For those that don’t watch 60-minute infomercials at 3am, P90X is a cross-training routine available on 12 DVDs. If you call now. And according to all the people desperately trying to convince you they’re not actors and models, you too can get this ripped and lose 47 dress sizes if only you follow this program. Which is hilarious.
Except it actually works. No, really. I’m all sexy* and shit now. I no longer scare babies just by walking down the street. It’s incredible.
*All claims of sexiness should be understood to be the opinion of the author and not intended to be taken as fact. Readers are urged to remember that sexiness, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder, and therefore cannot be stated with any confidence. Plus, have you seen the author? Sexy? Ha.
You can find a ton of information about P90X on the internets. Information on exercise technique, diet, and how best to take shitty pictures of yourself in your bathroom mirror so you can show everyone how ripped you’re getting. I’m not going to cover any of that here. I just thought I’d tell you what you can reasonably expect from the program, based solely on what happened to me.
After doing plyometrics (jump training) for the first time, your legs become jelly. You spend the rest of the week dropping into chairs like an octogenarian. This is particularly upsetting on the toilet.
After an entire week, you’re still unable to get through the fifteen-minute ab routine without pausing at least five times. During these breaks you will claim the salty moisture running down your face is sweat. This may or may not be true.
You catch a coworker staring at you funny. She awkwardly tells you your arms look nice. Everything is worth it.
By the end of the first month, you will be able to perform the majority of the exercises without looking like a complete wuss. You will believe the worst is behind you. You will be wrong.
You see a new exercise that makes you pause the video and exclaim “WHAT?” It is this one:
You can actually do those now.
You’ve lost so much weight that your wedding ring no longer fits, and you have to wear it on your middle finger. This makes people worried you’re either becoming anorexic or getting divorced. A lot of time is spent assuring them neither is true.
You manage to do four 1-handed push ups.
You finally manage to stop talking about those four stupid 1-handed push-ups.
In the midst of explaining about P90X to someone, they ask to see your abs. Your confidence level is such that you actually lift up your shirt in public. They describe you stomach as “magnificent”. Pretty much every part of this encounter is disturbing to think back on.
You do over 100 pull-ups in a single work out session. You will basically never shut-up about this.
You’re in the best shape of your life. You weigh less than you did in high school, and your metabolism is near Kenyan-runner levels. You’re also well on your way to becoming an insufferable ass to all your friends, who don’t want to hear about how you “broke your personal best” again, or how “crazy” it was when you did those hundred pull-ups that morning. Seriously, when will you shut-up about this?
Finally, you’ll write the most egotistical, narcissistic post in the history of your blog, hoping that if you make it sort of funny, people won’t notice how you just spent 500 words bragging about yourself. You will fail.