GOING TO THE GYM

I belong to a small, neighborhood gym. Called Classic Quality, or maybe Quality Classic. Never been sure.
They are situated across the street downtown (such as it is) from the Gallery. I joined a couple of years ago. I got a fantastic deal having to do with being over 60, a merchant (more or less) downtown, and a registration grace period. A year costs me $20 a month.
It is worth every penny.

I went for a long time. I worked out with a friend I ran into there who had taught my kids when they were in grade school. Then I did something to my back and I quit going.

I did not, however, stop my membership, and recently I started going again, every day except weekends.
I went in and did the treadmill for at least a mile, at a good clip (I cannot jog) and did abs.

Today I woke up and thought oh, I am so tired, I'm not going.
And then I thought: Oh that's nice, just skip it, and pretty soon you'll skip it every day.
And then I thought: It's just today I am sooo tired.
And then my conscience said: YOU FRIGGIN LAZY TURD GET YER SWEATS ON.

Now my conscience is often kind of iffy so I was surprised at it's vehemence and the fact that it was yelling. Often, I am sorry to report, my conscience is a vague whisper in the breeze, especially when it comes to exercise.

So ok yeah yeah, I went. I did my treadmill I did my abs and then as I was leaving Ali, the wife of the owner, said "We need to get you back on a regular workout schedule"

Uh Oh.

And so off we went to work my "upper body", which meant lifting heavy things.
Not very heavy, but heavy enough that my flab cried out in agony. It begged and pleaded for an end to the torment. Of course, it wasn't THAT bad, but when I left I could tell I had worked out. They expect me back tomorrow......

Gonna do my back tomorrow. Uh Hunh.