It's been two weeks, but I finally made it back to the YMCA yesterday for an extremely gentle workout. Not because I am still ailing (I'm not) but because I'm so friggin' out of shape the equipment looked at me and giggled.
I would love to be one of those people who is naturally athletically gifted. I'm married to a man who runs marathons. On purpose. Perhaps it's a genetic thing. I don't hail from athletic stock. Historically, my people were inside baking (and, more often, eating) while others were out moving around. In fact, I'd throw in the towel on this whole exercise thing were it not for the related life-expectancy thing and, frankly, the fact that I feel likeÂ a whole 'nother person when I'm being even moderately active.
And the only reason I'm even writing about this here is on the off-chance that it gives me a little accountability for being more active and so that next time you see me and say, "How's the Y?" I don't haul off and slug you.