Drinking the Kool-Aid

In the last weeks of my grand P90X experience, I have utterly and completely drunk the Kool-Aid. I'm buying stronger bands for my pull-ups, I'm scarfing up protein bars, I'm amping up the weight on my dumbbells. Perhaps it's the realization that I'm nearing the end of the program and I still don't look like a 21-year-old Zach Efron, but a sort of last-ditch desperation has taken over. The most egregious example of this is that when I say I've drunk the  Kool-Aid, I mean it literally. Yes, yes, I broke down and did it: I BOUGHT THE P90X RECOVERY DRINK. A month's supply. How could I not? It's got a high protein efficiency ratio for rapid muscle resynthesis! It's got a dextrose-based formula for optimum glycogen replenishment! It's got the endorsement of TONY HORTON HIMSELF! How could I deny myself such vital tools for success? Hoo boy. The constant shilling, the ads after each workout, it was too much for my little bear brain.

Like this,
but without
the astronauts.

The Recovery drink comes in a huge tub emblazoned with a chiseled torso. It's in powder form, and the smell of it is intensely synthetic and nostalgic at the same time. It's as if you dehydrated a creamsicle and made it into Pixie Stix. A friend, (after mocking me mercilessly) accurately defined the smell: it is exactly the essence of a Bayer's Children's Aspirin. If you have a soft spot for those orange-y, melty little orange pills we all used to take by the handfuls, by all means, get yourself a tub of this stuff. It tastes as fake as it smells (remember Tang?), but after a few days I got used to it. Mixed it with coconut water and frozen strawberries. I drink it every day after a workout, in the precious hour where OH MY GOD THE CHANCE FOR MUSCULAR GROWTH IS OPTIMAL! Hmm. For the record? I notice no appreciable difference at all, as far as post-workout soreness or suddenly burgeoning muscles. Ah well. At least I get to stare at the tub.

My... Preciousssss...

Recently, I went to the Glendale Galleria to undergo a rite which, in terms of transformative ecstasy, must rank up there with one's first dip into recreational drugs or an audience with the Pope: I bought jeans in a smaller size. Waltzed into Lucky Jeans with a swagger. "Well, I was wearing a 32, but I think I'm a 30 now..." I might as well have been wearing a "My Son is an Honor Student at..." bumper sticker affixed to my ass. The salesperson confided that three other folk had come in just that week for the very same purpose, buying skinnier jeans because of P90X. Call Congress! P90X could singlehandedly save this economy, folks!

How weird, how one exercise program catches the fancy of a nation, while other equally valid ones languish in bargain bins. Hey! I'm part of a fad! A trend! How unlike me (pay no attention to that Soloflex behind the curtain...) This is what it must have been like to have ridden that Jane Fonda Aerobics Express all those years back. I somehow missed my chance to display leg warmers, but I shan't deny myself the opportunity now. I'm sure P90X will flame out eventually, and there will be the inevitable backlash and we'll find it's terribly harmful to joints and tendons, but for now, someone get me that Beachbody tank top—I'm going in.

Tony, this could be  you in... five years.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Challah

Zen and the Art of P90X

Lately I've been grappling with the inherent dissonance between this 90-day, "transform your body, be in the best shape of your life!"exercise regimen, and the Buddhist teachings I've been delving into. On the one hand, the transformation of one's body fits in perfectly with Zen precepts: we are every day, every moment, a new being; nothing is fixed. Change is an essential component of life. Just months ago I was resigned to the slow creep of poundage, reconciled with my two tweaky knees and bad back, ready for an existence of loose cardigans and baggy jeans. Now, I'm jumping, I'm pumping; I am, if not close to the best shape of my life, near to the best looking shape of my life. What better example for the impermanence of our existence?


Except that it's all a lie.


Sure, I'm happy to observe the process of change, the "fluidity" of the natural world, but only if it's going in one direction. I'm not so sanguine about it flowing back the other way. And what is all this working out for, anyway? I'm not doing it to "shoot hoops" better, or "hit the slopes" or "round the bases" or "grease the pig" (is that even a thing? I'm so far out of my wheelhouse). No, whatever muscles I will attain during these 90 days are purely show muscles. For what? Am I trying to regain a younger ideal, to push back time? Am I attempting, ultimately, to stave off death? That's a losing proposition. We are, Buddhists also say, every day dying (thanks, Buddhists). Buddhists believe that we suffer in this life because we are ruled by our attachments: attachments to emotions, to things, to our perceptions. And with my daily workouts I'm becoming mighty attached to an image I have of myself, and I'm already fretting about being able to sustain that image. I want to stay like this all the time. So much for impermanence. 


