Limbering Up...Or Not
Just to catch everyone up because I know you're anxious to hear about my struggles.
"You're a freaking mess," my therapist said as she laughed.
Let's go back...how did that statement come forth from her very professional point-of-view.
I went to therapy on Thursday...nothing major, move this, stretch that, hold the leg up for twenty seconds. Basically it was the sort of stretching that we used to do before we played three hours of basketball.
I was gone in a half an hour.
Through the rest of the day, and all through the next 48 hours, I felt like crying whenever I moved. It was as if I'd lifted weights for 6 hours.
So, I headed back in on Friday.
"How are you feeling?" my used-to-be-friend the therapist asked.
I just laughed. I told her the story of waking up at 3:30 in the morning because my back, neck, ass, leg, knee and shoulders hurt.
"Tell me what you did when you opened your eyes," she said. "Don't leave anything out."
"I stumbled out of bed, took a leak, ate a muscle relaxer, popped a chew in and watched a rerun of Married with Children."
She laughed.
"You told me not to leave anything out."
"What I want you to do when that happens is drop to the floor and do ten press ups, and then stand and stretch doing the back bend. That will alleviate the pain."
"The muscle relaxer did it too," I said, "And I got to watch Al Bundy and Christina
Applegate. That press up thing and the back bend at three a.m.? Let's be serious, it ain't gonna' happen."
I got a long lecture, and then we began our workout.
Let me tell you, people were coming over from other tables to watch because I am, absolutely, the most inflexible human being on the planet. I can't lift my leg three inches. I'm a good four feet away from actually touching my toes.
"When you hold your right leg up it shakes," my therapist noted.
"That's because I never finished rehabbing my knee."
"When you move your left leg, you moan!"
"That's the groin pull."
"You're a freaking mess," she said.
That's where we are.
I went for a therapeutic massage on Saturday. I get nappy-naps on Saturdays and Sundays. I keep the ladder-climbing to a minimum. By Monday I'll feel like a million bucks. By the time Tuesday's therapy rolls around, I'll be shot.
But I will still whip the Grape Apes and the Baltimorons in golf come May.
"You're a freaking mess," my therapist said as she laughed.
Let's go back...how did that statement come forth from her very professional point-of-view.
I went to therapy on Thursday...nothing major, move this, stretch that, hold the leg up for twenty seconds. Basically it was the sort of stretching that we used to do before we played three hours of basketball.
I was gone in a half an hour.
Through the rest of the day, and all through the next 48 hours, I felt like crying whenever I moved. It was as if I'd lifted weights for 6 hours.
So, I headed back in on Friday.
"How are you feeling?" my used-to-be-friend the therapist asked.
I just laughed. I told her the story of waking up at 3:30 in the morning because my back, neck, ass, leg, knee and shoulders hurt.
"Tell me what you did when you opened your eyes," she said. "Don't leave anything out."
"I stumbled out of bed, took a leak, ate a muscle relaxer, popped a chew in and watched a rerun of Married with Children."
She laughed.
"You told me not to leave anything out."
"What I want you to do when that happens is drop to the floor and do ten press ups, and then stand and stretch doing the back bend. That will alleviate the pain."
"The muscle relaxer did it too," I said, "And I got to watch Al Bundy and Christina
Applegate. That press up thing and the back bend at three a.m.? Let's be serious, it ain't gonna' happen."
I got a long lecture, and then we began our workout.
Let me tell you, people were coming over from other tables to watch because I am, absolutely, the most inflexible human being on the planet. I can't lift my leg three inches. I'm a good four feet away from actually touching my toes.
"When you hold your right leg up it shakes," my therapist noted.
"That's because I never finished rehabbing my knee."
"When you move your left leg, you moan!"
"That's the groin pull."
"You're a freaking mess," she said.
That's where we are.
I went for a therapeutic massage on Saturday. I get nappy-naps on Saturdays and Sundays. I keep the ladder-climbing to a minimum. By Monday I'll feel like a million bucks. By the time Tuesday's therapy rolls around, I'll be shot.
But I will still whip the Grape Apes and the Baltimorons in golf come May.
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