It’s been three months since I darkened the door of a gym. I made big plans back then to workout in the garage during quarantine, which was a great idea until it started getting hot in Las Vegas. And it wasn’t training in the heat that posed a problem as much as it was what that heat does to a garbage can between trash days. Somewhere along the road, my lofty plans of ending quarantine with a six-pack fell victim to more significant issues, like working almost around the clock to feed the family and create a better future that will be less vulnerable to viruses and politics.
Yesterday I launched The Blackbean Coffee Company, and thanks to some wonderful friends and family, the launch was a success. To celebrate, I made a delicious coffee to enjoy with my breakfast this morning, then went to Las Vegas Athletic Club for my first workout in months.
I am a glass-half-full kinda guy, so I was pleased as punch that less than 15 minutes into my workout, I was spent. My spongy and atrophied muscles pumped to the point that no one noticed, hung limply off my misshapen body. I had to walk the length of the gym to stop panting like a dog. When I walked downstairs, I hung onto the handrail.
It was a well-spent 15 minutes of utter humiliation and well-worth the 40 minutes of driving time to get there and back. It felt like the good old days. Two more weeks of this and I will be in good condition again.
That ugly first one is out of the way.