It's difficult for me to actually believe I'm 58. I don't look my age, I don't act my age, I don't (usually) feel my age. After yesterday, though, I'm thinking perhaps I need to realize that most 58-year-old overweight women aren't as active as I am for a reason.
I'm not quitting, no, no, no, but I was so sick and so tired after yesterday's eight miles that I literally had to lie down on the cool (clean) tile floor of the bathroom for about 10 minutes before I felt even remotely normal. My body temperature was very low, but I felt like I was burning up internally. Very scary.
Don't tell my husband. He'll make me stop. Heh.
And you should have seen me trying to get off the floor and back into a standing position. Getting old sucks.
But I guess it beats the alternative.