Back in my school days, and especially back in my soccer playing days, I considered myself to be in fairly good shape. In high school, Mark Lamberth made damn sure of it. Sometimes the conditioning that we would go through in preparation for the season looking eerily similar to this
with your friends one by one falling at your side. The wonderful grass on the field at White House High School was proudly sowed by the members of the 1998 White House High School soccer team stamping it into the ground while running gassers (current members of the team, you're welcome).
I was reminded by a friend recently that we would run cone sprints for upwards of 20 minutes straight and then, after a 30 second water break, would be expected to (as a TEAM) run a 2:10 1/3 mile. If you're a runner, you know that's not that tough. If you've already run cone sprints until your struggling for breath, it's BRUTAL. And if any one of us didn't make it, we got time for a breather and then had to make it (as a TEAM) in 2:20. I swear, at times, in my light-headed, nauseated, sweaty state, I could see Coach Lamberth turning red, growing horns and a bifurcated tail, and carrying a trident.
After suffering through that regimen through high school and being expected to keep healthy and fit throughout my years of playing organized sport, I guess that I decided I was done caring for a while. And then came college. I ate unhealthy food and the only recognizable exercise I got was walking this:
It took me half a semester in jogging class to manage to run two miles without stopping. Sad. And then I got it back and was running 2 miles in 12 minutes for my final. And I was proud....and happy....and feeling pretty good about myself.
And then I stopped giving a big fat crap again. This time for about...ohhhhh.....5 years. And then I started dating and married my wife who decided that it was this real big freakin' awesome idea that we care about ourselves and eat healthy. Since then I have gone through a bit of an awakening. I have eliminated most of my fast food consumption and replaced it with fruits, vegetables, wheat pasta, and Coke...Zero. I take my sandwich wrap, salad, and Greek yogurt to work instead of grabbing a burger or gyro at work.
I was proud....and happy.....and feeling pretty good about myself. But NOOOOOO! Then Sara has to start running........and running.......and running some freakin' more. I can't begin to tell you how proud I am of her (she's about to log her 100th mile running), and to be honest her dedication to fitness is extremely sexy, but man it was starting to make me feel like a lazy oaf.
But then I sat back and started asking myself why I couldn't get up and do it. Why I couldn't find the motivation to try to get into shape. It was at the time that Evan and I finished detailing her car and walked into the house that the exercise demon attacked. Its name is P90X. Sara was getting into the workout and suddenly I found myself grabbing a resistance band and joining in the fray. And holy crap it almost killed me. My abs are on fire and tomorrow I will be sore in spots that I didn't even know I had muscles. That was just arms, shoulders, and abs. Sara showed me that there's a whole freakin' volume library of DVDs to go!
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
In looking back, I guess Mark Lamberth did me a great service. He tried to kill me getting me in shape but pushed me when I wanted to give up. He showed me I could do it. That was when I had a teenage metabolism. The more impressive feat is what my wife has done for me in my post-teen I don't give a rat's ass time. McDonald's burgers and laying on couches replaced by turkey burgers and doing crunches. She is wonderful; she makes my life great but on top of that insists upon me living it better and more fully.
Tomorrow will be day 2 with P90X and I'm excited about it. And now I'm proud......and happy......and feeling pretty good about myself.
But make no mistake. I'm still convinced that P90X will kill me.
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