When last we left our intrepid heroine (me), I was lying on the table at the physical therapist's office, getting my back and hip joint stretched out to work on some nerve damage. I was pleasantly surprised to find the visit consisted of gentle stretches and mobility work. Being no greenhorn to PT, I was expecting something more involved, with the distinct possibility of those activities being uncomfortable and/or boring. Heartened by my initial experience, I went off to today's appointment light of heart and only slightly gimpy of step, dressed in the shirt I wore to work, a pair of capris, and sandals.
Well.
The physical therapist greeted me with, "Nice to see you! Let's start warming up on the bike!"
Cue the "you lose" music (you know - womp, womp, wooooommmmp).
Can you believe, I went to physical therapy and they expected me to, you know, exert myself! In my regular, non-work-out clothes! Worse yet, I had to do multiple sets of the same exercises, exercises that resulted in me sweating - sweating into clothes I had no intention of getting sweat stained to start with, including my very best non-work-out bra, the heavy-duty one with the cushy straps and the extra lining so that it doesn't matter what I wear, I never have to worry about horrifying the students (or my coworkers, for that matter), or providing them with coming-of-age moments in the middle of a discussion about Jacksonian democracy. Sweat! In my bra! Oh, the humanity.
Then, to add insult to injury, the exercises I had to do were straight outta Jane Fonda's Workout Record, which I last completed when I was in college and people still had record players. Really, haven't we advanced a long way from leg lifts, people? Meanwhile the very nice PT guy, who is totally oblivious to my complete and utter disgust with the whole sweating-in-non-workout-clothes situation, is going on about blah blah core strength yada yada blood flow blahbitty musculature blah. Which translates as, "you have all the flexibility and muscle tone of a turnip." And I had to do so. many. reps. of EVERYTHING. Think of the most boring thing you can think of to do in the world - flossing teeth, reading audit compliance reports, watching paint dry, whatever - and now think about doing it for three sets of 30 reps each. Uh. Muh. Gaaahd. And to make it worse, they had the TV tuned to the Food Network, so while I was doing modified crunches on a slant board with a Bosu ball, Guy Fieri was driving around the country to taste-test the country's 300 best BBQ joints, all with sides and dessert. Somehow I'm not quite sure that an outfit dedicated to helping restore people to health and fitness should be broadcasting images of pulled pork, slow-cooked short ribs, and peach dumplings. All I know is that by the time my appointment was over, if there had been a rib shack within smelling distance of that office, I'd've broken down the door to get to it.
Finally - finally - I got to stop doing front leg lifts and side leg lifts and other side leg lifts and other other side leg lifts and move on to the good stuff, which is when I lie there inert while things are done to me and I don't have to count to 30 in my head a jillion times over. I proudly recounted how I had managed to do my (supposedly daily) floor exercises twice - TWICE! - in the intervening week, which is something of a small miracle given the fact that the events I predicted earlier came to pass (namely, being swarmed by various curious member of every species we house under our roof). The PT guy was very diplomatic about it all. "That's ... good," he said, somewhat halfheartedly, probably choking on his desire to add, "IF YOU WANT TO WIND UP PARALYZED AND IN PAIN FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE BECAUSE YOU'RE TOO EFFING LAZY TO FIND TEN MINUTES TO STRETCH OUT YOUR BACK, YOU MORON." I for one appreciate the gesture.
Meanwhile, I have to go back again next week (yes! I know! Like, it wasn't fixed already or something!), and I am bound and determined that I will be dressed appropriately next time. And by "appropriately" I mean, "in striped leotards and leg warmers a la Jane Fonda in 1985," because, dammit, if I have to work out like the Jane Fonda record, I wanna LOOK like the Jane Fonda record. So there.