Well color me purple, folks, this old lady’s back is knackered.
I know, I know, I’m not OLD per say. But I’m old-ish, and getting older by the day. I am, however, in pretty good shape, I eat well, I run regularly and I have droppped a pound or 30. I am fitter and healthier than I have been for the last ten years. But my bits and pieces? They are NOT defying the aging process, or aging gracefully, or whatever other “getting old naturally” lingo the advertising world throws at us old fogies.
The other day I picked up a table. A smallish rubbermaid style folding table that I have picked up and/or moved on many occasions in the past. Except this time I held it out in front of me at what can only be described as “an awkward angle”. And as I set it back down I let out a groan that only an octogenarian could appreciate….providing they had their hearing aids turned up loud enough to hear it. And now, two days later, my back and I are finally on speaking terms. I was giving it the silent treatment for a day or so there, just to teach it a lesson. It ignored me anyway and kept being a bitch. Thats ok, two can play at that game.
I now sit very gingerly at my desk, careful not to cross my legs THAT way and then turn my body THIS way. Because that hurts like a sonofagun. And I grip the edge of the bed when I flip over to the other side so that I don’t seize up or feel that pain, that stabbing pain that feels like you can’t quite catch your breath. And I wear heels, which, while looking pretty darn fantastic, also remarkably keeps my body aligned in such a way that I walk pain free. So yeah. Take THAT, stupid back.
Sigh. But not a big sigh. Because that would hurt.