I admit it. I love to exercise. I ran in high school and college, I swam in college, I was a life guard to support myself along the way. When things got tough I would figure out how to find time to exercise twice a day.
What I have come to love most is a renewed interest in lifting weights. I did this seriously for a while between partners once. Now, comfortably ensconced in late middle age, its not as easy as it was. But, for seeing progress (you can add weight every week to 10 days at the rate I’m going) it can’t be beat. Or rather it beats up on me.
I even have had a trainer figure out how to work in some HIIT (High intensity interval training) with my upper body (shaking de ropes), which for my money beats aerobics for the same effects (lower pulse, better sleeping, etc).
I envy those of you that can still run. I loved running. But alas, there comes a time and a set of knees where its not just feasible any more.
I may be the oldest, greyest, whitest and female-est person (most of the time) in the gym, but I am surely not the most out of shape. And, even the thicknecks respect someone who is there and grunting along side of them. This does more for my mental health than anything but Auchentoshan.