Getting back into "shape"?

For all of you "fitness nuts" out there, (and you know who you are, the ones that are constantly running, especially during the early morning hours, giving me the impression that you had just recently committed the type of crime that you would have to do several years of "hard time" for if you should slow down), I just want you to realize that I haven't always been this way, which is out of shape. I actually used to be one of you, so I understand why you do it, I just choose to no longer participate in any strenuous activity other than my job and carrying 30 packs of beer out of the liquor store, or the occasional hoisting of a small grandchild into the air for a hug. My personal fitness program started when I was in the seventh grade, when, besides work, (yes, we had to work back then), I became extremely interested in "lifting weights", and my first set of barbells consisted of one of dad's crow-bars protruding through a cinder block at both ends. My first year of lifting weights yielded few results for me, mainly because I only did "2 arm curls", which I believed, at the time, to be the only weight-lifting exercise needed to look like Charles Atlas, who was some muscular guy that appeared on the back pages of our comic books, and grew tired of bullies kicking sand in his face at the beach, and so later took action by moving further inland. At the end of that first year of strenuous exercise, I'd found that, by looking in the mirror, I'd obtained the look of a couple of strands of spaghetti, with possibly 2 tiny meatballs in the upper center of my arms. Combine this with the speed and agility of a new-born jersey calf, and I realized that I had alot of work to do, so I immediately started expanding my work-out program to include muscles that hadn't even been given a formal scientific name yet. Over the next few years, I had obtained thousands of pounds of free weights, designed and built my own weight machines, some of which would make top scholars scratch their heads in dis-belief today. I also played football and basketball, which were the only 2 real sports that my school had to offer, other than track. I never participated in track, mainly because they just assumed, because I was tall, that I would be good at the "hurdles", which I was not the slight bit interested in, on account of my "hangy-down" thing would have been the first part of my anatomy to come into contact with the hurdle, should I mis-judge my jump. Even after graduation, I continued this insanity, waking up at two-fifteen every morning to lift weights and run, and then go to work, where I always volunteered for the hardest laboring jobs. About that time, Sylvester Stallone came out with a whole slew of boxing movies, wherein he also worked-out early in the mornings, mostly by running up stairs in Philadelphia, but also by punching dead animal carcasses in a packing plant, probably as a way to tenderize the meat. Rocky also drank raw eggs in the morning, so I started doing that, as well as boxing in the Golden Gloves tournaments in Hastings, Nebraska. Boxing was basically a "stress-relieving" sport, but the stress would come back almost immediately when you realized that your opponent may be trying to hit you back. From there I went on to join the United States Army Infantry, whereupon entry into basic training into Fort Benning Georgia, I suddenly realized that I had made a terrible mistake that could not be corrected for at least 4 years. After my 4 years were up, and still being somewhat dilussional, I continued my practice of lifting weights and running, right up to the time when Saddam Hussein decided to invade Kuwait, on the premise that Kuwait may have a better quality bathroom tissue than Iraq did, and also something about oil, I believe. Still being quite naive, I proved my insanity to the few people who weren't already convinced of it by going back into the service, this time as a scout for the 24th Infantry Division out of Fort Stewart, Georgia. I did really good there, and even started the biggest battle of the war, which should come as no surprise to the people who know me the best, as people always seem to be either fighting or laughing wherever I go. For some reason, it took 4 Generals to carry my bronze star out into the middle of the Euphrates River valley to pin it on my chest shortly after the battle of the Rumali oil fields in Iraq. This Historic event, at least in my life, marked the end of my career in physical fitness, as well as the beginning of my career in the field of heavy drinking and fishing with grand-children, which I believe you can seldom do one without the other. I can also promise all you "macho" type guys out there who may be looking for ways to somehow prove to yourselves just how tough you are, you should stick with running, as real war can tend to weigh heavy on the mind, and the results are often fatal. So go ahead and run, all you fitness nuts! In spirit, I'm right there with you, though in reality, I'm the "old guy" sitting on the porch with an ice-pak tucked into his back brace, secretly thinking that you haven't done shit yet.