I suppose you'd have to read my
other blog to know that I discovered the most extraordinary classes held near me and, especially, how much I loved it even with my cow-like grace and complete lack of strength -- or that elusive thing known as "muscle tone".
Well, there's been a new development. During last Thursday's trapeze class. (I balanced on a trapeze!! Only sitting though, to go with my new mantra: Start slow, don't die. Or possibly: Start slow, don't break your spine and spend the rest of your life paralyzed from the neck down. --The first version is catchier.)
Anyway during one of the many parts that push your ab muscles, something in my stomach popped or snapped --or crackled. (Everything in this class is ab mucles. Except for the parts that are ab muscles PLUS arm muscles.) And now it hurts.
Not always, but every time I use those muscles.
You know, like when I stand.
Or sit.
Or bend.
Or walk.
Or try to get out of bed without looking like a turtle flipped onto its back.
Or when I try to get out of bed exactly like a turtle flipped on its back.
It was bothersome enough I looked up "hernia." It would be internal organs poking through some of the muscle tissue just to the right of my belly button (in my case), but the description says it should be easily diagnosable.
I should be able to feel a noticeable lump.
Unfortunately, that's also where I keep most of my extra fat, so that wasn't half as helpful as they thought it might be. (Neither was the soft, rubbery muscle-type material I keep under that fat.)
An alternate possibility is muscle strain, which isn't much better because both diagnoses say stop pushing the muscle so it can rest and heal. That is not an easy thing to do. While normal life is not as ab-intensive and trapeze play, I haven't figured out who to do much without that muscle yelling at me.
More horribly...
I can't practice that move we all did so easily as children (hanging from something and raising our legs over our heads so we could loop the bar and hang by our knees --Look, Ma. No hands.) so that our next class can be more than rehashing the same few exercises I'm just too weak to manage.
I want to do all the fun stuff!
I put up a bar to practice on, but as long as that muscle is feeling weird and painful and wrong (and, likely, until that neck/shoulder thing lets me look to the right again -- really, though, how often do you need to look to the right?), that bar does nothing but taunt me.
Tauntingly.
I can hear it now.
Your children could do this.
If your geriatric dog had opposable thumbs, even she'd be able to do it.
With her eye closed.
And one paw tied behind her back.
Come out and play-ayyyyyyy.
How long do these things take to get better? Because 4 days is already too long to wait.
Oh, but guess what!
Being hamstrung by injury makes me write more.
Two whole new chapters.
Take that, exercise bar.
