The scene: While considering which soundtrack single I should download onto my iPod while undertaking this workout, I de­cided Rocky V’s, “Measure of a Man,” by Elton John, might be the most appropriate. The reason? Forget, well, every scene in Top Gun, because Rocky III boasts the most unintentionally homo­erotic vignette in movie history.

After Balboa finally defeats his buff nemesis turned trainer Apollo Creed in wind sprints along the shores of the Pacific, the glistening, short-shorts-sporting duo celebrate by jumping up and down while lovingly embracing in the water…all shot in sexy slo-mo. Uncomfortable bonus: Apollo wears a half-tee during their inaugural sprint.

In trying to replicate this scene, my jogging outfit couldn’t have been more accurately ball-baring… Unfortunately, the beach wasn’t anything like Rocky’s choice of track. Dressed in little more than a napkin, I raced with my Apollo stand-in (hunky personal trainer Tracy Mazyck) on the needle-laden sands of Coney Island with bitter February winds in our faces.

Frostbite notwithstanding, the repetitive bursts of energy worked my heart like a long jog never could. All the muscles in your body—from feet to quads to torso—are forced to work overtime to keep you stabilized when running on sand. My lungs ached for air by the third  100-yard dash, but it was a good “getting strong now” kind of ache. My calf musle burned so badly I wondered if they had somehow contracted gonorrhea (which wouldn’t surprise me considering where we were running.) Is beach running with a man-friend the workout of champions?

“I’m afraid to say I’ve run on the beach with a male partner while wearing short shorts,” says Lundgren. “It’s good to run on sand, because you’re working your calves more.” Foreman agrees: “Running on the beach is the best exercise for your legs. Spend eight days running on the sand—no more than that—and you will have some muscles that’ll be good for a boxing match. After a few toe-to-toe rounds, level street running will do you no good at all.” Silver­glade’s down with the sand program as well. When asked whether he tells any of his boxers to lovingly embrace after races, he replies: “Every single one of them. It brings mutual respect.” I think he was kidding.


5. The Rockout: Tour de Mick
As seen in: Rocky III

The scene: Take 10 feet of rope, wrap it around one monosyllabic Italian, tie the other end to an old guy on a bike, and go.

This calf-buster was surprisingly easy, till my Mickey stand-in, Jack Cahill, started messing with the brakes. After just six minutes, my legs were Jell-O, and the rope burns made my skin as raw as Burgess Meredith’s and twice as dead. “Pulling anything is great,” says Foreman, “because when the bigger guys try to lay on you, pushing ’em off you wears you out.” Silverglade totally disagrees: “Pulling weight builds big, heavy muscles in your legs, and that’ll slow you down.” I’m with him: Any excuse not to tow this ball-busting senior is OK with me.


6. The Rockout: Jay-Rocking
As seen in: Rocky IV

The scene: Balboa ditches a car full of KGB agents by zigzagging on a jog, sending the car crashing into a snow drift. Maxim thought it’d be neat if I transposed this move into something known as “dodging traffic.” I dutifully ran onto Central Park West at rush hour with varying degrees of success. And by varying degrees I mean I was neither wounded nor all that winded—but, man, was my pulse off the charts! “They’re a lot of cons to dodging traffic,” says Lundgren. “But pros? You’re looking death in the eye. When you walk into the ring, you have to be ready to die. [Speaking as Ivan Drago] In order to kill me, he’s going to have to stand in front of me, and in order to stand in front of me, he’s got to be willing to die himself.”


The Main Event

Training was over. It was go time. Upon arriving at LA Boxing’s gym in Secaucus, I couldn’t have been more horrified by my oppo­nent: Glyn Jenkins, a hulking, 230-pound mass of Brit who’s a former amateur national cham­pion in the U.K. The bell rang, and I stepped into the ring ready to deploy every weapon in my ass-kicking arsenal…And it quickly went down hill from there.

The fight lasted all of three rounds due to the fact that Jenkins mercifully toyed with me like a house cat tormenting a rat, while I gave him everything I had.

If any of the Rocky routines did me any service at all, it was probably the stair climb and beach run (with the bike pull and car dodge tying at a distant second). The heavy cardio training added some extra muscle to my legs, allowing me to stay standing for longer than I should have. My jabs, on the other hand, couldn’t have been weaker. Thanks for nothing, Gallagher’s.

Here’s the blow-by-blow: Halfway into the first round, Jenkins grazed my head and my brain rattled to the point of nauseating dizzi­ness. I went down twice in the second, and by the third, my trainer Dean threw in the towel. I sat down, bleeding, and reflected. LA Boxing taught me that pugilism is the best cardio and upper body workout one can do—while Stallone taught me that, without his recently admitted love for human growth hormone, there’s no way Rocky would’ve beaten Apollo— much less me—with his dumb-ass routines.

So, Maxim, now that it’s over, any interest in a movie montage training regimen I’m calling “The 9 1/2 Weeks Workout”?