The Endless Hour

I am in significant discomfort. My thighs are shouting at me. Bending and sitting are almost out of the question. Resting my backside on the toilet seat and rising from that position may take the use of a crane. I have begun working out with a trainer.

After years of prodding, and one excruciating bulging disc, I understood that I did indeed have to strengthen my 'core'. If I was to have any chance of not spending my later years looking like I was continually searching to find a penny on the ground, I would have to do something far more significant than think happy thoughts about my back.

I am doing the beginner's beginner exercises. The third session took place yesterday (I am so grateful that I got a week off after the first 2 sessions, due to the vacation plans of my leader. I am seriously thinking of paying her to take a vacation every month). I was required to do lunges in which I was made to walk like Groucho Marx did, in all those movies. I cramped up in both legs after about 10 seconds.

On the bike, with the weights, then to the mat, moving always moving. Struggles pile up on one another. I do nothing well and some things worse than others. I can't even understand the basic instructions given to me, nor the control panels of the machines. I am totally uncoordinated and I dress badly. I was told by my family to get longer shorts to be sure my junk stayed hidden. I have started to wear basketball shorts that end well below my knees. I now look even more ridiculous than before.

Do you remember when you were in that class in school where it seemed like the hands on the clock never moved? Who knew they had moved that clock into the exercise room.

Today is Friday. My pain level seems to be moving ever higher but I hope it soon begins to recede. With much luck, and much Advil, I may be feeling pretty good by Monday, the day of my next workout. Welcome to my cycle of pain.