A new me?

GOING BACK

We moved into our new flat just before last Xmas and we're still in love with it.  Sometimes it's hard to believe that we found it.  Not only does it meet all the criteria we'd set before we began our search, but there are a few extras we never expected to find.  I mean, how many flats in Edinburgh come with their own garage, and even a bit an area behind it that just about qualifies as a shed?  We are also, as residents of the complex, entitled to make use of the small on site gym.

We used to go to a gym regularly.  For about seven years, beginning in 2000, we were part of the hardy sect who frequently turned up by 7am and put in an hour before going home, breakfasting and getting into work.  For the first time in my life I added a bit of  muscle to my spindly frame, and I felt fitter than I had since my twenties.  But, for a variety of reasons, the motivation began to fail and attendance trailed off into nothingness.  By the time we'd retired our gym days looked to be behind us.

In the past eighteen months I've had a few minor health worries.  There were problems with my knees, and the gout attacks I've blogged about in the past.  Signs of the inevitable decline in physical ability that we all have to face up to eventually.  It feels like half my life is now occupied with stretches and exercises and pills and diet aimed at putting off collapse for as long as possible....

The major factor in fending off future gout attacks is maintaining a high hydration level, but it's also recommended to keep physically fit.  Exercise, but try not to sweat too much!  I do try to use the stairs up to the flat every day (we're on the fifth floor), but that's not much of a regime.  About time I tried using that wee gym.

As I'm on my own for a couple of weeks this seemed like a good time to give it a go.  So I planned to go there by around ten this morning (no point in overdoing things, is there...).  Well, that was the plan.  But a part of my brain decided to sow a few doubts.  If my body has been guilty of letting me down recently, why would I think it was up to doing something energetic?  Wasn't I setting myself up for failure?  Wasn't there a risk that I might incur more damage than benefit?  Why take the risk?

This internal dialogue, combined with my legendary ability to procrastinate, let the hours slip by, and by, until I could finally convince myself to stop being stupid and just go for it.  And so it became early afternoon (oh, alright, mid....) when I finally made my way along to the gym building.  Discovered I'd brought the wrong key fob with me, went back for it, returned, let myself in.

Guess what?  It was (almost) fun.  I didn't do much (and I'm not going to embarrass myself by saying just how little), paced myself carefully, but did work up a sweat.  What was I worrying about?  I think I'll enjoy being back and seeing if I can reclaim some of that long lost muscle.  And maybe I can get up to the fifth floor without calling for oxygen.

As I sit here typing I have muscles aching like they haven't ached in a very long time.

But I'm aching smugly.