Millard comes down as I polish off my pre-game meal of eggos with peanut butter and black coffee. He looks high, but claims he is prepared. I offer him a one-a-day vitamin before we begin; he declines noting they expired in August of 2008. I take my fourth of the day. We begin with high knee-slaps and giggle at how gay we must look in our matching board-shorts. 10 minutes in and we feel fuckin' great. Our work-out instructor then claims that the warm-up is over and we are ready to begin the actual work-out. We look at eachother confused...
The rest of the work-out felt like various enhanced interrogation techniques. P90X does not fuck around. If someone is ever forced to do P90X, I don't care what sort of complex legal justifications you want to make, it is fuckin' torture. It throws all sorts of different push-ups at you: diamond, wide-set, standard, decline, dive-bomber, gut-wrencher, soul-crusher, colon-cleanser etc. It did not go well; I am just proud that neither of us black-outed for that long. We probably did a good solid P32X. The rest of the 58 generally consisted of us rolling on the ground yelling "extreme".
Highlights: I have low-celings in my apartment and when the workout began with some jogging on the spot, Millard smacked his head and spent the next three minutes being totally unextreme on the ground. We also had no weights, so we filled some wine jugs with water that probably topped out at a mind-boggling 4 pounds.
State of Mind: Surprisingly, I feel great. It was slighly embarassing, but fun. Doing this with someone exponentially raises your chances for success.
Rating: P32X
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