Working out

I worked out this afternoon for the first time in about nine months. A woman could have delivered a healthy seven- or eight-pound baby in that time. I didn't deliver anything, but did gain an unhealthy seven to eight pounds in that time.

It began innocently enough. I had a lot of projects going on, so I decided to take a couple of weeks off from working out, just to finish up the backlog. Well, the projects took longer than expected, then there was always an excuse, then I started saying I'll do it this morning, right after I do that thing, and this thing...then it'd be the afternoon and I'd say "tomorrow for sure".  Finally, I reached a point where I stopped pretending and relagated working out to the category of Someday.

Around Christmas, I decided to go in and cancel my membership; I'd start it up again when I was really ready. Then I figured, if I have to go in to "resign" (you can't do it over the phone or internet!), I might as well actually go in and start exercising again. But I put that off for a couple of weeks, and just felt guilt...but did nothing.

At one point a couple of months ago I thought I'd start chopping and stacking firewood several days a week. That's supposed to be very good exercise, utilizing most of the muscle groups. That lasted one day. The wood was down in a gully, so hauling it to the house meant an uphill climb, and my knees were killing me that night. I took aspirin and abandoned the plan. The rest of the winter passed. Spring arrived.

So, today was the day I would finally start in again at the gym. I had to drive my daughter's boyfriend to the airport, so I figured I'd go after I got back. But I had mistakenly thought he was going to the Manchester airport, thirty minutes away, when he was actually flying out of Logan in Boston---an hour trip. And I wasn't ready with all the stuff I'd wanted to load into the car first for my other errands...so I just drove over and picked him up.

Coming back from Boston, I stopped at my wife's office and fixed her chair--luckily, the tools I had originally meant to bring, but didn't, weren't needed. (And, I must admit, I got a gourmet cupcake from a store downtown--the antithesis of working out.)

I headed home and put the stuff that had to go the transfer station in the back of the Bug. Off to The Dump (as I will always call it, even though recyclables go into one place and trash gets put into trailers to be disposed of elsewhere, and nothing is dumped in the landfill any more), drop off the load, and then...on to the Y. Would I actually make it? There had been many times during the previous three seasons when I'd headed in that direction and decided I really should get to work on something more important.

But I went. I stretched (the limits of my stretchability were a source of dismay, but I persevered), did the machines (no free weights at this point; I figured it was wise to stick to machines that would isolate the muscles being used this first time back), even ran for 15 minutes on the treadmill. My wife asked why not twenty? but I reminded her: First Day Back. Take it easy.

I had thought that the pain of this afternoon would be stronger than the rush of endorphins that I used to feel when I was working out regularly, but I was wrong! I left the gym feeling refreshed. The aches I felt were the same as I used to feel in the old days when I'd pushed a little but made progress, and my mood was elevated as it hasn't been in months.

I promised the trainer at the Y that I'll be back tomorrow for the stability ball/bar/mat training class. We'll be moving out of the usual exercise room to the field house...I fear running, jumping and who knows what else will be involved. But I feel too good to stay away.

I think.