I started working out in earnest this week, and it seems that I have forgotten what happens when you do a full workout after not really doing any kind of workout for a long time. Fear not, for my muscles are reminding me in such a way that I won’t forget for at least a couple weeks. I am sore, sore, sore. Everything kinda hurts (I was going to say throbs, but I’m sure I’d get priior talking about the latest purple helmet fashion), and I’m trying to convince myself that it’s a good thing.
I thought it was a moderate start… actually, I’m sure it was. Unfortunately, when you have muscles with the consistency of limp noodles, and a brain that is semi-convinced that those noodles are really just a small step away from bands of iron, bad things happen a day and a half later. I did everything right and included stretching and ice baths (which I find are amazing for speeding recovery) after working out, but it’s still the wonderful rediscovery of just how out of shape I am.
I remember this from last time (hence the use of the word “rediscovery”), and by my count I’ve got two weeks of suckage to endure. The key is to keep at it and to attempt to stay as loose as Paris Hilton around a camera. I think I can do that. The worst part is I had finally started sleeping well again, and that went out the window with my usual thrashing making me keenly aware of which muscle groups hurt more than the others.
And so it goes. Yay for Advil!