No pain, no ... well, you know

     I am sore.
     And it's likely to get worse, entirely of my own volition. That's not a bad thing.
     Come hell or high water ... and given the storms in Lancaster County tonight, the latter is entirely possible ... I will be hauling my tubby self back to the gym in the morning to lift more weights.
     I started back at the gym right about a month ago, spurred by the enthusiasm of Supportive Partner Man (toning up and slimming down!) and his truly epic War on Fat. I'm happy to report that I am still on the road to wellness. Up until now, however, it's been an exclusively cardio road.
     To try and get my cholesterol-saturated ticker and its accessories used to the idea of pumping blood again instead of melted butter, and so my joints wouldn't die of the shock, I stuck to the elliptical the first two weeks. Then I added the shiny new treadmills to my rotation. Just my second time on that, I forced myself into my own little HARC Death March ... a 5K at a 5.0 percent incline. It took me an inglorious hour. But I did it. The next morning, my Achilles' tendons felt like they were on fire. I could barely walk down the stairs.
     You could say I overdid it a bit. Earned me a minor scolding from Rachel, our awesome nurse practitioner. But I got back on the horse, er, machine, and started conditioning myself. Two more weeks down the road, my Achilles' don't feel like they're going to rip away, and I miss the cardio if I don't do it. I'm feeling much better, physically.
     So I've upped the ante again.
     On Monday, I had a 10 a.m. meeting with Dave, one of HARC's resident fitness instructors. At 67, he's more than enviably fit, leg-pressing 415 and hitting 125 on the abdominal crunch machine of doom. His challenge was to take me through all the Cybex weight machines and help me find proper form and correct settings.
     I only did one full set on each machine, but that apparently was enough to make a dent. I woke up Tuesday morning feeling quite achy. Given my intent to hit it harder today ... and throw in some cardio ... Thursday could be a big-time ibuprofin day. But again, that's not a bad thing.
     Maybe by the end of August, I'll be up for the next change in routine. Dave heartily suggested I try a group class in Bodypump or Bodyflow. That'll be a caution. I have long lived in fear of group exercise classes, as I am alarmingly uncoordinated. I've always been afraid of falling smack on my face in such a scenario and making a complete fool of myself. I know several people who do group classes and love them. My friend Cindy, for example, is the Zumba queen. Lori is a spin class fan who also has described herself as a "Pilates evangelist." And John is actually in training to become a yoga instructor. These friends often speak glowingly of their disciplines' benefits. I believe all of them. Meanwhile, part of me wants to try Bodyflow, described in the playbook as:

 "A yoga, Tai Chi and Pilates workout that builds flexibility and strength, leaving you feeling centered and calm. Controlled breathing, concentration and a carefully structured series of stretches, moves and poses create a holistic workout that brings the body into a state of harmony and balance."

     But I'm still petrified of publicly choreographed exercise.
     I wonder if there's an official name for that. Jazzerciseaphobia, maybe? Or, the unnatural fear of Richard Simmons ... Simmophobia?
     In the meantime, I'll just be over here in the weight room, picking things up and putting them down.