12.02.2011

Testing the water, testing my strength

When David ordered the P90X workout system on DVD, I figured I'd join in.  I was an athlete for a long time, and since seeing my slender, muscular 15-year-old self pitching softball in home videos last week, I've longed to get myself back in gear.  If I were to ask Dwight from The Office if he thinks I'm hot, he would probably tell me that I have been declining steadily since the age of 25.

So the DVDs arrived, and we did the fitness test immediately.  I stood with my knees bent, back against the fridge for a minute and six seconds; I did 11 push ups; I stretched my arms three inches past my toes; I did a dozen or so curls with the resistance band.  And then I discovered that I can't do one bloody pull-up. 

I used to do like five at a time, more than once a day, thanks to the bar my dad installed in the garage door.  Every time I walked in or out of that garage, I hopped up and pulled myself up enough for my hair to touch the top of the door frame.  And now, I absolutely suck at it. 

I'm also allergic to jumping jacks.  Can't even do them for thirty seconds at a time. 

So the first day of the P90X "schedule" was focused on chest and back.  Given my aforementioned suckage at pull-ups, this day made me feel inadequate and sad on the inside, but I was able to finish the workout at least by roping a resistance band around our pull-up bar, sitting on the floor with my back to the door, and pulling until my elbows touched the door behind me.  Then we all felt great.

The second day was something called "plyometrics," which comes from the Greek words metric, which of course is "to measure," and plio, meaning the seventh layer of hell "more."  This took place on Wednesday, and it is still difficult for me to walk down a flight of stairs.  I can't even rest my hands or arms on my thighs because they hurt so bad.  Oh -- and thanks to all the squats -- it's hard for me to do any kind of sitting movement.  I have to bend at the waist, aim my butt over the seat, and then -- whoosh -- plop down on it as if I'm falling backward to do a flip.  I'll just say now, this happens everywhere.  Like my car.  Or a toilet.  I can only imagine the faces of any others in the ladies' room when I get into a stall and then groan out, "ahhhhhhhhhhhhh, omigod whoosh [something slamming onto porcelain] ow..."

Yesterday, we did shoulders and arms.  This one was easy for me -- I was on pretty light weights, so I'd be able to do a lot of reps.  That's the key to not being bulky, and my shoulders are too broad as it is.  I want Michelle Obama's arms.  Anyway, so David and our friend Jake were doing the exercises with resistance bands, and while I was speeding through my curls, they both looked like they were about to have coronaries, judging by the labored breathing, red faces, and flop sweat on the floor. 

The one thing that has been taking my focus away this entire time, though, is Tony Horton -- the creator and instructor of P90X.  Yes, he's built, and kinda funny, and explains things well, but I CANNOT stop looking at his face.  Not because it's gorgeous and totally presh, but because it looks like the dude plucks his eyebrows.  At first, I thought maybe he'd had work done on his face because of his cheekbones, which you could set a book on, or maybe he was wearing makeup.  He definitely looks like he's gotten an eye lift. 


Can you believe this dude is in his fifties?

But then I was thinking about his eyebrows in the shower yesterday morning (future self:  please make sure I think about more productive things in the shower, like yardwork or the stock market), and I yelled "A-HA!" so loud that Bellatrix roared at me.  I'd disturbed her morning nap on top of the bathtub.

Tonight, we're taking a break due to our schedules, and we will resume Week 1 on Monday.  I have a massage this afternoon, which should be interesting, given my physical condition.  And David got ANOTHER DAMN BETA INVITE, so I will be sans roommate for the weekend.  Left to my own devices.

 eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeehehehehehe

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