Friday, October 30, 2015

Turns out I'd blown out my upper arse

I thought I'd twerked my back this week but after a visit to a chiropractor I realised it was the muscles in my upper arse that were sore—on both sides.

All because of an epic coughing fit where my body retracted into itself and the horrid "werch" feeling shot through my mid-section.

So yes, I'd blown out my upper arse muscles.

The chiro was of middling help, at least, I think so. It's hard to tell. My arse is still powerfully sore, powerfully, so once again no riding for me atop SoTPC. And I'm about to have days away as well. 

But it's okay. I accept the fact I cannot ride due to the blowing out of my upper arse area.

When I get up the blood rushes through the afflicted zone and I inadvertently thrust outward with my hips and yell a series of yips and gurgles. 

I look like Joe Cocker stroking out. 

The upper arse area does seem to be getting better, and sitting on a normal chair is okay. 

Sitting on the arse-killing seat of an exercise bike with a sore upper arse area would not be okay.

It's weird to have gone from a life of no exercise to one of an hour a day when physically capable—and I'm getting toey for not riding. If someone had ever said that would happen in my life I'd have called them a liar and set fire to their tie or neckwear equivalent. 

Ain't life a crazy path? I know I look back at my weird-yet-impacting lifepath and just marvel at what past-me accomplished and endured. 

Past-me is awesome.


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