Hello, abs? It’s me, Moose

When it comes to inherited traits, I can thank my dad for my calm demeanor and blame him for my missing abs. All of the Moose boys are plagued with bellies with the consistency of jello, a genetic scourge which has claimed untold pairs of pants and belts, as well as our ability to easily see our feet. As my belly has taken on the same definition as the baby’s, I’ve decided to take action. I am reintroducing myself to the concept of (gulp!) exercise.

This is my fourth week and Gina’s second doing the P90, a series of fitness videos. The idea is that you get a workout in 30 or 40 minutes. But in order to do this, they don’t give you any time to putz around. You move from one exercise to the next in rapid, relentless fashion. This suits me fine, as I want to get the pain over with quick, but clashes with Gina’s legendary technique (at the gym, she was known as The Staller.)

The other idea behind the P90 is that by switching from one muscle group to the next, your muscles won’t have time to plateau so you’ll build them up faster. The P90 marketers call this concept “muscle confusion.” This must be working, because my muscles are positively befuddled. As in, “what are you doing to me?” and “why are we up so early?”

But there’s a line forming in my midsection I’ve never seen before. Out of the shapeless mass that is my belly, a muscle has emerged.