Shovelglove motions come in two types:

Dynamic motions are smooth and uninterrupted.  A dynamic motion can be looped to produce a continuous, low-impact routine.  An example of a dynamic motion is the gentle Boat Row from Shovelglove 101.  Dynamic moves are usually performed at a low-to-moderate, fat-burning pace and compose the greater part of a typical workout.

Explosive motions generate rapid acceleration from a static position.  Performed at a rapid-fire pace, they are a type of sprinting for the upper body.  One hybrid explosive motion is the Hail Reinhard from Shovelglove 101.  The first part of this motion (the bicep curl) is dynamic, while the second part (the overhead jab) is explosive.  These are sugar-burning, cardio-intensive, muscle-building exercises that apply extra stress to joints and ligaments.  Properly done, they also supply a hormonal rush similar to regular sprints -- especially if you imagine a boar at the end of your hammer.  These comprise the lesser part of a typical workout and will be discussed next week.

Although each shovelglove motion has its own natural pace, most can be adjusted to be more explosive or more dynamic as desired.  Imagine an explosive set of Boat Rows, for example -- paddling as if you're about to go over a waterfall!  Or imagine a dynamic set of Hail Reinhards -- poking the hammer up and down ever so slowly, struggling to keep good balance and a steady hand.

When you consider that the sledgehammer, or something quite like it, is one of humanity's oldest tools, consider that it is more than just a piece of workout equipment.  As you use it and get to know it, your hammer becomes a virtual part of your body.

Our ancestors were rarely far from their tools, especially their sturdy hammers with their heavy and felicitously balanced heads.  Those may have been their most prized possessions.  They would have carried them constantly on hunts, on the trail, and on their other perigrinations.  These weren't just rocks on sticks; they were an extension of our ancestor's bodies.  They knew them as well as they knew their own arms.  They gave their hammers names.  They invented gods, and gave the gods' hammers names.

Customize your sledgehammer.  Give it a name.  Perhaps even decorate it in some way.  After all, this is no everyday acquaintance!  Every time you and your hammer are together, you're guaranteed to have exciting adventures.  And even in today's age of mass-production, no two sledgehammers are quite the same.  Strive to learn all you can about your happy inanimate friend: the balance, the curve of the stem; all the mechanical characteristics.  In time, he or she will become like an extension of your own body, while remaining just a hunk of metal and plastic or wood to any normal person.  Should the inspiration strike you, don't be afraid to pimp your sledgehammer.  If you do, please send pictures.

This week we're going to get down to the meat and vegetables of our shovelglove routine.  Dynamic motions will comprise the bulk of our sessions, just as they comprised the bulk of our ancestors' labors: repetitive, full body motions, done in sets and with variety.

This week's motions are named after legendary laborers or heroes throughout history who swung something along the lines of a sledgehammer.  These venerable figures have been remembered across generations for embodying not just physical strength, but an elevated moral character, expressed most honestly in their valiant shugging.

Let's begin with John Henry.  It's only fitting, as John was a 6'0", 200-pound behemoth who carried a 20-pound sledgehammer which he considered light.  Born a slave, he went to work for the C&O railroad as a free man, hammering drill bits into rock faces to clear a path for the tracks.  When he came up against the most daunting mountain of his career, a mountain that claimed the lives of countless fellow workers, the company brought out a newly invented steam drill.  Incensed, John Henry was not to be outdone and raised a 20-pound hammer in each hand to race the machine.  Swinging like a man possessed, he drove almost double the distance of the steam drill.  Unfortunately, he had pushed a little too far in proving his point and died shortly thereafter.

For the John Henry, we'll be hammering spikes into the ground.  Place one hand on High Grip and one on Low Grip.  With your hammer at a 45 degree angle behind your back and arms overhead, bring the head up and over in a neat circle so that it swings below your legs just past the centerline.  Obviously, you should bend a bit at the waist in order not to hit yourself in a tender area.  Hoist the sledgehammer up along your side to return to the overhead position.

John Henry was a master of the spike-driving motion and doubtless had a formidable six-pack.  But he certainly didn't have the lats of our next motion namesake, Paul Bunyan.  Especially because Paul Bunyan was a giant, with some reports putting him at eight feet tall, or possibly eight hundred.

The "real" Paul Bunyan lived in the 19th century, a truly primal and hirsute French-Canadian logger who gained notoriety terrorizing British invaders.  American folklore knows him better as a lumberjack who swept the continent with his tame ox in tow, leaving geological upheavals in his wake.  Despite his dubious connection to reality, Paul Bunyan as legend is a pure embodiment of one of Homo Sapiens' most frightening aspects -- a voracious consumer of wilderness and scorcher of the earth.

Paul Bunyans are similar to Torso Twists, but they start with the hammer raised horizontally overhead, one hand on High Grip and one hand on Low Grip.  Swing the hammer around your back, side, and front, slicing through an imaginary tree in one blow.  Follow through deeply to complete the twist, then bring the hammer back the way it came to the overhead position.  Your forearms will work hard to aim the head properly and maintain a gradual and even descent.

The following exercise, as near as I can tell, has no figure of legend.  While the scythe is a tool dating to the very beginning of agriculture, there is no legendary scythesman in all of human history.  There's the Grim Reaper, of course, but he's not human.  Then there's Cronus, grandfather of the gods, but that guy is a real downer.  Scything is somewhat similar to a golf swing, but if there's a particular Scotsman who invented the bizarre sport of whacking pebbles across meadows -- doubtless with something much closer to a sledgehammer than today's dainty mallets -- his name escapes my research.

So we will just have to perform Scythe Swings in memory of all the forgotten laborers of the post-agricultural era who scratched out a living eating semi-poisonous grains.  They just barely made it to reproduction so that we,