P90x: Day 1

Picture it, my livingroom around 7am.

I've been at this for over an hour. My arms are tired. My hair is mussed from sleeping. My bright fuchsia socks don't match anything else I have on.

Tony is making an X with his arms and encouraging me to make everything "X-like," though I'm not at all sure what he means by that. There is a German woman to his right who, by comparison, makes my hair look amazing but my stomach look flabby.

From a seated, abs-engaged position on the floor of his dungeon-esque gym, Tony calls out, "Imagine doing 100 of these!"

I know this is meant to be encouraging. But... honestly, who is that helping?

If I had enough breath to say it out loud, I would have. Instead, my brows dropped, my limbs flopped to the floor mid-crunchy turtle (or whatever the flip we were doing) and I thought, "But I would never imagine something like that, Tony..."

And just like that... I crossed the threshold between people who had never and would never imagine something like that... to someone who... I guess... will start imagining reps. Le sigh.