Middleage start

[propuh03]

Hello,
I found this site, and it is goregous.

Well, situation is like this:
- I'm 49 years old
- don't have any sports activities
- I work at office on PC, sit in car, and get home watch tv on couch, and every day same.
- once or two days at week I'm walking few kilometers
- eat what wife puts on table
- drink cofee and smoke up to one pack
- sleep 6-7 hours a day
- recently I startee to feel pain in bones and mussles when woke up
- my knee pains as I had surgery 10 years ago

So, I set goals:
- improve fitness
- become more healthy
- improve s*x form, if its possible

A decide to start with 10 minutes general fitness program.
Starting tonight, and if not get heatr attack, I'll check out Progress.

 

[JohnStrong]

Welcome fellow bee in their 40s

 

[Mamatigerj]

Welcome to the Hive!

 

[propuh03]

Well, thanks bussy bees.
I survived first set.

First day

Iz wasnt so hard. I got sweat, and hart rate was 99bpm.
My heigt is 174cm, and weight 75kg.
We'll see what is for tomorrow.

 

[Anek]

Hello and welcome!

 

[FlowersandPetals]

Hi!

 

[Nebulus]

Welcome to the hive!

 

[propuh03]

Wow, 2nd day..
I made it. Hard to catch breath after 10 minutes, but it works.
Now I messured myself, and will take measures again after 30 days, to see if there was any progress. I write down biceps, chest, belly, hips, legs.

 

[propuh03]

Nutriton for today:
Breakfast: "Topa" (traditional bosnian meal, chease on butter)


Lunch: Döner, beef with bread and salad

Probably thats all for today, but we"ll see.

 

[Fremen]

Welcome

 

[propuh03]

Third day, and I'm wounded. After starting enthusiasm, It's time to face bitter reality.
Second day was for legs and lover body, and now my muscles inflamed and I walk as zombie. And today in exercises for arms and shoulders, it started to get painful in left shoulder. I didn't know that I even have muscles there.
I was watching our strong and beautiful teachers on video tutorials how they are doing exercises with smile and easy. But that's not my case, when stopwatch ticked 10 minutes, it was salvation. I understand now what is meaning of "old beaten dog".
But no surrender. I hope tomorrow will be better.

 

[neilarey]

they are doing exercises with smile

It's a mental trick. If you smile while exercising it actually makes it easier to get through. You don't have to feel like smiling, the act itself sends a signal to your brain: "this is fun, this is enjoyable". At the very least, your brain gets confused and pain signal gets jammed I works for me! At this point, it's the Pavlov's dog response with me

 

[aku-chan]

 

[MadamMeow]

Nice to meet you!

 

[propuh03]

It's a mental trick. If you smile while exercising it actually makes it easier to get through. You don't have to feel like smiling, the act itself sends a signal to your brain: "this is fun, this is enjoyable". At the very least, your brain gets confused and pain signal gets jammed I works for me! At this point, it's the Pavlov's dog response with me

Attention, Queen is speaking!!!

Thanks fo a tip.

I just found some ancient scripts covered with sweat, tears and blood, and I remembered I was Your fan years ago. I download it, and printed it, and bind it myself. If I didn't ask for permission, I apologize, I donated now 5$. Sorry.

 

[propuh03]

I'll try different approach, this is kinda boring... Who gives a s*hit which exercises I make.

So I started M&B2 Bannerlord game from beginning, I'll try to make progress in combination with Darebee exercises. I'll make diary, but my English is bad, so I'm not sure what will that look like. I'll write what ever get on my mind. Wish me luck.

This is AI Enhanced story

Beginning

The gritty taste of dust was the first thing I registered, along with a throbbing ache blooming across my ribs. My eyes flew open to the sky, a merciless summer blue, and then to the rough ropes biting into my wrists and ankles. Robbers. The cowardly jackals had ambushed me, beaten me senseless, and then… well, they hadn't finished the job, had they? I was still breathing, anger a hot coal in my gut.
One of them, a lout with a face like a squashed melon, was snoring under a tree, my own horse, Bayar, tethered nearby. My sabre and bow lay carelessly near his head – a fool’s reward for his ease. He must have thought me a harmless lamb to be fleeced. He was about to discover a Khuzait lamb has teeth.

