Two Years Under the Bar: Day 1, hating life but not the first or last time
You find yourself in the basement and you are afraid.
But you’re not scared of the furnace devils. Oh no, that would be un-fuggin-reasonable.
You see, you’re a rational mofo. You have a good reason for your fear. You are down here to work out. And the sad fact is you are old, inexperienced, and wondering what kind of a sick, motherfugger gets up at 5 in the morning to get all sweaty and shat.
A sigh of desperation and an excited breath later, the DVD player is on. It is time to see what kind of a twinkle-toed pansy you are. The sad fact is you are a big one.
Day One of P90X is a 50 some odd minute procedure (introduction) called “Chest and Back.” To those still unfamiliar with regimen, Tony Horton leads you and three fitness models through 12 exercises (done twice don’t you know) that consist mainly of push ups and pull ups. You struggle with the pushups but you get them done. Ugly but done. Pullups are a different matter. You find yourself jumping, putting your leg on a chair, a band, anything. You’re kipping and cheating like your suffering an epileptic seizure on the bar. Anything to get your double chin over that fuggin bar.
Of course, the repetitions hover around a million and infinity. By the end of the first pass through the regimen, you wish your chest and back would fall off already.
And that, dear reader, is what makes this man a big, fat pussy. You are a sweating, gasping for air, and thinking about retching. But something stops you. Youlook at your TV and see the chick fitness model is ready to go. All 110 pounds of her, perapred for more pain.
You say to yourself, “This will not do.” You swallow your vomit and reattach your testicles.
You get your big fat ass back in plank, ready for more pushing. You get your ass on the bar for more seizures.
And this is just day one.
Labels: P90X, pain