I'm a little reluctant to use this title, because people lose loved ones, jobs, freedom, and other big stuff. I lost my fitness. I just kind of fumbled it away, it was a result of my own (mis)doing. Nonetheless, I've been through the stages of loss: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and, now, acceptance.
Here's where I am: 10 days ago I ran a 5K race as hard as I could. It took 24:46. I'm in the worst physical shape of my adult life and, at 53, if I don't address it, a steady downhill seems plausible. I weigh 238 pounds. My back hurts, almost constantly. For the third year in a row, I've struggled with hamstring trouble.
But, given where I am physically, I just completed a decent workout week. I rowed 20K, in 5K increments. On Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday, I followed those rows with core strengthening and stretching exercises that helped my back feel better and helped my regain some psychic balance. I walk every day. I'm fat, but no longer getting fatter. On Wednesday, I ran, 800s on the track. On Saturday, I ran again, 5.5 miles. I ran again this morning, 3.5 miles.
I have a modest Beach to Beacon goal. I want to run faster than my age. It's a challenging but attainable goal. It'll take work, but I'm ready to work again. I've accepted my current status. I still hope for progress, though, and I'll report in along the way.