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My P90X Redux: Where It All Began… Again

Motivation and persistence can be a tricky thing. They’re two action words which  pretty much require constant updating– kind of like (Insert Celebrity Du Jour Here)‘s latest facelift– without all the unpleasant staples and bruising.

See, a “yearish” ago, after 3 rounds of P90X and “heck yes I’m happy– want me to take off my shirt?” results, I got sick and fell off the P90X bandwagon. The “U Can’t Has CheezBurger” picture? That was me. My momentum slowed and I, slowly, lazily embraced the art of getting doughy. In the end, it was all about choice… one I recommitted to and achieved even better results. Just today, I went back to that “decision” point thanks to a blog post I wrote… so here’s the question: Have you found yourself thinking like this?

After six months of relative hibernation and inactivity, I feel like those guys from early 2000 TV shows– the sitcoms where the fat husky everyman has inexplicably scored a hot wife.  Not that I’m currently enjoying the extra neck warmth only a double-chin can provide or worrying Little Sis [my daughter] is going to confuse me with a wet nurse. It’s just that winter hibernation has morphed what used to be Lady Friend’s [my wife] arm-candy into Lady-Friend’s arm-mashed potatoes.

Of course, Lady Friend would never say that, but don’t think I don’t know it’s true.

Still, what’s to worry about? I’m living the sitcom dream: I sit around, crack a few jokes and pound calories while Lady-Friend stays slim and trim. But in the back of my mind I know. I know my refined guilt complex is sprinting up in the rear view mirror and much closer than it appears. In short, my warm, cozy shell of chocolate chip cookie night caps, Friday night pizza binges and general love of comfort food is about to receive the Sledgehammer of Righteous Truth: Once again, T-Town–aka “Tony Horton Town” aka P90X– is in my immediate future.

It’s not that a well-deserved trip to P90X on the corner of T-Town makes me want to dunk my head in a tank full of piranha–  it’s just that I’ve been a P90X reprobate and the required penance has my body’s lactic acid wringing its hands in delight. See, despite last year’s six dedicated months of P90X residency, my last six months have been spent roaming the “Calories Can Suck It” Highlands of “Working Out Is Lame” Island… and that means P90X starts at square one. The same square one that’s home to unflattering post-workout crying when glutes, quads, bis tris, pecs and back protest having to work at more than lifting a remote.

So Yeah. While I’m all thrilled at the slow-burn inspiration that’s going to beat my home-run hitting booty back into shape, my inner fatty is pouting in the corner and mopping its brow at the thought of being handed P90X’s platinum ticket to a magical land that turns 35 year old flab into shirtless Abercrombie fab. And to be honest…I’m looking forward to seeing that fatty pout its way out the door.

As it turns out, the rest is history and my personal motivation has continued in full-force since. Why? Because feeling good, looking good and real-world results of eating right and keeping your body strong outweigh the guilt and slobbery of duffing it, getting fat and wheezing up a flight of stairs.

If you’ve found you KNOW it’s time to make some changes, YOU. CAN. DO IT. If you’re starting to lose steam, find some more. You, me, everyone who’s tackled P90X, Insanity or any other Beachbody program…. we’re in this together. Let’s get to making your inner fatty brush up on its hitchhiking skills.

If you’d like to get crackin’ with me as your coach, let’s get after it… sign up here to make it happen. 

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One Comment : Leave a Reply

  1. Karen says:

    thanks for that look inside… makes everyone feel normal to be human : )

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