Chyna, Part 2- The Diet and Implosion of the Ninth Wonder of the World
Having already covered Chyna’s rise to prominence and her training style, we come to her diet, and ultimately to her implosion and subsequent death. Tragically, not all fairy tales have happy endings, and Chyna’s rags-to-riches-meets-ugly-duckling-becomes-a-swan story is one of those- it does serve nicely however as a cautionary tale to the shit-talkers of the internet, as a passing shitty thought can have a profoundly negative effect on the recipient. Thus, unless you want a massive black stain on your karma, maybe keep negative opinions about the appearance of your fellow lifters to yourself.
Chyna’s meals were the typical bodybuilding fare and almost always consisted of fish or chicken, protein powder, and vitamins- she was the asshole who would bring her own food to restaurants so she knew the exact ingredients and nutrition in her meal. In addition to being borderline problematic in her compulsivity about her eating, Chyna was hitting the gym harder and longer than any of the other absolute beasts in the WWE at that time, then going directly to bed after chugging a shake while her peers were off drinking and partying on the road. in fact, in her heydey she was essentially straightedge- so was so driven and focused that she let nothing whatsoever stand in the path of her physique, including a social life. That said, she did leave Sundays as a cheat day, and she ate anything and everything she wanted on those days, usually in the form of sweet, delicious carbs like blueberry pancakes, pizza, and apple pie with ice cream.
The Tragic Implosion of the Ninth Wonder of the World
In Xena, even the protagonist of that show was flawed, and flawed antiheroes are the bread and butter on which modern America is built- we have no use for obnoxious, overbearing, goody-two-shoes like Superman and Colossus. Thus, you would think that the freaks and weirdos comprising both the bodybuilding and wrestling woulds would have united behind the badass broad out there genuinely challenging the physicality and preeminence of the men in the sport. Of course, just like the low-T crowd now drives Star Wars actors into hiding with commentary borne of the self-hatred spawned by being a shut in whose mom makes all his meals, the trolls shattered what one would think would be unassailable self-confidence in Chyna. The little white trash girl whose mom abandoned her after a childhood of abuse and ridicule still couldn’t muster up enough hate to overcome shit like Howard Stern saying to her, “You’re a man! Do you have a penis?” and endless commentary in person and on the early internet about her masculine appearance. Though you wouldn’t know it to look at her, Chyna was apparently an incredibly sensitive person.
Basically a psychological wreck from the endless shit talking, Chyna took part of 1999 off to get her boobs and nose done, and then later to have her jaw broken and shaved down because she couldn’t handle the incessant abuse. This made life a hell of a lot easier for her when dealing with the fan abuse, and as she did so she fully immersed herself into the world of wrestling, making it officially her family. She started treating other wrestler’s kids like her own, acting as sort of a backstage surrogate mom to them after beating their dad’s asses in the ring, which meant she was then the most bizarrely awesome jack-of-all-trades in the industry- the biggest badass-slash-hottest-chick-slash-nicest-backstage-personality in the business.
Which was awesome, at least until the evil head of the McMahon family raised itself up and spat black ichor from the depths of its dead heart all over one of the greatest female athletes to ever live. As she was acting as both a backstage mom and the face of feminism (without any politics, and simply on the merits and power of her performances) the WWE screwed her over, blacklisted her, and destroyed her sanity completely, because the McMahons are so indisputably soulless, conniving, narcissistic, and malevolent that anyone who associates with them is likewise tainted with an evil that cannot be cleansed without the liberal application of fire.
Saying Chyna was my biggest celebrity crush is like saying that “Somebody That I Used to Know” was Gotye’s biggest hit- if he ever wrote another song, no one knows about it.
Though she was killing it professionally, Chyna was apparently a rough go behind closed doors- her grip on her sanity was a tenuous thing. Though she and Triple H lived together for years, Stephanie McMahon had no idea they were a couple- she actually thought Triple H was the boyfriend of the Heartbreak Kid, making their eventual romance even stranger. In any event, an on-screen romance set up by Vince McMahon between Stephanie and Triple H was apparently obviously a real relationship to just about anyone with a set or working eyeballs, which left Chyna in hysterics every night in the locker room because she and Triple H were still living together.
Knowing Vince was the one who set the entire thing up, Chyna clearly was not on good terms with the owner of the WWE. Though he repeatedly assured her she was gonna keep her job, they gradually withdrew the Ninth Wonder of the World from the spotlight, then fired her after she posed for Playboy. Righteously pissed, Chyna started banging X-Pac, Triple H’s best friend and tag team partner, as she fell completely off the rails and started doing a hell of a lot of drinking and drugs, as people often do when their relationships go sideways. After a year in New Japan Pro Wrestling, Chyna and X-Pac started making porn together, which eventually culminated in a dumpster fire of a relationship in which Chyna picked up a domestic battery charge for hanging a beating on X-Pac, and that man lost whatever little dignity he had left.
After bouncing from rehab to rehab reality show and back, Chyna was an utter train wreck. Her mental state was utterly shattered, she was coked up and drunk nonstop, and after repeated attempts to kill herself, she moved to Japan to teach English and inexplicably become a Mormon. Now, with Mormonism, a domestic battery charge, numerous public meltdowns and essentially no prospects for a future, having lost the ability to do the only thing that made her in any way happy, all in her bag o’ tricks she dropped dead of an accidental overdose at age 46… leaving as part of her legacy having become a Mormon and a vegetarian as she rapidly unraveled. The speculation is that she had CTE, which is what many wrestlers and football players end up going insane with at the end, though by the time her brain was examined it was too badly decomposed to make a definitive call in that regard (she was dead a couple of days before her body was found).
Tragically, most people seem to only know of Chyna’s meltdown, rather than the badass she was prior to that. The first woman who could go toe-to-toe and believably win against the men, even in the super-jacked late 90s Attitude Era, Chyna was an inspiration to plenty of chicks who needed a reason to hit the gym (just as Xena was before her), and to the guys who wanted to have a shot at taking her on a date without being laughed out of the building. Her legacy also included a custom set of fake boobs specifically designed for lifters and bodybuilders, called the Chyna 2000s, and had she not been screwed over by the McMahons, she likely would have been the first, and definitely the only believable, female to win the championship belt from the men.
As such, her story should stand as a reminder to people that maybe go easy on the ultra-jacked chicks at the gym. If you don’t find them hot, keep it to yourself- it’s not like they’re pointing and laughing at your little dick when you waddle past them to get to the baby dumbbells, and it’s highly likely when you pop off about them that all of the real lifters in that place immediately have it in their heads that you’re gonna have a goddamn accident if they see you at the bar. In short, leave the chicks in the lifting world the hell alone unless you’re planning on treating them like one of the bros- the Ms. Olympia contest returns next year and it’s past time we give the chicks a bit more than the short shrift/sex object attention to which they are typically suggested… and that’s not a left-wing appeal to your inner feminism, but rather a demand that people start respecting fellow athletes rather than acting like the shitbirds they generally are.