My name's Dor. I've been training for more than fifteen years, I'm a data scientist by trade, and I write the week you've been reading.
The honest bit first: I'm not a certified trainer, and this isn't coaching. I'm someone who has trained relentlessly since I was seventeen, who reads obsessively about how bodies and brains actually work, and who can't look at anything without turning it into a system. Every week you get is that system.
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: heavy and slow, high volume, machines, barbells, classes, outdoors, at home.
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.
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 a single bell and own three now, but the hardware was never the thing that changed anything. The variety was.
And that isn't restlessness. It's the whole method.
I've read dozens of books on psychology, self-development and how the brain actually works, and one idea keeps surfacing: a new pattern asks something of you that a familiar one simply doesn't. Repeat a movement enough and your nervous system stops paying for it. Change it, and you're not just loading a muscle — you're solving something. It's harder. It holds your attention. It's the reason I still want to train after more than fifteen years.
New moves, new connections. That's the thesis, and every week I write is built on it.
I'm a data scientist with a master's in software and information systems engineering; my research was in machine learning and big data. That's not a fitness qualification and I won't dress it up as one. But it's exactly why these weeks look the way they do.
Every movement I use is catalogued — what it demands, how it's built, how it sits alongside the others. A week doesn't get improvised on a Sunday morning. It gets assembled: hard days spaced, the technical work placed where you've still got the focus for it, easy days kept genuinely easy, and something new dropped in on purpose.
That's the part I enjoy. It's also the part almost nobody wants to do for themselves — which is the entire reason this exists.
The work history is on LinkedIn if you want to check it.
I live in Tel Aviv. I have a full-time job. I served as an officer and still do reserve duty, which now and then takes a chunk out of my calendar whether I'd planned for it 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.
A full week is free to read — every session, every movement, exactly what subscribers get. No signup, nothing to cancel.