No Expectations: Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!

I first knew I was in trouble when I was leaving the gym.  I had to walk down some stairs to get to my car.  Keep in mind, this was not a sharp decent down a steep grade but very casual, terrace-like steps down a gentle slope.

I took my first step.  Something wasn't right.  Either the steps were made of quicksand, which I can't believe would meet city code, or all the bones in my legs had vaporized during my workout.  I was left with these wobbly, gelatinous, rubbery, quivering things that resembled legs only in appearance.  Instead of taking the next step, which most normal people do when walking stairs, I could only stop.  That was how I proceeded down the rest of the stairs, one at a time, like I was just learning to walk.

After what seemed like hours, I finally made it to my car.  All downhill from here, right?  Well, apparently someone decided to play a joke on me by putting 50-pound weights in each of my shoes, as I could not lift my legs into the car.  For the life of me, though, I don't know how they managed to do that, as not once during my workout did I take my shoes off.  Fortunately, I had enough function left to operate the pedals correctly.

The cruelty didn't stop once I made it home.  I live in a condo, which of course means more stairs.  This seemingly benign structural necessity was now a torture device.  And I don't have any proof, but I swear someone somehow snuck into the house and added several steps.  I needed ropes and pulleys and a Sherpa guide just to get to my bedroom.  I wonder how much it would be to install one of those mechanical chairs?  Or an elevator?

There had better be some gain, because I certainly have the pain.