The trick, I believe, is to enjoy the process. To observe the changes that are occurring, to enjoy them, but to refrain from placing too much value on them. The state of my body does not define who I am, it is merely one manifestation of who I am. I must realize that, inevitably, my body will not stay the same—


Wait a minute: are those lat muscles I see poking up under my arm? 


Forget what I said. Must go do more pull-ups.

DAY 33 ROUTINE: BACK AND BICEPS

We're back to pull-ups (or, in my case, band work) alternating with various forms of bicep curls. Grueling, but aesthetically very satisfying.

Chewing gum, I swear!

Participants: Oh, this is a chatty, almost giddy group. Everyone here reminds me of someone: Katie looks like Chloe from "24" and sounds like Jenna Fischer from "The Office;" Bobby is a shaggier version of Jon Hamm, and perhaps a gayer version too (I have no concrete evidence, just a radar bleep, plus the fact that he exclaimed, "Oh my!" twice in one minute). Timmy, diminutive, former marine Timmy, kinda looks like a ripped hobbit from LOTR with a shirt like The Green Lantern shirt and a swagger like Tommy Mickens in "True Blood." He's chewing gum during the warm-up, for Christ's sake!

Tony Horton Words of Wisdom: "Ya got tickets to the show?" (flexes arms) "The gun show." Really, Tony? Really? 

Fist Bumps: 3 singles & 3 doubles. 

Straight Quotient: How many times can you ask if you're "ready to rock and roll" before it all sounds a little too silly?

Gay Appeal: I could be wrong, maybe it's my geek fantasy of buff hobbits coloring everything, but the homoerotic energy abounds in this video. Tony is teasing Bobby mercilessly, the way a handsome, unattainable straight man will tease a gay man appreciative of such attention. Every other sentence out of Tony's mouth is rife with double entendres: "Whack it! Whack it!"; "Squeeze one out;" "I'm pulling on something—use your imagination." Oh, I am. 

Shameless Shilling: Maybe he's distracted by thoughts of towel-snapping in the showers later, but Tony barely gets in one plug for the Recovery drink at the very very end of the video. 

Tony's Pot-Stirring Stretch Soup of the Day: Non-dairy Corn Chowder. 

Phase 2- Resistance is Futile

A few readers of this blog have said that I am inspiring them to get on board the P90X train. To them I say, "Why? Dear Lord, why?" You've seen no proof of actual sweat, no evidence of manly muscle, only snarky comments sprinkled hither and yon.  For all you guys know, I'm just watching the videos while updating my Facebook status and eating Umami Burgers. Remember that man from Georgia who posed as a Syrian lesbian? When will you all learn?

Seriously, though, I have noticed results. And I go into the second month/phase full of hope and determination. I've drunk the Kool-Aid, so to speak. I've hauled upstairs some of the adjustable weights a friend has left in my garage so I can use them. I like the solidity of weights, their fixed poundage versus the more fluid nature of the elastic bands. And I start seriously counting my calories. Shakes! Protein bars! I'm in deep now.

It's amazing how fundamental this exercise program is; strip away the informercials, the high-pitch selling, the sexy black packaging, and what you have is basically sit ups, push-ups, pull-ups, plus some dumb bell action and cardio. Most of this you could do in your average prison ward. My friend Ace sagely noted:  "It always comes down to diet & exercise - the lack of a magic bullet is a constant disappointment." It's true!  As they say about writing fiction: there is nothing new under the sun. It's all in how you put it together.

The people at Beachbody have done a pretty remarkably job on how they've put it together. The idea of constantly shifting your workout to avoid muscle ennui seems to work both physically and mentally. And what they offer you, week to week to week, is more balanced exercise regimen than you probably would do on your own. Left to my own devices, I treat my workout like it's a buffet: "Hmmm... today I'll do some of this... maybe a sprinkle of that... (neglect the legs again)... some chest-y things would be nice..." With P90X, you don't have that kind of choice, and because of it, your whole body is getting stronger, not just the parts you happen to like doing. What it comes down to, finally, is that I just need someone to boss me around. There. I've said it. And doing this program is a helluva lot cheaper than hiring a dominatrix. 

DAY 31 ROUTINE: CHEST, SHOULDERS AND TRICEPS

Who knew there were so many ways to do push-ups? Because, ladies and gents, that's mostly what you're going to be doing here. Eight different ways! With paper plates. From side to side. With a hand clap. With one arm (sweet Jesus no). These alternate with your standard deltoid presses and a whole variety of tricep extension routines. You'll feel like you're in an episode of "Oz" by the time you've finished this DVD.

