Wednesday,
July 1, 2015
I was getting back into the swing of regular
exercise and woke Sunday morning thinking about what I’d be doing that day to
accomplish my workout goal. Then I
swung my legs around and put them on the floor only to feel a sharp pain in my
right groin. I rose painfully and
stepped gingerly towards the bathroom.
The pain radiated across the groin and down my leg. Now, I’d been healthy and happy when
I’d gone to bed the previous evening, but now seemed injured to the point that
I couldn’t even walk. What the
hell do I do in my sleep?
As with most injuries, I tend to think exercise
will improve them. It felt better
as I moved and so I put on my cycling shorts and headed for the trainer since
it was pouring outside. I spent
the next hour riding while watching another episode of ‘Dexter’ and felt fine
when I dismounted. It would be the
last time I felt fine through the writing of this story four days later.
I did go to work Monday and that was a
mistake. I tried to get some
things done and spent time on ladders and lifting heavy things. Always the appropriate therapy for a
groin strain. Tuesday was more of
the same except that I was hurting more with the limping causing further pain
in my hip. I had a meeting
scheduled with LuAnn to pick up some home made maple syrup and discuss a trip
to the Adirondacks, something I wasn’t about to miss. I changed and struggled into my car, which is the most
painful part of any movement.
She lives in Jefferson, which is in the middle of
nowhere Ohio and a lovely community with perfect riding roads. I pulled into the drive of her home, a
converted church from the early 1800’s, and was immediately jealous. There were a couple of cars in the
drive, but she was moving and this is to be expected. I spent five minutes climbing out of the car with pain
etched across my face, but no one could see me so my manliness was maintained.
“Oh Bonnie – this is my friend, John. He’s out here to pick up some syrup and
talk about the Adirondacks,” LuAnn said as a way of introduction.
Bonnie said ‘hello’ and turned to LuAnn to say
goodbye. She looked to me then and
said, “would you mind moving your car?”
Well…hell yes, I’d mind. Didn’t she see me convulsing as I’d exited it three minutes
earlier? “No problem,” I replied.
Ten minutes later, sweating blood, I was back on
her porch with her son, Aaron. We
discussed camping, kayaking and backcountry trips for the next hour before it
was Aaron’s turn to leave. They
both knew about my groin strain and he suggested to his mom that he’d simply
drive on the grass to go around the Toyota.
“Don’t worry – I’ll move it. I like whining like a little girl in
front of your mom,” I said. And I
did.
We went over some of my favorite spots to camp and
climb until her daughter Kristen, Aaron’s twin, arrived from work. She too, had an interest in things
outdoors and being physical, but when she rose from the park and headed for her
car to have a cigarette, I was outraged.
“Are you kidding me? You’re a SMOKER?”
She headed sheepishly for her car.
When she returned, I laid into her again, but
kindly. We talked about running
and pr’s and I assured her I could have her running fast, she had a distance
build, if she’d quit the smokes and following a training program I would lay
out. LuAnn was interested, as
well.
“You look like you work out,” Kristen said.
“I do what I call the Survivor’s Workout,” I said
and described some of the ritual to them both. LuAnn rides 30 miles at a crack, “but easy’,” she said
though she touched her arms with concern over the lack of tone.
“Read ‘Younger Next Year’ and let me design a
workout you can do right here in the yard and you’ll get back the muscle tone
you want,” I said. She was quite
interested and we planned for me to return next week to set it up and put her
through a workout. “I’ll bring my
skinfold calipers and we’ll do a body fat assessment and fitness test so you
can see how much improvement you make, too.” She didn’t look too enthused about that, though.
I climbed painfully into my car after two more
hours of conversation and a gallon of maple syrup. Back home, I pulled out bread for French toast and left over
waffles from Sunday’s brunch, cooked them and lathered them in butter and maple
syrup. Though the pain continued
in my groin, packed in ice as I ate, the syrup made me forget for the
moment. Damned good stuff.
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