It took ten grueling minutes of wrestling, the rough fibers of the rope burning my skin, but the knots finally yielded. I stood, my body screaming in protest, and planted a solid kick into the sleeping robber's face. He gurgled and didn't move. I scooped up my weapons, untied Bayar, and left the two cowards in the dust. Serves them right for underestimating a son of the Steppes.

Hours later, I reached a mountain village clinging to the side of the hills like a frightened limpet. It was deep within the Empire’s lands, a place of stone and narrow pathways, so unlike the wide, open plains I was used to. The folk here were an odd bunch. They hurried about their business, eyes downcast, and made no effort to meet my gaze. I might as well have been a ghost for the lack of acknowledgment. They were clearly a cautious lot, wary of strangers, perhaps more so with someone with features like mine. A "savage" from the East, no doubt. I tied Bayar in front of a large, weathered barn, hoping for some respite from the relentless sun.

The hunger pangs gnawing at my stomach were impossible to ignore. I took a deep breath and walked toward the heart of the village. Surely the chieftain, whoever he may be, would have a crust of bread and perhaps some work to offer a weary traveler like myself. I had survived being robbed, and the Empire’s disdain for my kind. Surely a bit of food and drink shouldn't be too much to ask for. I have journeyed far and will continue until I get my fill. The steppes haven't raise a quitter. I just hope this "chieftain" is less foolish than the last man who tried to rob me.

 

[propuh03]

Don't deal with peasants

The dust of the road still clings to my leathers, a fine, gritty testament to the frustrating day I've endured. I rode into that village – a cluster of sun-baked huts and wary faces – hoping to find the elder. He was nowhere to be seen. Or perhaps he was, cloaked in the same impenetrable silence all the villagers seemed to favor.

Then, the cursed need arose. A desperate dance, and a series of increasingly frantic questions met only with a strangely uniform response: “Pigaínete éxo apó to chorió.”* They said it with a wave of the hand, a flick of the wrist, as if dismissing a fly. Obviously, some local custom I was failing to grasp. I’d never felt so close to wetting myself in my life. The embarrassment would be enough to make any man want to dig a hole. I finally found a suitable spot well away from the huts and returned, feeling a fool.

At long last, a kind soul offered bread, good sharp cheese, and not a word of explanation. I lay down in the dust, weary to the bone, leaning against my horse, intending a moment’s rest. No sooner had my eyelids begun to droop when a mangy cur decided my leg was its personal chew toy. Snarling and snapping, it lunged, and I found myself scrabbling in the dirt, trying to defend myself with my boots and my temper. Enough! I scrambled to my feet, mounted my horse, and left that godforsaken place behind in a cloud of dust.

Now, I ride towards Poros. The sun dips low, painting the sky in hues of orange and blood – a fitting backdrop for my mood. I have 1000 dinars, enough to get me started, I hope. I plan to recruit some men, strong of arm and stout of heart. Maybe some who know how to interpret these strange local customs. We'll find a way to rebuild what was lost.

Just before the last light faded, I came to the gates of Poros. A hulking guard, clad in leather and iron, greeted me. “Geia sou xéne, ti théleis?”** he said, his voice rough, yet with a hint of a welcome in it.

"Merhaba. Geiá sou!" I replied, a strange mix of familiarity and bewilderment, not entirely sure if I was about to make yet another fool of myself.






___
*Greek: "Go outside the village"
**Greek: "Hello stranger, what do you want?"
***Turkish: "Hello"

 

[propuh03]

First assignment

The city gates, creaking on their hinges, barely registered my presence. I’m no warrior, not in the way these guards understand it. I'm a ghost, a shadow, and they waved me through with a shrug. Perhaps the dust of the road disguised me, or perhaps they simply didn't see past the worn leather and patched tunic. My purpose was hidden, a seed of ambition planted deep. After what felt like an eternity of weaving through the labyrinthine streets of Poros, I found him – Phirentos the Knife. The name alone was enough to give one pause. He lurked in a dimly lit tavern, his eyes like chips of obsidian, taking me in with a calculating gaze.

He spoke in the rough tongue of the streets, "Chreiázomai meriká sklirá paidiá gia ti douleiá."* I understood. He needed tough men for a job. It was a chance, a foothold in this viper’s nest of a city. I promised him seven such men by the next moon.

