"That's not sweat, it's my body crying"

This weekend marked another year passing. This week begins the rebuilding of my perceived fitness.
It's 6:56 in "America's Comeback City". I'm standing inside the recently expanded CrossFit CLE gym and I'm starting my workout of the day (WOD), which happens to be:
"Angie" - for time:

100 pull-ups
100 push-ups
100 sit-ups
100 squats
Complete all reps of each exercise before moving to the next.

I've done this WOD before, but even that experience couldn't prepare me for the punishment that was dealt today. Roughly 35 minutes later, I'm shirtless and in a heap on the ground in front of the fan. I could probably shit myself, throw up and cry at any second. My hands, are torn up and are reflexively closing. I used palm protectors, but there's just no effective prophylactic for this volume of abuse. It takes another 15 minutes to compose myself when I realize that my day just started.
I head out, back home, where I'm not so physically vulnerable. It took me an hour after my workout to get my head back on right. I reconfirmed two things today; the first one is that I am not even close to being "fit" and  two, it's time to stop hiding behind excuses, mentally-fabricated obstacles and raw laziness. It's time to make changes, nothing huge, nothing overnight but today marks a turning point in the lifelong venture towards fitness.