This pretty much sums up how my relationship with exercise has changed.

I came home from Boskone with a pretty bad case of con-crud. Nonetheless, on Monday, I managed to drag myself to the gym for my appointment. I got there fifteen minutes late, and barely dragged myself through a light workout, but I did it anyway.

On Tuesday, I was much worse, and couldn't get out of bed all day. Lis bought me medicines before she went to work, and brought me wonton soup after she came home, and I survived Tuesday. Wasn't the best day I ever had, but I survived.

Today, Wednesday, I woke up feeling much better than yesterday, and probably slightly better than I felt on Monday. But I wasn't sure. I wasn't sure if I was up to going through a workout at the gym today.

But I figured, the best way to find out was to try.

So I did.

It wasn't a great workout, by any stretch of the imagination, but I did it -- and I felt physically somewhat better for having done it. It seems to have worked out some of the muscle aches from being sick, and gotten my breathing a little better.

Six months ago, would I have even THOUGHT about going to the gym on a day when I had been bedridden the day before? I doubt it. And yet, I did -- and it HELPED.