Day 45 and 46 - Back and Bis and 5k Run

So, we are officially at the half-way point. I have grown 4 abs, little tufts of muscle on the underside of my arms - I believe they are called "triceps" - and an iron will. Thank you P90X. But, the real question is, 'how do I feel'?

I could go into a long, winding, complex and convoluted answer about how P90X has taught me to seek challenges and the immeasurable awards that come along with them. But, instead, I can provide you with an actual example of what P90X has taught me.

This is going to sound absurd, silly, downright illogical and, yes, maybe, just straight up "Simpoo Jack" fully-retarded... but, I might attempt to do a triathlon in July. I will repeat that, I, Eric Bombicino - yes, the same I am going to dip this bread into a bowl of ranch for dinner Eric Bombicino - am going to compete in a triathlon. Now, this is not for sure. It is still all very preliminary. There are many obstacles to overcome. But, the point is, I want to do this. It will suck, but it will be amazing at the same time. P90X has created a fuel-injected, virile, go-get-em' beast that wants to put the whole fuckin' world in his bis-and-tris meat-fest of a headlock.

First major obstacle - I don't know how to swim. This is going to make the 750m swimming portion of the traithlon difficult. Let me clarify, I can swim, but I have never competitevely swam. I know no technique and have no idea if I could do it properly. I am going on thursday to a pool and we will see. If I can do it at a moderately functional level, there is only one more obstacle to this thing,

I need a bike. (So, thus far, I don't know how to swim and don't have a bike.) I have a Supercycle Canadian Tire mountain bike with some sick-ass shocks on the front, but no road-bike. The 'Supercycle' is still an option and, really, represents the iron-will to succeed I am talking about. Considering the ol' ranch-and-cheese Bomber, If I do a traithlon, I can do almost anything. But, If I do it with a 76-dollar bike from Canadian Tire - jesus, I should probably be given the 'Order of Canada'. Seriously, if I do this, I wouldn't be surprised if Wayne Gretzky and Sidney Crosby show up at my door with the highest accolade a citizen can receive in Canada. 

In any event, if someone has a bike or knows where I could get a cheap one, leave some suggestions in the comments box.

I did Back and Bis yesterday. It's the hardest workout in the P90X circuit. It launches a full scale air, land, and sea war on your biceps. It creates such devastating levels of muscle failure, that when I drink my shake afterwards, I have to amp myself up to get it to my mouth. Nevertheless, we trucked through it.

Today was a cardio day - Kenpo-X, to be specific. In light of this traithlon nonsense, I decided to sub-in a 5k run instead. I used to run when I was a kid and I jog a little in the summer, but that's about it. I had no idea going in what sort of time to expect. I spoke with some people and surfed the web and the consensus was there was no way an amateur runner like myself could break 30 minutes. Millard went so far as to say my time would be 37:59. Patricia, that cruel hooker-slute cock-goblin of a tramp, said I couldn't do it in under 40. 

 I saddled up to the curb, popped in 'Florence and the Machine' on my Sansa (Ipods suck...when you can't afford them) mp3 player, and hit the pavement. I didn't consider that Queen street has traffic lights. Waiting for the light to turn as precious seconds tick away was painful, but that's about the only thing that was. I was a man filled with a powerful symphony of neuro-fireworks: testosterone bursting in the air, dopamine exploding across the horizon, endorphins rocketing and screaming across my consciousness...running, 'it's a hell of a drug'. I made it to the half-way point (the LCBO) in good time. But, I didn't know if I had enough in the tank to keep up the pace. I didn't consider that I have a reserve tank of pure, unfiltered determination. I kept pushing and pushing. I had made it to the last kilometre, I was tired and weakening, but gathered up the will and warped into a zone of desperate determination. I wanted this so bad. I felt like I was in a Rocky montage - scrap that, I felt like the entire conglomerate of every sports movie montage was in my head concentrated into emotional form. In short, I scared the shit out of every one on Queen street in my final kilometre. I was barking, chortling, shooting sweat from my mouth, snot from my nose - I was a man possessed by the spirit of conviction.

I sprinted through the finish line. Time?

23:57.

Yeah. Fuck you Millard. 

Highlights: Some lady looked at my flopping penis in my shorts and smiled. But, this wasn't a positive smile. You see, when you work out or do something active, your body rushes blood as fast as it can to your extremities. Thus, it will take blood from where it is not needed - like, say, your penis. Because of this, when I run, my penis is mind-bogglingly tiny; your muscle fibre is as deflated and tightly packed together as it can get. So much so, that your penis actually feels kind of hard. So, yeah, some lady laughed at my tiny penis. Whatever, if she knew my 5k time, she would not be laughing.

State of Mind: Running is an incredible high - especially, when you are competing against the clock. This traithlon thing is still in its infantile stages, but I am excited that I actually want to do this stuff. 

Rating: B & B (P65X), 5k run (P90X) = P77.5