As you may know, I go to the gym. At least I try to.

Sometimes I let life and work and stuff become excuses and then I don ‘t go.

This fall was particularly bad for that. I didn’t go, to speak of, during September, October or November. And I suffered for it. Soon I was slipping back into bad eating habits. Going out for lunch, instead of packing a sandwich; late night snacks; feasting during football. And I packed on a few pounds, fifteen or so.

That was bad enough, but there was more. My energy levels slipped away. I felt tired all the time. Hell, I felt like shit. So two weeks ago I decided that it was time to do something about it. I went back to the gym and I ran. By the time I’d gone a mile I thought my heart would explode. After two miles I was sure I couldn’t go on. But I forced myself. I ran for 40 minutes and covered over three miles. Not good enough to get me on the track team, but it would do.

It’s gotten a little easier since that first day, but I’m still not to where I was in the summer. I haven’t lost but a pound or two, but I do feel better.

Aging is such a bitch. Once upon a time I could eat like a pig and not gain a pound. I was so skinny you count my ribs from a distance. (I wasn’t in good shape, but I was skinny.) Those days are gone. If I want to be in shape, I am going to have to work for it.

I know, you’re thinking, Duh, of course you have to work for it. It didn’t used to be that way for me. I am so unused to have to work at this. The thing that kills me is after I lose the weight i want to lose, I will still need to do this.

So I keep going back. I am determined. (And this time, even when I’ve lost the weight, I’ll keep going.)