Oh, internet. Dare I say this out loud? (I mean, writing a blog post about something is just like saying it out loud, right?)
I’m feeling better.
Just three months ago I would not have contemplated dancing, riding a scooter, walking Kyle to school, riding my bike, swimming laps, or chasing the kids around the backyard. I would not have considered going to sleep without the aid of Vicodin or Soma. I hurt when I sat, when I stood, when I walked. I needed Stewart’s help to schlep the laundry from the garage to the second floor. Which, obviously, means I just didn’t do the laundry.
This morning I took it upon myself to conduct a full physical therapy workout in the living room – this means I did my stretches and all of my “homework” that the therapist has assigned and then I went out and rode my bike for 30 minutes. I decided to take the main road through town, which was kind of dumb because there is a lot of traffic and I was worried about getting hit by a car. It would be just my luck to take my bike out for the first real ride in years and get mowed down by some idiot who was more interested in texting her friend than paying attention.
It happens!
This preoccupation may have helped me get through the ride, because as I worried about avoiding a collision with cars, I didn’t notice (as much) the steady climb of the rolling hills. I did most of the uphill portions in first gear, huffing and puffing. I enjoyed the downhill coasting, but then I felt like I was cheating. I’m supposed to do 30 minutes of cardio. Does 30 seconds of coasting count against me?
In the last few weeks I have ridden Kyle’s scooter down the hill on my way back from accompanying him to school. Twice. It took me a few weeks to get up the nerve. Finally I decided that the only thing sillier than a 39-year-old out of shape mother flying down a hill on a scooter would be a woman who didn’t ride the scooter because she worried about looking silly.
It was fun. As the wind roared in my ears and I wobbled down the hill, I only vaguely worried about hitting a rock and tumbling ass over teakettle. Plus, it got me to this desk chair faster. All the better to complete my to-do list early.
And back in July, I danced the night away with my three BFF’s on our big 40th birthday girls’ getaway. I didn’t worry about my back. I didn’t take it easy. I also didn’t fling my big 80’s hair around like I used to, but that is because I am dignified. That part comes with the age.
Sigh. I’m sitting here all proud of myself and my freelance money that paid for all this physical therapy. I hope that writing this post doesn’t mean a piano is going to fall on my head tomorrow. You know, because I walk down city streets lined with skyscrapers every day…
Wait, being dignified comes with age? I should have it in spades, girlfriend!
Also, I am too scared to try my son’s scooter, though I did make an ass of myself in the school parking lot on his skateboard. Luckily it was on a Sunday so no one was around. And…I don’t know how to ride a bike.
ooohhh…my greatgrandmother would be spitting at the evil eye and saying some magical incantation to all corners of the world…
I did discover that the scooter is a great workout for legs and arse, as is evidenced by Jackson’s sculpted legs and “David” backside. However, unfortunately I am too tall for said scooter, and riding it results in massive neck and shoulder cramping.
Good luck. Have fun!