I knew moving would be hard, but two days later and my muscles are crying. Screaming. Begging for sweet release from the ache I have caused them.
I guess I'm not that healthy.
Which is scary, but the truth. I'm thirty-five, thirty-six in a couple of months and I need to get my shit together. I'm not getting any younger as the cliché goes, and well, I have to work harder.
I do have daily reminders to do mild exercise, although ""life"" gets in the way far too often and I skip it. I wonder if basic lifting, biking and other exercises are enough to keep myself healthy. Maybe it's more of a food thing.
Chocolate is too good.
But this move and the resultant muscle pain has me scared. I live alone now. A heart attack would basically mean death, right? Unless I am able to recognize what is going on and call for help in time. Although I'm not too sure how all of that goes. That's morbid. Maybe I should know more though.
Well, that's enough fear mongering myself for today. Time to do work. I guess?