Lounging about a bar table littered with empty glasses, bottles and overflowing ashtrays. The life of a Playboy.com editor — writing about fine wines, rich food and, of course, beautiful women — means surrounding oneself with all of the above. Trust us, it’s not as easy as it sounds.
Sighs of consumption exhaustion led to a conversation on how living the Playboy lifestyle isn’t for the faint of heart, and we, as its online connoisseurs, should make an attempt to reconcile this. Hearing this, the she-devil that is our Secondary Revenue Manager planted the seed for a competition. Nixing his self-induced beer coma at the mere mention of a bet, our Sports Editor Fraser jumped to attention and threw down a crisp $100 bill.
The she-devil seized the opportunity to suggest that we attempt the holy grail of fitness, which many attempt and few succeed: the P90X Challenge. The five of us would compete for 12 weeks (90 days) until the fat peels off, our bodies get ripped and our editorial room stops reeking of fries.
Not wanting to appear weak, the remaining editors added to the pile of cash: $500 in all. The bet stands thus: whoever can complete the six grueling hour-long workouts each week, follow the protein and veggie-rich diet, and reduce their body weight and body fat percentage will be the victor.
Here commences Playboy.com’s Death March to Fitness Glory!
As the resident car guy here at Playboy.com, I spend my days fantasizing about cars, and girls on cars, and writing about cars I wish I could afford. That being said, all activities mentioned involve sitting on my ass – where fat goes to die. I used to weigh in at 255 lbs. and recently made it down to 185 after walking a dozen or so miles a day and staving off fries for five years. After rekindling my romance with the crispy tuber, my weight headed north to my current 215. Time for a change!
What You Want to Achieve: I’d like to convert about 30 lbs. into muscle and lower my body fat percentage to about 15%.
General Observations: Plyometrics is a multiday killer, and the resistance bands smell sickeningly like high school science lab formaldehyde.
I deal in the “mmhs” and “ahhhs” of beautiful women, not in the grunts and groans of physical exertion. I deal in scotch and whiskey, and the occasional cigarette, not in shakes and protein ounces and leafy greens. Hedonist is a word I lovingly and excessively embrace. Even my id has been known to whisper, “Uh…are you sure that’s a good idea?”
What I Want to Achieve: To finally learn that when a buff marketing coworker comes into the office with the words, “Guys, I’ve got this idea…” to evacuate the premises immediately. That and to take Fraser’s $100, which may be more primary rather than secondary.
General Observations: My id is confused. My body aches. I wake up from nightmares searching for a wineglass. There is a man in my living room telling me to “Bring It,” which is less fun than it sounds. To survive, a rapid change from glutton for pleasure to glutton for punishment has come into play.
Click below to check out the rest of the competitors!