50 is not looking pretty.

Once upon a time I loved to exercise. I raced in triathlons. I ran 5 and 10 k's. I was a member of an award-winning dragon boat team for goodness sake! I even have a few first place medals (which I admit, for the most part are because I was the ONLY one in my age group and I won by default). I was fit. But then life happened. I'm not fit any longer. I hate it. I have a closet full of size 10 clothes that I can only dream about.

If I intend to carry out My Little Goat Shop dream (and I'm getting more serious about goats every day) then I shall need to be able to get up and down and chase the little critters around and be healthy enough to live my dream for years and years to come.

With that goal in mind, I worked out at lunch today. A workout that I would have scoffed at 3 years ago. 3 miles at a fast walk. A little bit of trotting. A small incline. I shouldn't even break a sweat at that. But I was huffing and puffing and sweating like someone dumped water on my head. It was NOT a pretty site.

The gym I go to has these new-fangled treadmills with TV's and and display screens and enough buttons to make it look like the instrument panel on an airplane. I started pushing the buttons to get the treadmill going. Instead, I managed to change channels on the TV and get some I-Pod/USB think flashing at me in a panic. After pushing every darn button on the panel without success, I figured out it had a touch screen. I'm not sure what all the buttons were for. I probably re-set the alarm system in the building or turned off the lights in the men's sauna..

The workout was hard and I'm going to do it again on Thursday. I'm feeling surprisingly fine tonight though.. If I could just get someone over here to help me up off the couch (and sob! up the stairs!) I don't think I can make it on my own.