I have started physical therapy because my body is not working. One thing that long, depressive states often leave you with is a weak, untrained, puffy body that doesn’t obey commands very well.
My first day the trainer looked me over and twisted and tugged and all that shit, so he could see what he had gotten stuck with. He’s just as hot as he can be and sweet as he can be. You can see my first barrier was learning to keep my mouth closed and pay attention to what he was saying without devouring him with my eyes. Yeah – that hot.
In the twising and poking we found my hips are wearing out. What strikes mt is that the pain I started feeling in my mid thirties that was so easy to ignore has become that indicator of old age – bad hips. I used to have such a sweet butt, I was known for it. Very ironic of you Universe or Karma or whatever.
Teach then shredded more illusions by letting me know that the easy exercise of walking, just WALKING was not the best for me right now. Apparently I have to build up some shock absorbers (aka muscle) before I can perform the daring act of walking a few hundred feet. So it’s cycling first.
Ok, I accepted all that, he saw that I accepted it and even commented on it (“not unexpected then, right?” he said).
But he then gave me the exercises that I am to do. As we know. all exercises are illustrated with slim healthy white folks doing the movements with ease while smiling. The ones he gave me had the sketch of an old fart with a big belly struggling to make one stupid rep. Seriously.
It’s still on my mind.
