  I'm barely walking today ... killer squat routine last night. But that's a good kind of sore. There's nothing like hitting the gym (it's in my house) and busting my 44-year old butt to the point where I'm huffing, feel like I'm gonna puke, sweating like a whore in a church, and can barely walk. Then suck down a protein-rich shake and watch the muscles g-r-o-w. Pumping iron ranks right up there with surfing as far as being relaxing and, yet, invigorating. Warming up is like paddling out ... getting pumped is like catching a wave ... and breaking through a plateau is like mastering a cutback. I keep threatening to get into fly fishing ... seems very blissful and all that ... but I keep coming back to anything that makes me feel like a dish towel that's been wrung out and left hanging on the little hooks inside the cabinet door under the sink, right in front of the trash can.
I often wonder what I'll do when I'm too old to be active. Probably shuffleboard. For now, it's Squat, Bench, Deadlift, Repeat. Put down the Big Mac Meal -- "Supersize it, please" -- and give it a try. 