Participants: We've got a motley crew here, including a rarity in exercise videos: an older woman! Laura looks to be in her late-40's, early-50's, with a rock-hard body and a face that could fit right in with the extras in "Winter's Bone." At first, I think Tony's snubbing her, but then he circles around and does his mock-flirt with her, so all is good. Also on board— a slab of a lawyer named Phil whose look Tony calls "intense" but I call "blank," and—finally! a quiet Asian man with tight, rippling muscles named David. David's a substitute teacher and martial arts guy who makes you think that Peter Jackson missed a grand opportunity by not casting Asians as elves in LOTR. I heart David. 

C'mon, wouldn't he be a cute elf?

Tony Horton Words of Wisdom: "The money comes in the last three reps." 

Fist Bumps: 4 doubles. Tony attempts to do a tricky single with Phil, but is rebuffed. 

Straight Quotient: Another football-themed exercise: Throw the Bomb. Oy. That is football, right? Tony demonstrates and asks his students for an example: "Give me a receiver." I'm guessing he's not talking about Joey Stefano...

Gay Appeal: Oh, Asian Legolas... 

Shameless Shilling: Oh, they're upselling everything today. The Recovery Drink! The Protein Bars ("Oh, so delicious")! Tony even manages to fit in a shout-out for the P90X T-shirt. Man, the marketing director must have been all over the set today. 

Tony's Pot-Stirring Stretch Soup of the Day: Sweaty Sock Soup. Good one, Tony. Only slightly worse than Phil's quip, "I'm stirring up Trouble." Sure you are, Phil. 
Notable Exercises: Have I mentioned there's a shitload of push-ups? Try The Floor Fly, where you slide your arm in and out in between pushups. A little slice of hell. Thanks, Tony.

A Lemon Meringue to Remember

Enough discussion of healthy exercise regimens and calorie counting— today we're talking cake! Hooray!

Wanted to make a special dinner for a very special friend, so I drew upon all the wisdom gleaned from five seasons of "Top Chef" and went for it. Though some of it did not pull together the way I had planned, I rolled with the punches. Make it work! (Wait, wrong show. Sorry.)

We started out with a grilled watermelon salad drizzled with basil oil and served with arugula, tomato, quick-pickled kohlrabi (Quick pickling, my homage to Kevin from TC) and pepitas.

Doesn't the watermelon look like salmon?

Kohlrabi is my new favorite vegetable—crunchy and fresh-tasting, zesty without being overpowering. The salad was good and certainly pretty, but I don't know if grilled watermelon is really my thing. Turned out to be more savory than I thought it would be; should have salted it, I think. Didn't add the cheese (my friend is allergic to dairy) but maybe a sharp feta would have enlivened it.

Main course: Lamb shanks with lentils. 

I made the rookie (rookie!) mistake of adding too many lentils to the pot, and by the end of braising the night before ended up with a solid mass of lentils, festooned with pieces of lamb. The lentils drank up all the red wine, preserved lemon & olives. I was worried, but another friend (and fellow TV foodie watcher) suggested taking some of the lentils and puréeing them with liquid. I used demi glace, chicken stock and white wine added to sautéed shallots, and poured all that into the puréed lentils, then poured all of that over the lamb shanks and whole lentils. It worked like a charm. Though thick, the sauce was flavorful and velvety. It created more of a stew. The lamb, which I though tough the night before, had relaxed and had the succulence I wanted. I served it with a purée of parsnips and celery root, and Benjamin helped me garnish. Onion biscuits on the side.

The crowning glory, however, was the dessert. Fan favorite of the evening. It was one I had made before, but for some reason it turned out especially balanced. It was a lemon meringue cake, a lemon chiffon cake with layers of lemon curd and caramel.

From such humble beginnings...

The cake rose beautifully, domed over the top of the cake pan— and then the center promptly started to sink as soon as it was pulled from the oven. Lost maybe three inches in the middle. Very depressing (ha ha)—it has done that on all four occasions that I have made this cake. Any ideas, anyone? Is it the recipe? My mixing? I checked the oven temp so I know it wasn't that... any suggestions would be appreciated. The fallen middle meant I could only get three layers out of it instead of four, no great tragedy but a loss of some height.

The great thing about cakes—no one has to see the cracks
& the plugs in the layers—frosting to the rescue!

It takes one day to make the cake, the curd and the caramel, another day to assemble the cake and let it set, and the third day to add the meringue and torch away!

What a difference a little scorching makes...

This is about as butch as I get, folks...

It cut beautifully and was appreciated by all. Luckily, the birthday girl took away the cake so I didn't have that temptation staring at me as I resume my P90X program. See the basic dichotomy of my life? Healthy Living/Food Hedonism. It's a wonder I make any progress at all.

Yes, four and a half of us ate that much cake. Don't judge.

Now, back to our regularly scheduled pushup and abs program...