It's official: my marathon fitness is gone.
Sunday's jaunt through Sand Run was at a reasonable pace, but my lungs were paying the price. Afterward, I was bound and determined to get back to my core workouts, which I've neglected for the last two months.
I extracted my balance ball from its corner and dusted off the cobwebs. I spread out my mat. I even brought my dumbbells in from the trunk, where they've been stowed since I moved. The bar and weights were frigid to touch as I stacked on the two five-pound weights. I sat upon my ball, leaned back and sat up 10 times. I moved to the mat and laid face down, planted my palms next to my chest and pushed up 10 times. I picked up the dumbbell with my right hand--it still retained its chill--and curled 10 times, then switched hands and repeated. I went back to the ball and started the whole process over again, and again.
Two days later and the dull ache from punishing my sloth still lingers. I feel like a wad of cookie dough. My winter maintenance plan has gone seriously awry.