Monday, May 30, 2011

Some guys just can't handle Vegas

And I'm one of them. I spent a week on the West Coast, visiting a high school friend in LA, then jetting to Las Vegas for a reunion of sorts with my friends from Beirut. The first night in Vegas didn't end until 7 am, or longer if you count the additional hours spent unsuccessfully trying to sleep on the floor. As it was, that was too much for this body to handle, so I was disfunctionally sick for the next 24 hours (in Vegas dammit).
This trashy bacchanalia capped off several decadent weeks devoid of exercise, beginning with finals (focus on studying, worry about fitness later), through that sweet week between finals and commencement (focus on partying, wrapping up loose ends with the coeds, go to DC, worry about fitness later), through a day at home and then a week out West (drink, don't be the wierdo doing pushups in the middle of your friend's frat house, worry about fitness later).

As the days went by, I had an increasing number of "you fat sack of shit!" moments, until I decided I'd have to do something drastic when I got back.

In order to get myself back on the wagon, at a friend's recommendation I have begun (I can't believe it) P90X. If you can get past the cheesiness and creepy, autistically talkative instructor, it's actually a pretty good smoker that reminds me of some PTs I've led/followed.

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