This week I began a new workout regimen.  I was sick of excuses I make when I can't make it to the gym, so I wanted something I can do anywhere.  No excuses then, right?

I planned out a mostly bodyweight routine.  I have simple equipment on hand too - two 35 lb kettlebells,  a yoga mat for when I need to be on the floor, push-up bars to keep my wrists happy, and a pull-up bar above our bedroom doorway.  I'm focusing on increasing the work done in the same span of time.  I am not interested in suffering longer; I want to suffer more in the same amount of time.  This is a Crossfit concept, and it's how actors get into crazy shape in a short period.  I'm not doing this because I want a shortcut.  I'm doing it because I only have so much time to devote to working out.

I'm forcing myself to be sensible.  This first week, I'm taking a lot of time between sets and resting.  I don't WANT to.  I want to throw myself at it, and go wild.  That's who I am - I'm either black or white, on or off.  But, I know better.  I know I'll be so sore that I can't continue until I recover for a week.  Which utterly defeats the purpose.  I'm 44.  I need to act like it.

Anyway, I'm still sore.  Nothing extreme, but it's all over.  Back, chest, shoulders, ass, legs, abs all have a low-grade sort of buzz of soreness.  It's nice.  It's precisely what I crave when I work out.  It might sound like a strange "reward," but it works for me.

It's fun.

Except for burpees.  Burpees suck.