This, of course, was a lie. I knew the city held no shortage of men, but those with truly hardened hands were not eager to fall under Phirentos' sway. My task was not to find thugs, but to cultivate a force. I found ten men from the villages on the periphery of Poros. Brave souls, but untested, mostly young, their eyes bright with the foolish gleam of adventure. They looked to me to guide them, a responsibility I carried with a grim kind of satisfaction.

Our first task was to... acquire experience. I spotted a gang operating on the far side of the fields, five of them, moving with a purpose. They were quick, like weasels, and we spent a full day tracking them, the chase taking us so far that we crossed into the Western Empire. The smell of foreign soil was acrid, the air different, and it set my teeth on edge. I haven't been this far west since... well, since the long years I spent as a slave in Vlandia.

Finally, we had our quarry cornered. The memory hit me hard, the cruel sun of Vlandia, the whip, the faces of my captors. But then, my mind focused on her. The noble warrior girl, Goldenhair, I called her. With her endless practice of swordplay, her strength, beauty and confidence. I saw her in my mind’s eye as the fight began. My skin prickled with a familiar rush of anticipation. I was rusty, no doubt. But the fighting was not my concern. My men were.

They fought with a terrifying ferocity, fueled by some mix of fear and excitement, and I watched from horseback, circling the chaotic melee, while we wiped out our target. They were too fast for me today, too hungry. The men refused to surrender. None of them survived.
By the time I got to them, they were all dead. It was a messy business, but one I needed them to witness. Blood was the ink we needed to write our story. But this is just the beginning.



___
*Greek: "I need some dangerous guys for work"

 

[propuh03]

Tavern

The sea air, thick with the scent of salt and fish, was a welcome change from the stale dust of the road. We were all weary – myself especially – after chasing those Eastern curs across half the province. Their “spoils,” as they called them, were now mine, and we found ourselves at the edge of Zeonica. The city loomed, its great towers a reassuring sight against the pale sky, a promise of rest that I craved.

I rode my weary horse through the gates, my band clattering behind. First order of business, the market. The boots and rugs, not worth much to those thugs, fetched me a paltry 200 dinars. I exchanged them immediately for grain, grapes, and a slab of rather tough-looking meat. Financials were bleak. I need two thousand dinars to establish my enterprise and I have 660, and they are dwindling with each purchase.

The afternoon was spent in a leisurely stroll, something I rarely allow myself. I even managed to swat a few particularly persistent mosquitos, a small victory in an otherwise taxing day. I sent the men to find their own amusements and strolled in the direction of the local tavern.

The food there was richer, the juice stronger, and, much to my surprise, I found myself face-to-face with one of Zeonica's less reputable citizens, Rhanos Knucklebones. He was a hulking brute of a man, a gang leader from the looks of him, and he offered me a proposition – a chance to earn some coin by “persuading” some rival gang members to reconsider their current activities. For reasons I couldn't quite explain, I accepted. I’d pledged to help Phirentos the Knife, and this would put me in closer proximity to that end. It would certainly not be a relaxing few days in Zeonica.

The diner was excellent, though the tavern’s maid, a dark-haired beauty with a knowing smile, surprised me with her words: "Vuoi qualcos'altro, pelato?"*

“Ciao bella!!” I replied, the only words I knew of the West Empire tongue. I met her gaze with a boldness born of weariness, and a sudden realization that a good stretch with such a beautiful woman would do me good.


___
* Italian: Would you like something else, baldie?

 

[Saffity]

I love how you've got your story going! Well done!

 

[propuh03]

I love how you've got your story going! Well done!

Thanks, it rolls with sweat and pain...

 

[propuh03]

Gangs of Zeonica

The tavern was dim, lit by flickering candles that danced across Bella's skin. Her wide hips swayed like ocean waves as she moved between tables, a rhythm that snagged my gaze. My insides did a clumsy pirouette. A foolish hope, a phantom sail, unfurled within me. Then, she looked at me - a fleeting glance, but one that promised more. I paid the barkeep, a hurried transaction, and followed her outside, my heart pounding a frantic serenade.

