I've finally started working our regularly. Well, it's been two weeks, but still. That's a more regular routine than I've ever had when working out. In the past, I would decide that I was going to start running again, which was always a bit of joke, even to me, because it would last for one day. Just one day. Hell, sometimes not even a day. Sometimes I would leave my house to run around the neighborhood, and by the time I got to the end of the block, it was over. I knew that I would be on the couch at that time the next day.
But Mike and I joined a gym, and I've really been pushing myself on the weekends, mostly because I have more time. Today, I stayed on the treadmill. I warmed up with a quarter-mile power walk - power walking like the crazies that show up at the mall at seven in the morning - and then fell into a jog/run for an hour. It was glorious.
So, to get down to it, I feel better about myself, sure, but I... am... sore. I mean, I am so sore that I fell over when I was trying to put on underwear. Apparently I don't recover like I used to.
Getting old is a journey, eh?