a mountain bike. I walked into a gym at seventeen and never really left. Since then I've trained more or less every way there is:
Fifteen years
Most of it worked, for a while. All of it eventually went stale — and that's the part that got me curious.
It was never my body that gave up on those programs first. It was my attention.
One bell
Why nothing stays the same for long
For the last year and a half I've trained almost entirely with a kettlebell, my own bodyweight, and my feet — three or four sessions a week, with the movements changing nearly every session. I started with one bell and own three now, and the weeks I write for you still need only the one. The hardware was never the thing that changed anything. The variety was.
And that isn't restlessness. It's the whole method.
A movement I already know, I can do while thinking about something else. A new one I can't. It's harder, it holds my attention, and it's the reason I still want to train after fifteen years.
There's a side effect I didn't expect, and it turned out to be the best part: it's fun.
A movement you've never done is a small problem to solve, and you feel yourself get it inside a couple of sets.
Clumsy, then passable, then suddenly clean. Training stopped being a box I ticked and started being something I was curious about.
In the weeks I write for you, that lands as routines that keep changing, with new movements dropped in as I find them — inside a structure that holds still just long enough for you to beat it. Novelty where it buys you something; repetition where you need it to see the numbers move.
Something to figure out, every time. It's the reason I still want to train after fifteen years, and every week I write is built on it.
The catalogue
The day job shows up in the plans
I'm a data scientist with a master's in software and information systems engineering; my research was in machine learning and big data. Being paid to distrust a hunch is a hard habit to switch off when I sit down to write a training week.
The catalogue is the boring part that makes the rest work. When I write a week I'm choosing from something rather than remembering. That's why the two heavy bell days never land back to back, why the technical work comes before you're tired, and why the easy day stays easy instead of quietly turning into another hard one.
I enjoy doing it. It's also the part almost nobody wants to do for themselves — which is the entire reason this exists.
Tel Aviv
Three or four sessions, because that's what I've got too
I live in Tel Aviv. I have a full-time job, and a calendar that gets chunks taken out of it whether I'd planned for them or not.
I mention it because it shapes the product. These weeks are written by someone training around a real life — not someone with four spare hours and a commercial gym. Three or four sessions, one bell to start, a bit of floor, and whatever time you can actually find.
That constraint isn't a compromise in the programming. It's the design brief.
Judge it on the training. Then come and do a week with me.
A full week is free to read — every session, every movement, in the same detail subscribers get. No signup, nothing to cancel.