Instead of a lover's embrace, I met the hard end of a clay jar. It shattered on my skull, a cold, stinging shock. Her father, the owner, loomed over me, boot connecting with my stomach. He spat, a vile, wet sound, and flung a handful of coins at me. “Hai dimenticato il resto, pezzo di merda!” * The romance, if you could call it that, was over before it began.

Shame and fury, not at them, but at myself, fueled my steps. How to blame father protecting his daughter? I wandered the narrow, darkening streets of Zeonica, a caged animal pacing. I’ve been stuck here, waiting few day for Rhanos. Tonight, he called. It was time. We met on the square, our crew facing off against the rival gang, forty strong. After the threats, the brawl erupted. I held back, watching, before diving into the melee, sword in hand. I saw one young man step before me and I kicked, the impact a sickening crunch, a broken ribcage, the echo of my failed romance. He flew back, a small price paid for my bruised ego.

We won. Rhanos gave me 700 dinars for my part. I looked at the coins, my purse heavy but my heart empty as ripped net. Time to leave this cursed town.


___
*Italian: You forgot your change, you scumbag!

 

[propuh03]

Aika the She-Wolf

Another day, another dusty road. Before leaving Zeonica, I’d struck gold at the market. Word got around that grapes from Zeonica fetched a handsome price in Poros. I managed to double my investment, netting 900 dinars after paying 500 to load the bags. I was dead on my feet by the time we reached Poros. My only activity was staring at the tavern ceiling, the aches in my back keeping me company. But I did some moves on the ground for relief.

Come evening, hunger dragged me downstairs. A figure in the corner caught my eye—a girl wearing a fur cap, a Khuzait, like myself. She was toying with a knife, her gaze distant. I’ve always enjoyed female company; “Merhaba kızım. Hikayeni anlat bana.” * I said.

Her eyes met mine, cold and devoid of emotion. She didn't smile, just began her tale: slavers had taken her as a child. The Empire had legends of warrior-women of the steppe, and they used her to play that role, pitting her against other slaves for entertainment. She did so well, that she made her master very rich. She said that over a score of her fellow slaves must've felt her blade. But the night her master tried to play he-wolf game with her, she left him without a dick and his guards without heads. Now she run from North to Eastern Empire lands.

Her story was a warning, but I did not mind it. I needed a companion like this. With a grin I offered for her to join me. "Tamam, altı yüz," she replied, asking for six hundred dinars, and I felt a spark in my belly. "Adınız ne?" I inquired for her name. "Aika Dişi Kurt," she replied, her wolf eyes like sharp daggers. My journey was about to get interesting.


___
* Turkish: Hello, girl. Tell me what is your story.

 

[propuh03]

Goldenhair

The dust dance on the horizon as we ride east. I paid 700 dinars for that mare, a sturdy thing with eyes like flint, perfect for Aika. She's a steppe girl, through and through, and though I’m fifty, old enough to be her father, I can't help but watch her. She knows it, too, feels my gaze linger, but her eyes never quite meet mine. We both carry the marks of slavery, though hers are fresher than mine.

Buried feelings erupted again. I remember the Vlandian fields of Galend, crawling under the sting of the whip, the endless toil under a brutal sun. And then there was her, Goldenhair, the knight’s daughter. When she was not on campaign, she trained with such ferocity, a whirlwind of steel and sweat. Her smile, even in the midst of such strain, was like a beacon. Her dog, Pavlov, was always at her heels. My feelings were a tangled mess of fear, admiration, and something... deeper. I could recall every muscle that rippled under her tunic, every move she made.

Then the peasants revolted, flames licked at the castle walls, and I fled, promising the smoke-filled sky that I would see her again, that I would move heaven and earth, rise armies, burn cities, kill kings just to touch her hand... I was brought back to the present, though, by Aika's voice, sharp and tinged with irritation. "Dikkat edin, aga, boklara basacaksınız."* It seems even grand ambitions are no match for a stray pile of horse dung.


__
*Turkish: Watch out, sir, you're going to step on shit

 

[propuh03]

Map

Lycaron's walls felt like a cage after the open road. Ten bandits tried to make us their prey, but their greed became our gain. The market buzzed with trade, and I managed to turn their ill-gotten weapons and clothes into a decent sum. One of them, a skinny young lad, is now our reluctant guest, tied up in the stables. I put him to sleep. Back in the tavern, I paid the lads their due, leaving 400 dinars in my purse. Not a fortune, but enough to keep us moving.

