I'm not gonna lie to you. I'm writing this post for the money. I was contacted by a PR firm who offered to back a dump truck full of cash up to my house if I reviewed this...what is it...Promax stuff. What was I supposed to do? Say no?
Maybe the "truckload of cash" thing is an exaggeration. It was more like a fistful of ones. Just about enough for dinner at a nice restaurant to celebrate my wedding anniversary. At least my half of of the bill. Before tax and tip. Not including drinks. Because we always go Dutch as part of my insistence on maintaining some sense of independence despite my my status as housebitch.*
Is that cool, FCC? Have I disclosed enough? Can I get on with the product review?
The product, Promax, is an energy/nutrition/calorie-replenishing type of bar of the sort you might stick in your backpack or bike jersey pocket if you were all active and outdoorsy like that.
Now, I used to be a connoisseur of these things back when I was active and outdoorsy, before I got saddled with these young'uns who can't go for hikes that last more than a couple hours. I would buy Cliff bars by the box, and live on them for days at a time when I was riding my bike a couple hundred miles a week and working in places that didn't have refrigerators. Alas, it's been a long time since I went on an epic bike ride, or even one that was long enough to merit bringing along a snack.
When I got my delivery of Promax bars, I immediately wanted to try one, because honestly, they look like chocolate bars. But they're "healthy," right? Anyway, it tasted pretty good, but not quite like a real chocolate bar. Then I looked at the nutritional information and was all, "Crap. 220 calories. That's like a bottle of Stone IPA. Oh well--one less beer I can enjoy tonight." And sure enough, I really didn't enjoy my third beer at all that night. Not as much as I should have anyway.
As I said, I haven't been as active as I once was since the kids came along. It's tough to schedule serious bike rides around family time. Also, I have been afflicted with the damn sciatica, which has kept me from getting much exercise of any kind for months due to almost constant pain in both my legs. I know, right? Where's the damn sciatica ribbon sticker and fund-raising walk?
But on Father's Day, I felt a lot better, having gotten a big shot of cortisone in my spine the week before. So I decided that I was going to give myself the gift of a nice bike ride. I drove down to a place I like to call "Armageddon Island," a little man-made pile of sand in the bay where families with Gothic lettering tattooed across their backs go to burn their furniture and blast Eminem from their jacked-up pickup trucks. It's also a very popular place for road biking, as there's a big loop around the island that's nice and flat. Hardcore cyclists meet there for group rides, taking lap after lap at average speeds of about 25-30 mph. I logged 22 miles on Father's Day, with an average speed of about 16 mph.
After my ride, I felt pretty good, save for a bit of taint tenderness, and I sat down in the car. There, on the seat next to me was a Promax Peanut Butter Chocolate Energy Bar. I thought about eating it. "Nah...dinner time is in an hour," I said to myself. "You probably didn't even burn as many calories as are in that bar, fat-ass." Then I talked myself into eating just half--you know, so I could do a fair review of the product. Within seconds, the bar was gone and I was licking the my fingers and picking little bits out of the upholstery. I had forgotten how good food tastes when you have worked up a righteous hunger.
So Promax bars taste good. But what about their nutritional value?
I don't know. It's got a bunch of calories, which is really all you need when you're burning a lot of energy, and 18g of protein, which is quite a bit. And it doesn't have much sugar, if you care about stuff like that. Maybe you should just go to their website and peruse the technical data.
They also wanted me to mention that there is a Promax contest going on right now, where the winner gets an adventure for two to Kauai. Not too shabby, unless the prospect of doing awesomely extreme adventurous stuff in of the most beautiful places in the world bores you to tears.
I gotta get going. The dump truck is here.
*We don't really go Dutch. If we did, I would have to eat off the kids' menu.