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Sadly, I’m not kidding.
I work out two to three times a day, doing some crazy stuff that should have probably torn a ligament or or aggravated a joint by now. Alas these antics leave me unscathed, in fact, they leave me stronger and stronger. But yesterday morning, as I sat on the computer perusing facebook, you know, checking , out the latest gossip and/or who earned bonus points in a round of “bubble safari”, it happened. Not a crack, not a pop, but the feeling of something sliding, almost releasing pressure, in my neck.
And then I couldn’t move.
When it happened, I was sitting COMPLETELY STILL, mind you. No quick turn of the neck to see what my crazy kids were up to, no awkward stretch to try and grab the water bottle that was just out of reach. Not even a competitive round of Angry Birds. Nope.
I hurt myself on facebook while not moving.
And besides laughing at the irony of this whole situation, I’m actually kind of pissed about it. Everyone keeps saying to me “you should listen to your body”. The truth is, I have been, and my body has felt awesome. This came out of the blue, and thus, I refuse to accept responsibility. I personally would like to blame Mark Zuckerberg, but I’m pretty certain that there is a clause protecting him from being held responsible for such things in the Facebook terms of service. I wonder if he even realizes what 48 hours without exercise does to me, or how bitter I was to miss yesterday’s 5 rounds of 1 mile run, 30 burpees, 30 jump lunges.
Going to work in a gym when you can’t even rotate your head, much less jump on a plyobox, is heartbreaking. Like going to a romantic restaurant, all alone, on Valentines day. Or being being the only kid with braces at the taffy factory. Or something else that really sucks in the “you can look but you can’t have it!” way. I have no clever examples, my neck hurts too much to think. I want to stomp around and throw a temper-tantrum of epic toddler proportions, but that would probably hurt to much, so I’ll take it to the computer.
Whine, whine, whine, whine. I’m miserable and clearly have some sort of addiction to endorphins and stupid ways of obtaining them.
And I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
Ice. Heat. Massage. Foam roller. 56 days.