In Which I Realize My Limitations

I've had an epiphany.  A real Saul-on-the-road-to-Damascus freakin' revelation.  You want to hear it?  Of course you do.

I am incredibly. Out of Shape.

Wow.  Really.  No, I'm not kidding.  It is absolutely true. I know this because I had a revelation.  It was yesterday. At the gym. In a step-aerobics class.

First of all, some backstory:
When I was in my late twenties and early thirties, I was a step-aerobic queen.  I went to a high-intensity class three times a week and I dominated it.  I raised my step to the highest setting, and I went hell-bent-for-leather the whole 55-minute class-period.  I was so hard-core that (bear with me, this was in the nineties, remember)  I even had a thong leotard.  Yeah, that's right.  A thong. (We wore bike shorts underneath, of course, but ... still ...what was I thinking??)

So, when I decided lately that I needed to get a bit more exercise, I chose the step class because I figured, with muscle memory and all, I'd be able to get my groove back fairly quickly.

Holy Mother of God!  Within 15 minutes, I was thoroughly winded. In 20 minutes my heart was revved up like Greased Lightning at the starting line and I was starting to lose coordination.  In 25 minutes I had to take a break, walk around a bit, get some water, try not to throw up.

It was, in all honesty, somewhat alarming.  I seriously thought I might be in danger of having a heart attack! I was modifying everything waaaaaay down and still breathing like a distempered work horse, my heart all cattawhampus in my chest and feeling light-headed and shaky. It concerns me that at age 45, my heart is already such a pussy.

So, that was my epiphany.  It's one thing to be out of shape, but it's quite another thing to realize that your heart is out of shape.  I realized if I keep on like I have been, I'm going to just continue to get weaker and weaker until I wind up a wizened old woman, curled up like a C and tottering about looking at the ground, wheezing.

So ... I've decided I must take evasive action.  I think if I keep going to this godawful class at least twice a week, I should be able to at least finish the workout, without stopping to put my heart back in my chest,  in about three weeks.  I'm determined to get to that point.  I should at least be able to get through the workout.  For the sake of my eleven-year-old son, I need to keep my heart alive for a few more years.

No thong leotard though.  I absolutely draw the line there.