A couple of months ago, I felt that I was getting just a tad heavy. I’ve always been on the petite side, although in recent years I’ve been on the wide side of petite more than anything else, so I’d know it immediately if I gain more than the ideal amount of weight.

I was getting heavy, and I didn’t know why. I wasn’t eating any more than I used to. I wasn’t sleeping any more than I used to. And then, like a flash of lightning, I realized that I was soon turning 50 and, like it or not, the years have caught up with me. I’ve always prided myself for having a fast metabolism, a characteristic which has allowed me to continue my mostly sedentary lifestyle without blowing up like a balloon. But at 50, my metabolism just ain’t that fast anymore.

I needed to get off my butt and start some sort of physical activity. I had attempted this once before, maybe two years or so ago. I bought a pair of running shoes, and started running. I only managed to run half a block before fumbling into a feeble walk. I didn’t do it again.

But this was serious stuff. I was getting a beer belly, and I haven’t really been drinking beer, so I shopped around for a training program that excited me. This was how I ended up sparring with a trainer once or twice a week, and it felt great. Not only did I work up a whole lot of sweat, I also released an enormous amount of nervous energy, borne out of chasing one deadline after another. For a few hours, I wasn’t thinking of anything else but being able to punch my trainer a good one. It was a revelation.

Of course, my exertions did not come without a price. I found myself exhausted and depleted the minute I got home. I realized then that I was really old. If I was going to stay a little longer on this amazing planet, I needed to take care of myself. I had so many questions, and this blog is my way of finding the answers to these questions.

Here, one of the things that inspired me to get cracking…