My friends in LA informed me tonight about P90X, a supposedly revolutionary home fitness program that promises to “get you absolutely ripped” in 90 days. I hadn’t heard, but apparently, P90X is all the rage. I always forget until I return home that people in Southern California are actually obsessive enough about working out to sign up for crazy, demanding regimens like this. In hordes. The last time I saw the words “boot camp” in Boston, I’m pretty sure it was preceded by “bridal”. There’s also much more cosmetic enhancement out here. I guess silicone just doesn’t fit into the New England aesthetic.

I’m somewhat skeptical about P90X because it’s sold on television, a medium I view with a great deal of suspicion. But apparently, an acquaintance tried it out and did, in fact, get ripped by following the nutrition plan and workout videos. Then again, if you have the self-discipline to diet and exercise daily, is it necessary to spend $140 upfront? (For me, I’m more committed if I throw in my wallet, but I don’t think it’s the case for everyone.)

Currently, I’m about five pounds from converting my F(at)UPA into a F(lat)UPA, and I’m not at all eager to sign myself up for self-directed boot camp. (If you don’t know what FUPA means, Urban Dictionary is your friend.) An alternative I can better afford? Running, which according to my heart rate monitor, burns approximately 100 calories per 10-minute mile. Since one pound equals 3,500 calories, I have about 35 five-mile runs to my coveted bikini bod. Perhaps it’s time to lower aspirations.