I called for Aika, "Gel, canım, sana bir şey göstereyim,"* trying to lighten the air. She hates being called "dear" but she still came, her face close enough to feel the warmth of her breath. She smelled of garlic and dried sweat, but I didn't mind. I spread the new map, the parchment crackling. I pointed to Lycaron, then to Odokh, our destination. I explained my plan – gather Khuzait horsemen, a fast-moving, hard-hitting band. Money and adventure would follow, I was sure. She listened, her gaze tracing the map, but when my voice fell silent, she looked up, eyes burning like a wolf's, and asked, very quietly, "Bunu neden yaptın?" ** I looked into her eyes but said nothing. The day had worn me down. I left her standing there and went to bed, the question echoing in my mind. Some things are better left unspoken.



___
* Turkish: Come, dear, to show you something
** Turkish: Why did you do that?

 

[propuh03]

Jealousy

The fog hangs heavy today, clinging to the valley like a shroud. I can barely see past the snout of my horse, which is just as well, I suppose. The air is damp and cold, a constant reminder of the hardships this journey demands. I’ve decided we need to make a few shopping runs to Poros. We will need more coin if we’re to push further east.

I still haven’t spoken a word to Aika. Not since she asked me that cursed question. It all started when she joined our group. One of our young men, stupidly named Amor, began to circle around her like a lovesick pup. He smiled that idiotic grin of his, brought her water and food, told jokes I’m sure were asinine, and generally made a buffoon of himself. I couldn’t stand it. I hated it, with a ferocity that surprised even myself. He had everything I lacked: youth, a full head of hair, muscles that rippled with every move. I was nothing compared to him.

Then, disaster. Yesterday, in our trek, we came across a hill rumored to harbor bandits. A perfect opportunity, I thought. I decided to flush them out, and asked for a volunteer to scout ahead. Amor, predictably, practically jumped on his legs, eager to impress Aika. He ran, with that infuriating confidence, up the hill and disappeared into the swirling fog.

We waited, our hands on our weapons, silence heavy around us. And then something rolled down the slope. A collective scream ripped from the throats of my men when they saw it was Amor’s head, eyes wide and frozen in terror. Rage, hot and primal, filled their faces, a thirst for vengeance that mirrored my own. And just like that my rival was gone.

I gave the order to charge. They surged up the hillside, a pack of wolves unleashed. The bandits began to scatter. I rode around their flank, loosed three arrows, one of which, in a cruel twist, found its mark in one of my own men. Not that it matters. Aika just sat on her horse, a silent observer, watching as our comrades butchered the fleeing bandits. Her face, inscrutable as ever, gave nothing away. What thoughts churn behind those dark eyes? Does she see me for what I am? A man consumed by bitterness, jealousy, or maybe some wierd love?

Perhaps Poros will offer some respite, some distraction.

 

[propuh03]

Monk

This blasted trip has been a trial. Drained every last copper in Lycaron to secure that silk for Poros, a gamble that felt foolish more times than I care to admit. The men grumbled, naturally. Went days without pay, their faces as long as the trip itself. Protests turned into snarls, but I held firm. Poros was the prize, and it was. Unloaded the silk this morning, and the scales tipped in my favor. Fifteen hundred dinars richer. A good haul, and finally, I can silence those gnawing doubts.

Aika’s words still sting, though. This whole venture, trying to prove… something. Doesn't matter now. On the road today, we passed a sprawling training camp. Swords flashing silver in the sun, the air thick with shouts and the thud of practice. Sent the men ahead, claiming a need to scout. Truth is, needed the solitude and the clang of steel more. Dug out my old saber and found a sparring partner. Sweat and the rhythmic clash… clears the mind like a cold wind.

Then it happened. Between parries, a flicker in my vision. Goldenhair, that fiery woman from the Western lands, her form fluid and strong in some forgotten exercise. Strange enough, but then Monk appeared beside her. Monk! That silent Eastern enigma. He was there, in the vision, just as he was all those years ago in the tribe from steppes. Wooden swords in hand, back then. “Munōna orokamono-tachi,” he’d growl – we thought it was some sacred phrase, the only words we ever heard from him. He showed us stances, strikes, defense. Then, an army marched through, and he vanished. Whispered tales followed – some said he’d been a killer, hired by unseen hands, that the army’s commander slaughtered in sleep was his act… but who truly knows? Seeing him now, even in a phantom vision… it rattles me. Maybe the sun has finally baked my brain. Or maybe, just maybe, there’s more to this journey than dinars and silk.



