It has been 10 months since I entered a space wholly unfamiliar to me. A space where iron clanks.
I can now do ten push-ups. My biceps I can see. My triceps are another story, still hidden by flesh that believes itself to be important.
My quads will now let me sit against a wall for a minute. I can run on the treadmill for 30 minutes easily. I may be 65, but I feel 51.
I am late to the party, I realize. Many of you have worked out for years. My good friends Muni, Ken G., Bill, Cindy U., Ken B., Sharon , Ben, Jim, Gary W., Tiffany L. and a host of other people who occasionally read this blog, have pounded the pavement, climbed the hills, walked the trails, swum the waves, pushed the pedals, and pumped the weights.
So, now I am one of you, albeit not as fit (yet).
My question: what keeps you going back to endure the pain? I think I know the answers but want to hear from you.