There comes a point in every man's life when he looks at the vista before him, takes a breath, and mutters "Bloody Norah, I'm so out of practice!"
Had that moment this morning. Regular readers - of whom there still appear to be some, despite this not having been a weightloss blog in about seven months - will remember that yesterday, under the influence of a highly delightful Buggerall Coefficient, I mentioned that today there would be a return to the gym, with treadmilling, and rowing and biking and...suchlike.
There was very assorted Suchlike this morning. There was walking, and rowing and biking and pulling down on an upper-arm-type nightmare.
"Jeeeeeepers! I cried. Everything...just...hurt. Legs and knees and arms and back and stomach and ass. Even my flab-rolls hurt, which I didn't think was possible without something like a switch or a switchblade.
And I didn't do 20 minutes of any one thing.
Rest of the day has been spent at my desk. And the next few weeks look...innnnterestingly full of work. Paying work, which is always helpful. Still, tomorrow, Ma and I are heading down the Taff Trail before work. This, I somewhat laughingly believe, should be easier than this morning's experience, because if nothing else, I've been using my leg muscles relatively recently.
Not so the arms, the stomach, or anything else I've used today.
Ow...ow...owowowowowow...
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