___
*Japanese: You incompetent fools

 

[propuh03]

Arena

Training in the camp had been brutal, but I pushed through, each swing of the practice sword adding to the fire in my belly. I’d felt a surge of confidence as I finally caught up with the others who had departed for Lycaron earlier. Then, in the distance, a single dark silhouette on horseback, watching me. It was her. Aika. I was sure of it.

Lycaron was a bustling hive of activity. I quickly sold the three sacks of skins I'd bought in Poros, the clinking coins a satisfying reward. With the gold, I purchased a sturdy mule for carrying our gear. A good investment. But my thoughts were mostly on Aika. I'd decided a gift might loosen her heart. I bought her a beautiful, tooled leather saddle for her horse.

Later, I invited her to the Arena, hoping to impress her with my newfound skills. It was a grand place, echoing with the clang of steel and the roar of the crowd. I paid arena-master to let me take part in training. My heart thudded as I stepped into the dust, Aika’s gaze – a mix of curiosity and perhaps a hint of amusement – on me from the stands. Six fighters glared at me, their eyes promising pain. The rules were simple, brutal: everyone against everyone, last one standing wins. They thrust a spear, a shield, and a handful of javelins into my hands. The crowd roared, a hungry, baying beast.

I didn't think, I just acted. The first lout was focused on someone else. I charged, my javelin connecting with a sickening thud at his temple. He stumbled, and I followed through with a kick, bone crunching under my boot. He went down, and didn't get back up. The taste of victory was intoxicating, but brief. Another brute deflected my spear with his shield and then his wooden sword slammed into my shoulder, jarring my teeth. I staggered, and that's when the third one hit me with his shield, knocking the air from my lungs and the world spun as I hit the dirt. They kicked a few times, their boots bruising my ribs, but then they forgot me, claws drawn to each other. I crawled towards the exit, my lungs burning like embers, back screaming in protest.

The arena erupted in laughter as I stumbled out, defeated but grinning. My plan hadn't worked, but it had been entertaining. I slept soundly, dreaming of the thud of weapons. This morning, bruised but refreshed, we journey eastward. The road to whatever lies ahead calls.

 

[propuh03]

Coward

Today we repelled the bandits again. A few of them paid with their heads, but thankfully, we suffered no casualties. The victory felt hollow, though. Darkness fell quickly, leaving us stranded in the forest, thirteen souls huddled around three tired horses, a meager fire crackling between us. The flames danced across Aika’s face, highlighting her soft cheeks, the intensity of her black eyes. Even in the flickering light, her beauty was breathtaking.

We took shifts guarding the perimeter, our hushed whispers a counterpoint to the crackling fire. Aika lay curled beside her mare, a picture of serene weariness. I stole glances at her, the courage to speak failing me. Finally, I mumbled something about wanting to sit closer, expecting rejection. She simply turned away, her indifference a shield.

Fear held me captive. Fear of rejection, fear of misinterpreting her actions, fear of the judgment of the others in the group. I wanted to touch her, to feel the warmth of her skin against mine, but cowardice won. An hour passed. Everyone slept, save for me. I was laying next to Aika, watching her back and her hips. With agonizing slowness, I extended my hand, my little finger brushing her thigh. No reaction. Perhaps it was accidental. I let my finger linger, inching… closer.

Then, a sharp jab in my ribs. Aika’s elbow. Coincidence? Perhaps. But it felt deliberate, a clear message. I withdrew my hand, my boldness dissolving into shame. My snail retracted into his shell. I'm a fool, a coward, a pathetic mess. My heart aches, a dull throbbing echo of the fire’s dying embers. And I know, with a certainty that chills me, that I am unworthy of Aika's gaze, let alone her touch.

I’m twice her age, a relic of battles and worn leather. "Old dog," I muttered to myself, "your time is long past." I’ve promised myself to leave her be. She deserves a young man, someone whose hands haven’t seen so many winters.