Failure, the P90X Way

I've learned a lot about fitness in the past five years - how to eat, how to balance, what works, what doesn't. What has surprised me about P90X is what it's teaching me about failure.

I'm not just talking about pushing to failure, that muscle-tension mantra that we shoot for when we're taking on more weight for our triceps or whatever. I'm also referring to the entire concept of Bloody Hell, I Just Can't Do This. Now, I am no athlete, although I have tried to adopt that mentality; but there are parts of the P90 workout that I just can't do. And I am learning more about my physical self, my mental approach and my spirit from those exercises than I am from the others.

Case in point: there is this ratbastard push-up in the Chest and Back workout called a Dive Bomber. It has some origins in yoga, but essentially it entails scooping your chest low from a Downward Dog through a push-up position, then reversing it. Not just lowering your chest, scooping it, like you're trying to get under a low fence. Push-ups are tough for me anyway, the upper body focus of P90X was what made me click the buy button. But HOLY Mother of Tony Horton, this thing...I can't even pretend to fake it, can't get close to it, can't even whisper to its future self, I Can't Do It.

And I love that.

Mind you, I have had to fake and stumble through many of the sets during this first three weeks. This is no weenie workout, any of it, even the yoga busts my ass. But the Dive Bomber is telling me stories, like:

- I am not where I thought I was physically
- How I frame this is going to shape the entire 90-day result
- The Dive Bomber is the Signpost

The first is self explanatory - I knew I wasn't an Olympian but I have been able to hop in and out of my concept of "fit" pretty easily. Dive Bomber tells me I am nowhere near the true value of the term fit.

The second, the framing part, comes from an incredibly influencial article written by Alan Deutschman (an article he expanded into a book) for Fast Company magazine, called "Change or Die." Essentially, "I can't do Dive Bomber" will inevitably ensure that I won't ever be able to do Dive Bomber. Instead, I change the frame. The new one is "I'm coming after you, DB, and I will not stop until I have you." This is something that Tony Horton and the P90 program promotes from the beginning - "you're not taking a 'before' picture, you're taking a 'goodbye!' picture." Might seem like simple semantics, but baby, that shit matters. Boy, does it matter.

The last? Dive Bomber is the Signpost. Fear is a famous Signpost; avoidance is one too. You know the Signpost - it points the way to the right road, so you follow it. I may not end this 90 days in the best shape of my life, but Dive Bomber, that fabulous slap in my fitness face, will tell me precisely how many miles I have to go, and what direction to take to get there.

So: How I fail now will determine how I succeed later. (Oh, yeah, NOW it makes sense...)

All this being said, I have wanted to post this for days and wish I had posted it every day: I flipped the switch about day 10 - I can't get P90X out of my head. I plan my day around the workout, and slightly obsess about the food program (I had to have an intervention because it's Girl Scout Cookie season. I did not lose the faith, just followed the shiny thing for a bit) and I - seriously - look forward to the workouts, I do. I have a workout partner. He's a hard-driving bastard who won't let me off the hook. I flail all over the place but he keeps me solid. And every day I see him I thank GOD he can't see me.

P90X - Week 1 in Review

i was not prepared.

the buzzphrase for this program is BRING IT, which at first i scoffed at then realized i perhaps had packed it then left it at home. this is typical of me, on most issues of commitment, dedication and discipline. i am fantastically skilled at sliding strong into second base then remaining there, curled up in a nap. (one of my favorite episodes of "invader zim": zim drives his easily-distracted robot gir into a movitational frenzy, whereupon gir launches into a fierce run that ends twenty steps later in a deep snooze.)

so i am no longer permitted to scoff at cheesy motivational declarations.

however, when i did manage to BRING IT, i got my ass kicked in a good way. you know that wobbly feeling you get when you've worked muscles that have been lounging by the pool for years? ahhhyeah, that.

P90 in general: It's fast, furious and funny - Tony Horton is one of those charismatic and passionate trainers, using a charming, energy-infused, take-no-prisoners style. He reminds me a lot of the fantastic Jim Karanas, a fitness coach based at Club One in San Francisco, who justifiably has a passionate following. Most of the P90 workouts are about an hour long; the Ab Ripper is 15 minutes (of pure hell). since i'll be doing these workouts for rest of march, i'll only go over a couple at a time.

Chest & Back and the Ab Ripper X
Chest and Back, like the rest of the weight-based programs, is constructed to work alternating muscle sets, something i tried to do with freeweights but wasn't really sure i was doing. It's approximately 22 sets, some repeats, of weight lifting (i used bands) and nasty-ass push-ups. my upper body is my weakest spot (tri- and biceps having lounged by that pool with mai tais for far too long). i did not manage as many reps as i thought i should in some parts, and managed far too many (meaning i wasn't using enough weight) in others. but i learned a lot about my capacity and i know i'll easily be able to mark my progress. if i can do a single, decent military push-up at any point before the 90 days is up, it will be a lifetime first.

Ab Ripper: 13 rapid exercises of 25 reps each, 325 reps total. no, i couldn't do them all, and most of them left me laughing in weak surrender. can you say OW?

Shoulders and Arms (also with Ab Ripper)
hello, my dear. i am called a tricep. we apparently have never met before, although i think you imagine we had. i do believe i will make my presence known to you for days at a time now. when you push up from your side using only me, that is our greatest moment of intimacy.

triceps, did you just call me biyatch? oh yes you did. and my shoulders called me filthy names that cannot be repeated here. suffice it to say that there were a lot more lounge chairs by that pool than i had pretended to know. still: wobbly, sore, cranky and profane though they are, these muscles are mine and i am their master...if i do what i'm told. quite the paradox.

more soon...