You may recall that a little post-AC prodding from mammallamadevil prompted laurie_robey and I to sign up at the local Sport & Health. I'll be the first to admit that our attendance has been on the spotty side. Not totally nonexistent — I'd say we've averaged about a visit a week in the intervening time — but spotty enough that we haven't been getting the full potential benefits of it. And aside from a good deal of swimming early on, when we have gone, I have often not had the oomph in me to do more than get on a bike machine and pedal for half an hour.
Last week, I resolved to correct this, and headed for the weight machines. My plans were then of course knocked for a loop by parental privilege, but we're still pushing for it. So tonight was my second go-around on the weight machines.
As some of you may know, I was for quite some time a big ol' Bowflex fan. In fact, I "used up" an original-series Bowflex Ultimate to the point where I couldn't actually use the needed resistance for a workout because I just ended up lifting the entire machine off the floor. So I then replaced it with a Bowflex Revolution, which I frankly hate and consider to be $2500 wasted. The B.R. is still sitting in the back of the house, in a room it can barely squeeze into, never used because it's such a pain in the hinder.
So, my body is used to this stuff, and has missed it. But my body is also over forty years old now, and for men that's an issue. Starting around now male DNA comes to the conclusion that if you haven't had kids yet you're not likely to, and so all you're doing is taking up space, and starts trying to kill you. One of the ways it does this is by making it harder to build and maintain muscle. It's not a problem for me yet, but who know when it will start to be.
So really, I can't keep doing this "on-again, off-again" routine and expect my body to snap back into it. Consistency is the only thing that will allow me to even stave off weakening, much less build any new strength. And it's also the only thing that will keep my lower back from eventually snapping like a twig, which is something I very much want to avoid.
As inconvenient as the trips over to my parents' house have been, they do at least provide me with a valuable object lesson. My mom thinks a small grocery bag is ponderously heavy. My dad can't walk. I don't want to end up in either of these conditions. Granted we've all got to go sometime, but when the day comes, I'd much rather be like my Aunt Iris, who was sharp, spry, active, and alert and just suddenly had her heart stop on the way back in from taking out the trash. No long slide into incapacity for me, please.