Everything, it hurts

I made a terrible mistake, which began, as it so often does, with me venturing outside. To the gym, specifically, where I made the second mistake, which was to work out with great vigor and enthusiasm. And now my body is wrecked.

My schedule went all to hell in the spring, with the book launch and subsequent tour, and ever since then I have been less than disciplined about gym-going. I know this is a problem for many of us modern peoples, with our careers and families clamoring for our love and care, but I really don't have valid excuses. I live three blocks from the gym. I work from home. My son is in school. Surely, you would think, I could cram an hour of exercise into my schedule at least a few times a week. Especially knowing how much exercise benefits my delicate moods! Not to mention my bones, which will soon have the density and strength of meringue! (Thanks, osteoporotic ancestors!)

And yet.

The need to get back into it really hit home when I was on a plane a couple of weeks ago. I lifted my suitcase to get it into the overhead bin, and I got…stuck.  I got it three-quarters of the way toward the overhead bin and there was no way my arms would lift it any higher.  I just stood there, frozen, my suitcase in mid-air, desperately commanding my arms to continue upward but they WOULD NOT GO, until a nice fellow passenger helped me out. A beefy man took pity on me. I was furious. Why, I had lifted suitcases MUCH HEAVIER than this one, back in the day! The day being only a few months previous! I bet once upon a time I could lift that young man right over my head, by gum!

Anyway, I've been TRYING, you guys, trying so hard, to get back into the routine. And so Wednesday I went for the second time this week, and until Wednesday I'd been going fairly easy on myself because I knew I was out of practice. I don't know what shifted inside me, this Wednesday.  I went a little nuts.

Weight-lifting dramatically lifts my mood while I'm hoisting away. I was having this fantastic endorphin rush, the kind I hadn't had in a long time--I missed it so!--and I went into automatic and chose weights I had been using when I was lifting all the time. I was holding my usual weights while LUNGING! And SQUATTING! And then I did some chest presses and inverted rows and etc.! In my enthusiasm I forgot that I was now a wasted spindly shell of what I had once been!

I woke up yesterday fairly sore, nothing remarkable, but as the day wore on, every time I stood up I felt even more sore, and then even more, and today I am WORSE. Every time I get up I want to cry.  Walking down the stairs is the worst thing ever. What monster invented stairs?

As uncomfortable as I am, I refuse to relive what happened yesterday when I was sitting on the toilet and realized there was no way in hell I could stand. Just no way. I decided to slide myself off the toilet onto the floor, and fortunately we have a full-length mirror in the bathroom so I got to watch my pathetic descent onto the tile, with my pants bunched up around my knees. That tile was cold. It took a while to shimmy my pants back up. There may have been some whimpering. I will never let that happen again. I don't care if my thighs rupture when I get up. I WILL HAVE MY DIGNITY.