A few weeks ago, I decided to catapult my exercising efforts, pretending I was on the Biggest Loser, and ended up pulling something. It's OK though, because that something is only one of the largest muscle groups in my whole body and seems to connect my legs and hips together. I didn't want to pull something, I just wanted to decrease the size of something.
So, I tell Larry, the trainer that I work for, that I need help. I can teach pilates and all, but I just can't do the exercises. In other words, I need help NOW!! He told me about his sports medicine guy who has on his door "Emergency Muscle Therapy". "It is amazing! He does such a great job.. etc. etc. etc."
Thankfully, Mr. Torture had a slot.
Let's just say this. If a sinister individual would like to give up the night life and go into mainstream, this job might be a good transition. REALLY! I'm not even sure where to begin.
I show up, and I have to wait. Finally, a fairly normal looking fellow shows up with a clipboard. O.K. this is good. a clipboard. I kind of feel like I'm at the doctor's office. The place that makes you "better".
Once I'm inside the dark cavern of an office/work space, I am starting to get the idea that this guy isn't heavy on sympathy, in fact, I start to wonder why he went into the "helping people" type of profession. He uses words and expressions like "torture without scars or bruises" and "ripping the muscles apart" and if you want to remodel the house, you have to "take the roof off".
So, I let him do his thing. After all, Larry said this guy was good. Who cares if Larry isn't even 30? (young punk)
I had a lot of thoughts during this time like:
1. Why didn't I take a tranquilizer before I came?
2. Did I tell anyone that I'm here.. just in case I.. die?
3. and kin I have my mommie?
So, the fact that I am here (at home and not in the hospital) proves two things.
Giving birth several times without medication has more lasting benefits than just a healthy birthing experience.
Never do extreme cardio and pull something or I'll have to do THAT again. I think I'll start speaking Spanish around the house, and convince my DH that he really is a Mexican and he loves hippy, roundish women. "The twiggy look is so out!"
So, now I am home, drinking a lot of water "to flush the toxins out" (who put them in there in the first place??) and ice the appropriate "somethings". I found some frozen bread dough and sat on it. Unfortunately my... "hot buns" almost forced me to make cinnamon rolls when the bread dough started oozing out on to the couch.
Hey, cinnamon rolls! See? there is a benefit in all of this. Can I see the silver lining in just about any cloud, or what?