100

Me and Sas flexin' it like LP. Yet another ChrisKoh contest brought to you by Chubby Cones Ice Cream.

One hundred, or 100, or C, is a very painful number. Yes, it's been 100 years since a Cubs World Series championship. It's also the number of strikes my high school pitcher Shulin had to throw before we could join the rest of the team for batting and field drills each practice (Hey! Guess why my knees are fucked up!). And thanks to Shannon, who makes the best homemade ribs this side of West Town and muddles the most poisonous mojitos, it's now how many push-ups I should be able to pound out consecutively at the end of six weeks.

Although I'm pleased with how my endurance level has built up quite nicely despite a late, jaded and star-crossed start to marathon training, I still believe my general fitness is down a few notches from a year ago. Boxing in my life was key to powerful bursts of strength and stamina, and I feel like I'm not quite as strong or spry as I used to be. I plan on boxing regularly again once the marathon is over -- oh, how I miss my LPAC boxing team! -- and returning to the point when bumping 10 in-between combos didn't even crease my brow. And yes, it's true. Boxing regulates beer belly growth spurts.

So, here's the first step in my rehabilitation. This program can be found at http://www.hundredpushups.com/, a site designed by Steve Speirs based on a push-ups template by Andreas Viklund. I know some of you will be interested in this -- Joe? Rich S.? I know LP wants 100 pull-ups. After taking an initial test to determine the maximum number of push-ups you can do, you embark on a six-week journey during which, if you're not a regular push-upper, you'll never have seen the floor in such close proximity in your life before. You do three sets every week, preferably spaced out with a day in between, then every other week you'll take a test to check on your progress and to determine where you stand for the next couple of weeks. In my time, I have seen spit, I have seen sweat, I have seen some blood, I have seen unshaved female legs and I've even seen jock straps just inches from my nose. So I felt pretty good about starting this journey with 25 push-ups at a go (knowing I could've gone a couple more at least if I hadn't been lazy), which put me in category 3. Steve says that this is "impressive" and suggests that people in this category start the program in week three. No thanks, but I still slung my usual smugness about and started day one last Monday with a wink and a lop-sided grin and Elvis blasting ("Suspicious Minds").

Well, Week 1's first set was 10, 12, seven, seven and then maximum push-ups with a minimum of nine with 60 seconds of rest separating each round. I went through the first four rounds easily, although I started to break a sweat in the third and after I went through the second round of seven, I actually said out loud, "Well, who would've thought? Jesus christ." And I had to take a big breath before I plunged into my final round, which found my arms shaking as I eked out the final four push-ups for a total of 11. That's when I said "Jesus fucking christ" and got my comeuppance as I realized, as I always should have, to never take things for granted. Time to get back to my corner and ponder my next move.

But before that, I woke up with sore shoulders and a dull ache in my sockets the next day. It's the kind of blah pain that comes after skipping boxing for three weeks (I'm afraid of how it will feel when I get back in the ring again). I said to Shannon, "Dude, what have you gotten me in to? This shit is tough." Her response: "I bet you found muscles you never thought you had." Shannon is up to 42 consecutive push-ups in her fourth week. Wow, dude.

Today I face 10/12/8/8/max (with a minimum of 12). Dion, who can already do 100 consecutive push-ups as a consequence of being able to bench-press 160 pounds plus an LOLcat on each barbell, scoffs and says it's nothing. I'll be chronicling the next six weeks and I'll let you know.