Things are a little different now, of course.
When I was younger, and comparatively fit, and younger, but somewhat older than that and so not as fit, I was prone (as many of my friends still are) to periodic bouts of debilitating activity. In my case, it usually involved moving furniture around, possibly including bookcases and their contents. I eventually learned that I'd be forced to pay for those massive bouts of activity and, for the most part, learned to curtail them (but not entirely, cf Roland's visit to the Pacific Northwest in Seattle). I have further worked very hard at maintaining a consistent level of intense activity for about an hour a day, most days.
That consistent level of intense activity keeps the antsiness down to a minimum. I very rarely become convinced that, say, moving a bunch of books around is a great idea, something that can be done quickly and easily before dinner. I discovered today an entirely new trap for the older, yet still unwary Rebecca: something that really does need to be done, and really is a lot harder work than anything I've done lately.
Yes, I've been shoveling this white stuff around. But there was a lot more of it today, and it was not the powdery, fluffy kind. My back is killing me, and not because I hurt it through bad technique (trust me, my technique with a snow shovel these days is efficient and amazing, and that isn't bragging). No my back is in pain for the same reason my forearms wouldn't work earlier today and my hands keep cramping up. Too damn many repetitions.
I like my upper body. My shoulders and back are looking great. I'm just not convinced it's worth it. The snow is less amusing today.