I've decided to pace myself. I think it's taken me 32.5 years to figure out that going gung-ho, balls to the wall on a new workout regime, has not served me well. I'll do it. I'll even keep it up for a while. But the truth is, I won't/can't sustain it. These days I'm all about sustainability. I'm allowing myself (you like that? Using the word "allowing" in the same sentence as workout, as if the workout itself is a piece of triple chocolate cake I've got to hold back on) three workouts a week. 30 minutes each. I'm running, okay fine, jogging, twice a week. I think 5 workouts a week is plenty good enough to get back into the swing of things. So far so good. I'm going on my third week now of consistently running twice a week. The weather appears to pose a threat tomorrow, but I'm going to pack my clothes anyhow. I run after work. It's really the only thing that works. By the time I get home, I don't want to leave my house. That's primarily while the elliptical works so damn well. It's here. In my storage room. I don't have to go anywhere, and I can hop on at anytime.
Big Red even gave it a go today. He bashed his skull off the beam just after he put the beast together in a test run. Today there was no skull-bashing. He did it for 15 minutes and he said it was enjoyable. YAY! Let's keep our fingers crossed that he keeps it up!!
One more thing to address: the title of this post. Buckshot McCoy. On Saturday, Big Red and I headed to the sporting goods store to buy the Sole. We walked in, I saw the machine, located an associate, pointed it out and said, "I'll take it." The associate was a well-built very muscled African-American. Nice smile, friendly enough. He was like, "okay!" He disappeared behind the back room doors and came out minutes later with the 200 lb. box. He wheeled it up to the cash register and rolled it through the line for me. As we were in line, and I was paying, I glanced over at his name tag. No joke. His name was Buckshot McCoy.