That being said, we fuckin' dun' did it. Bang! Bang! Bitches. (Read: we competently finished our exercise-routine today). Millard and I just killed it. We were like Rambo, John McClane, and the whole A-Team rolled into one, fighting against the formidable foes of communism and healthcare reform (or whatever foes one may consider formidable).
My cardio is at a really good level. So, combining yesterday's knowledge with today's, we know now that I can't lift heavy things, but I can run around a lot. I'm basically your average 8-year old boy. This, to many, would be a very depressing realization, but not for me. How many 8-year olds do you know that have lost their virginity? That shit is ballin'. Plus I can drive and sometimes even smoke cigarettes. I also own the most feared pog-Smasher and have the most unstoppable deck of pokemon cards. (Can something be the 'most unstoppable? Whatever, I'm 8). So, yeah, this isn't disheartening or soul-shattering or watch-John-Cusack-movies-while-simultaneously-eating-cheetos-and-touching-your-balls depressing or anything like that.
Highlights: Patricia was as sloppy as people at banquet halls in Kincardine today. (For those of you who don't know, Patrica is Millard's sweaty-beard and Kincardine is the hick town that he is from).
State of Mind: I am very pleased with my cardio. It was grueling, but fun today. Unfortunately, I have become fully aware that I have the muscular fortitude of the kid from Jerry Maguire.
Rating: We did it all with an extra 3 short breaks, P80X.
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