By WR Jones
For you H2O lovers, this is a watercolor of one of my daughter’s high school friends, Jessica.
She looks so lithe, so supple in this pose.
The young woman who set her bike up next to mine in yesterday’s spin class at the gym was lithe as well. She was stretching by lifting her leg up to shoulder height.
What on earth, what sort of desolate, rocky shore caused such a large breaker in my brain wave that made me think I could do that? Was it that little voice in my head, “Hey Bill, she is a girl, if she can do that so can I”?
I felt the pull/tear in my left buttocks before my leg reached waist height. Did I have the brains to stop at that point. Well, no, that would mean I couldn’t do that particular move. I did modify; in order to give the illusion of my leg reaching shoulder height, I sort of crabbed over bringing my shoulder down to meet the leg in the middle somewhere.
At this point there raged a verbal battle in my head between the Sense brothers; Common, and Non. Common, “Oh oh, now you’ve done it. Better scoot on home and get ice on that.” Non, “I can’t leave now, they will think I’m an idiot.” “You don’t know that is common knowledge?” “Not EVERYBODY knows it, some of these people are new.” Common, “Suit yourself, good luck with getting out of bed in the morning.”
So I stayed through the class and rode. This pumped blood and fine tuned the injury which allowed it to stiffen nicely overnight. I find it odd how my skin is old and wrinkly, my muscles old and stringy, but those neurons that FIRE pain signals to the brain all seem brand new.
Luckily I got to work before anyone could see me walking. I look like I’ve been hobbled and put out in the downhill pasture. I’ve just taken my last 7 Advil. If my luck holds, this hot water bottle I have taped to my leg will be enough to drain the catheter so I don’t have to make any trips to the bathroom.
NO! NO! No! no no no … maybe – Non Sense is talking to me. He is suggesting I ask the secretary to massage my butt.