Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Exercise Is Hurty
The women's indoor soccer team uses the gym right after our class, so they tend to congregate at the back while we do our cool-down (and it's pretty funny; we're all in cute zumba workout clothes, hair in ponytails, snapping our fingers to "Fever" or "Burlesque" or "Respect" as we bend and stretch, and they are, to a woman, in kneepads with cropped hair and determined expressions, tough as nails — I feel wicked girly in front of the soccer ladies), and halfway through last night's class I began swiveling my head, praying for their appearance and thus my salvation.
And this morning, my arthritic knees are crying, crying.
Ow ow ow.
I didn't take a bath last night, and that may be part of the problem; I think the bath soothes and heals my tired aging uncle-crying muscles. I wanted to watch Smash with Mimosa at 10, and a shower was simply quicker and easier, but given this morning's knee pain I clearly need to rethink this strategy. And Smash will likely be canceled soon (weep! we really enjoy it), my Tuesday nights will be free again.
I can't say that my new joyful attitude toward weight loss and healthy living has resulted in much of the former — my weight has been up by two pounds for the past few days! — but I am not fazed by this. I know that I'm back in the game and it will all pay off. Every good decision I make is changing me for the better, or whatever my new mantra is. ☺
Hey, ready for a wound update? You may recall that the original hole in my face was the size, shape, and depth of a black bean. As it healed, it neared lentil status. I am delighted to report that I've now achieved "grain of rice" status. I think I could cover it with make-up and be fine . . . but technically it's still an open wound (since I keep it moist, ugh, remember? meaning, no scab), and I'm taking no chances; I continue to sport my dork Band-Aid for the fourth week in a row. Today I see my adorable surgeon, we'll see what she says, but I'm fully prepared for two more weeks of Band-Aid. I've become quite adept at snipping round Band-Aids with my bang-trimming scissors to the smallest possible oval that will still stick to my nose — but nonetheless I look quite the dork, there's no way around it.
Still no word about the potentially lucrative job. My hope is but a faint candle, bravely clinging to light within the deepest cavern of despair.
(No, my potentially lucrative job does not involve writing metaphors. Why do you ask?)
OK — off to live a happy healthy day, full of nutritious food, movement, and good choices! Go, me!
—Lady C, rah-rah girl