Well, I’ve gone and done it, friends. I’ve committed to a Spartan Race, which, for those of you uncool enough to be in the know, is a military-style obstacle course that hip millennials do for fun. Over the course of 3 miles, would-be Spartans climb, crawl, haul, drag, jog, jump, wade, swear, scream, hyperventilate, overheat and presumably weep, surrounded by smoke, mud, rocks and barbed wire. Hoo-rah!
I mention this only because two of my teacher colleagues and I completed our first couple of workouts this past week, and I am on my third day of not being able to walk properly. Descending stairs is literally agony. I can only get off the couch by rolling onto the floor. I considered using a roller to massage my quads but the mere thought of a metal bar touching my sore legs brought me to tears. This begs the question, “Am I too old for such nonsense or did I just overdue it?” Let’s explore.
It might be my age. I’ll be 47 come January and don’t respond to physical exertion the way I once did. Despite decent cardio and a very close relationship with Aleve, my creaky knees and achy muscles persist in their conspiracy to destroy me. But I also may have taken on too much, too soon. I was in great shape earlier this year but then decided on a summer-long fitness sabbatical. Is it really surprising that after running suicides and stadium stairs with intermittent sets of burpees and walking lunges, I am semi-hobbled? I think not.
So, we shall see. Spartan Race, here I come. Peace out.