“I can’t watch all of you. I’ve got Fall Risk and LL to keep an eye on. Good thing Sunshine isn’t here, or we’d have the trifecta.”
Trifecta of what, J-Vicious?
Trifecta of beauty?
Trifecta of Awesomeness?
Trifecta of pure athletic talent?
We did another virtual group workout Monday night. Rogue and Fall Risk and I.
The Trifecta of Strength and Independence and Intelligence and Humor and Some Frustration and Rage Thrown In Like Look Can’t You People Stop Screwing Around and Messing Everything Up.
And now. Going back through these virtual PlayFITStayFIT workouts that were recorded last May. I can hear all the shit that was talked about me when I wasn’t there.
J-V is lucky that I’m a Leo. And view any attention as good attention. Even the bad stuff.
So we did the May 5th workout.
Which is what I told them to do last time.
Except I didn’t do May 5th last time. They did May 5th. Because I said May 5th. But I didn’t do May 5th. I did May 4th.
I don’t actually know.
But whatever. At least it was my first time experiencing this one.
And again. I struggled. A lot.
Like, this past month has really busted its ass to show me how far out of shape I have fallen.
Wall push-ups should. not. be. hard.
But the next morning. Instead of struggling to move at all. Like I did after the not May 5th one. I just felt that nice muscle soreness that let’s me know I could maybe be returning to some semblance of shape.
Like. A decent one. A decent shape.
Like, maybe if I keep doing it. The workouts. And the running. Consistently. I might be an ultra runner again. At some point.
Chatted with Sub Chiro Doc about it at my appointment.
Told her how I’ve been raving to people about the scrapy butter knife thing she’s used to fix my foot/Achilles issues.
“So, it’s called a Graston Tool.”
Oh. So it’s not just called a scrapy thing.
“It costs about $250 for the set.”
Oh. So it’s not just the edge of a butter knife.
And then she showed me the actual tool.
I want one.
That’s…seriously, that’s badass.
She said they made her get this done over her entire body. When she went for the certification. So she would know how it felt when she did it to other people.
I said that sounded amazing.
She said it wasn’t. It was not amazing.
But I’m pretty sure it had to be.
Because I remember now. My magical massage therapist. Who left me. Just up and left me. Did this to my back once.
The place I carry all of my stress.
She called it Gua Sha.
I loved it.
She just scraped all of the tension and stress right out of my body.
And then she left me.
I miss her.
I really need this in my life.
Because I went for my massage tonight.
To a different massage person.
And Definitely Not A Communist Massage Lady touched my back. For like a millisecond. And basically recoiled.
Too much strength training.
Not enough stretching.
Put the weights down, Hulk.
And also try walking with a book on your head.
Because apparently all of the strength training and sitting at a computer and holding onto a mouse for dear life has made me a slight hunchback.
Yeah. I’ve gotten that diagnosis before.
And then she proceeded to walk me through a fairly impressive contortionist act. Filled with popping and crunching and clicking and all of the noises one’s back and shoulders make when one failed to retain the lessons of the Sisters when they shoved your shoulders back after tightening your tie into a pretty impressive chokehold. And so now one is on her way to living in a bell tower with zero ability to lift her arms up to actually ring the bell.
(I never read the book. No idea if that literary reference is even close to accurate.)
The Sisters gave up on me pretty quickly.
And left me to wander the streets and pubs of Ireland. Slouched over a pint. With the dregs of the unemployed. Because really. How much can an American girl really learn. And obviously that’s where the hunchback started.
(But if my parents ask, I definitely never missed a day of Catholic School when we lived in Ireland.)
Definitely Not A Communist refused. To give up. She spent the full hour twisting and pushing and pulling and contorting. And lecturing. And there was nothing even remotely relaxing about this.
But now I know I have awful posture.
And so I have to force myself to walk with better posture. Which feels very much like I’m presenting my breasts to the world. Which seems like something I shouldn’t just be presenting. Or offering up. To just the entire world.
Like maybe I should only present those to one person. In the privacy of my home.
Or maybe those are just for me now.
But that’s why. That’s why I’ll be greeting everyone with my boobs now.
And wearing books as hats.
Shouldn’t make any of my interactions more awkward than they already are.