Nostalgia Ain't What It Used To Be Getting back in shape hurts. I was haunted by what I knew what I used to do. I'm not trying to recover my youth—I needed to recover a new definition of fitness, and decided that I had to start pushing it again. I lucked out. There's a gym in the office park I work in. I can ride my bike 10-1/2miles from home, into a shower. What a luxury! Looking around the gym, I noticed weight machines, and the hook: a free physical assessment. The verdict confirmed the anecdotal: I'd put on 20lbs over my prime fighting weight, my arms were Gumbyesque, torso and core strength was kinda sad, and my Hannah Montana man-bra was getting snug. What to do now, middle-aged man-child? I had the nice fitness pro cook up a program to build strength and fitness. She did, and two days later, I was shown the exercises. Soon my arms burned, my torso screamed, and I was pushing out sweat beads the size of buckshot. I hurt. A Further Definition of a Boombastic Lifest...
