Day 72: Plyometrics

We're rounding the corner, coming into the homestretch, 18 tiny lil' days until the finish line. We've shown the heart, determination, and ability to overcome the odds like the Jamaican Bobsled Team (the movie version with Doug E. Doug, which I imagine is way more inspiring than the actual one), but will we end up face-down, all our hard-work, dreams, and hopes for not having to wear a shirt all summer, scraping away like the black, gold, and green paint from their helmets?

Well, if we can get through the all-out, breakneck, soul-crushing 'total war' on our bodies that was the first 18 days, the last 18 should be like the invasion of Grenada. (By that I mean it should be easy, not a staged, overblown, hard-fought victory of the courageous and good against the dastardly forces of evil that can occupy any dark corner of the world - like, say, a small isolated island of 100 000 peaceful subsistence-farmers - growing and growing into a freedom-strangling, liberty-raping, baby-killing hegemony.)

It should be easy; we have already soundly defeated the Triple-Alliance of chin-fat, meat-bagel*, and running out of breath while masturbating. (The Italians naturally representing the latter, given their rabid libidos and love of all things cheesy and fat, which also explains their deep admiration of Pavarotti). After that, it should be smooth-sailing unless we encounter something comparable to a U-Boat or other sort of poor analogy that allows me to move on to that other total-war we had, WWII.

Our go at Plyometrics today speaks to how easy it should be to complete the final 18. During the first 18, this exercise would gut-punch us, take our lunch money, and then use that lunch money to buy a large dildo to rape any hope of completing this exercise out of us. Times have changed, tables have turned? We are doing the gut-punching, lunch-money stealing, and anal dildo raping? Either way, we can now competently get through it.

But, really, you never know what the next 18 days has in store for us. In the deep, dark, unknown, depths of our consciousness, could lurk a demotivational torpedo heading directly our way. (And, B-Bam, a fully-functional, non-forced U-Boat analogy...eat it, "when in doubt you do not have to use analogies Bomber"; you know who you are).

Highlights: It is becoming crystal clear that we need to institute a rule that forbids inviting people over while we do plyometrics or yoga. You simply cannot look cool doing squat-jacks in matching board-shorts.

State of Mind: I like working out now and it yields super-positive mental results -- however, I have moved far enough away from how I mentally felt before working out to be able to compare exactly how much better it does make me feel. I guess it's like any drug, it's beauty and splendor fades with repeated use.

Rating: P90X

* Scrunch up your stomach fat into a circle around your belly-button, and, that, my friends, is a meat-bagel.