That heading is ALL true. And the it is the reason I have been so quiet!
Last Tuesday, yours truly, went along to the physiologist for my second consultation. We get 2 free (well partially free) consultations to a physiologist and dietician when diagnosed with diabetes. The dietician does not want to see me until June (yay!) and the physiologist decided 2 in a row was the way to go. Now to give credit, she gave me fair warning – if you can call it that (snarky I know!). I was to dress for the occasion in some form of exercise doing attire.
Besides the odd walk, I have not done any form of exercise in a gym in years. My job is demanding and 50+ hour weeks means that I am mainly looking for food and bed by the time it’s the end of my work day. Switching off / recharging for me is craft and reading. So even my hobbies are typically sedentary.
The afternoon comes around, I dutifully take the time off work and R happily drives me to the consultation. I smile at the PT and we get started. Nothing serious – just a 3 minute warm up on the treadmill. Nice and easy. Exercise 2 is a little unexpected. I am standing on a ball ~ well half a ball ~ between 2 steel struts and I have to squat without holding on. My thighs literally went “WHAT THE FUCK girl?!?”, while my knees decided that maybe I would listen to pain.
But I am a stubborn git. And I dutifully did my 10 reps in 45 seconds and went to the next exercise of more squats with weights this time. No sooner were those done, and a 5 second rest, which I was assured was all I needed to get from one exercise to the next, and I was back on that ball. My legs were not impressed at this stage and tried shaking as a method to encourage cease and desist measures.
However, I slogged through those fucking squats and mentally reviewed all my TV binge watching of how to dispose of a body. The lovely (read sadistic) PT thought that the cycle may be the next best object. I have no idea how she measures but that seat was not at hip height and I felt like I was climbing a mountain just to try and cycle. My arse decided that getting in on the complaints was a good idea and each push of the pedal resulted in pain. My knees and thighs were just sick of this by now.
We did steps, lunges with weight around my neck, the rowing machine and pretended to be skiing in the Alps. All supposed to be working on my core. Ha! My core just laughed being surrounded by a layer (or 3 or 4) of protective fat. Ain’t no way I am getting there. My legs bearing the brunt of this.
Wednesday I could move around ok-ish. Thursday I was screwed – any movement felt like my body was tearing itself apart. And going to the loo? I pretended to be male for Thursday. Friday was no better and this leads to part 2 of this tale.
The building I work in are busy with renovations. This includes extractor fans for the toilets. We are told that from Friday evening the toilets are out of commission. All good. Except when I go during the day, the lights are off. So I went to the ground floor in the morning. Later, because nature calls, I do another trip walking like someone has shoved something up my arse and now I not quite waddle, but roll to loosen stiff muscles.
I get to our floor toilet, and look I don’t know why I didn’t take my phone, maybe that walking with something stuck up my rear distracted me or my brain was in blonde mode, I just will never know. I get to my floor and decide, how dark can dark be? I am desperate and don’t want to argue with the elevator and I left my mask on my desk. So I enter the loo. Double door system. It’s fucking dark. Let me tell you – dark is dark. Pitch black can’t see your nose dark.
I know this layout well. So to keep it simple, and the fact that I need a solid wall to help me sit, I aim along the wall to the first stall. I half latch the door, because who the fuck else would come into a pitch black toilet?, and start lowering myself down. And the fucking door latch knocks me in the face. I can tell it’s opened skin and this is on my cheek – not something I can hide. I finish my business, wash my hands and head out the bathroom. And yes, I took a photo and it was not good.
Friday we went into a snap lockdown for 5 days… so my trial group class was cancelled. I wept in relief (in private) as getting up and down was still too much like squats. Saturday for some reason I decided cleaning the craft room was a great idea … and the fucking squats were revisited. It is Monday and I am still not the biggest fan of sitting, standing, walking or anything. I wish I could be suspended in some form of bag so that something else takes care of the movement.
But I am stubborn and a sucker for punishment. So the trial group is scheduled for next week, and in addition I will be participating in aqua lessons twice a week. If you don’t hear from me, my body went on strike and is protesting. I will be reviewing all those shows and figure out a fool-proof way of disposing bodies and by the time I have, a miracle may occur and I will feel better about myself and have a little energy. Let’s see which comes first!