I've never had much luck with receiving massages. Okay, that makes it sound like all I've had is bad
massages and that's not the case. It's just that every time I've had one (I've had three, by three different people), I feel pretty much the same when I get up from the table as when I lie down. I don't get that euphoric bliss or even a sense of increased relaxation. But I've been having such issues with muscle fatigue lately that I figured it couldn't hurt to try again, right? So I made an appointment and had one yesterday afternoon.
My therapist was very charming and compassionate. I picked her because her blurb on the website said things like "deep tissue" and "heavy-handed Swedish." And everything she did felt fine. But it just was sort of...eh. I didn't feel any different walking to my car (except for being a bit more slippery from the actually quite lovely shea butter) and by the time I got home my body felt exactly the same as when I'd walked in the door of the therapy office.
It just wasn't worth the $70 plus tip or the hour of time. I would've gotten better results torturing myself on my various self-myofascial tools and/or having mckitterick
attack me with the rolling pin. Sad-making. I'd love to be one of those people who benefits from massage, but I think I'm just...not. Which is extra weird considering I've had so many people tell me I'm great at giving
So anyway, there was that.
Then this morning I went to the gym and threw my back out on the second to last rep of the last set of my deadlifts. Bad. I'm pretty much immobile. I have no idea what happened. I felt like I had good form. I wasn't feeling weak or tired. My grip was strong. But as I was coming up out of the rep, I felt something across my low back just snap. It didn't pull, like I've felt my hamstrings pull--or like when I slipped doing those lateral lunges last year. This just went POINK and we both (me and the bar) went to the floor. I crouched there, sort of in shock, for about a minute before I realized I couldn't stand up
and rolled to my right hip. I sat there for another thirty seconds or so thinking "Well what the fuck now?" since I was the only person in the gym (and have been the only person in the gym for the past three weeks--YAY SUMMER BREAK!).
Then, miracle of miracles, Mike, one of the HSES (Health, Sport, Exercise Science) grad students, walked in the door. He and I have chatted before and he's super cool. He started training a woman late last semester. Joanna looks to be about my age, is quite obese, and is always all smiles. He has her doing basically the same stuff that I'm doing--functional strength with some Olympic lifting thrown in. No elliptical, no treadmill. Squats and lifts, baby. Woo! They're both fucking awesome. Anyway, Mike saw me on the floor, ran over, and asked if I was okay.
"No," I said. "I am not. I fucked up on a deadlift and I can't stand up. I'm hurting pretty bad. Help." He helped me lie down (I couldn't even lie down
on my own, y'all) and got a bag of crushed ice from some magical HSES hiding place. I lay down on that for about five minutes before I was overcome with the desire to just fucking get home
so I rolled off that and got myself to standing by basically hauling myself up the weight stand station. I asked him to please put away my weights and the barbell because no way in hell I was gonna be able to do that. By that time Joanna had come in, too (I was glad because I hadn't seen her in a month and I'd hoped she hadn't given up) and she looked worried for me. I hope I didn't scare her from lifting heavy.
So now I'm home with a stomach full of Naproxin, a heating pad, and my misery.
The extra sad thing about this is as I was walking to the gym this morning I thought about how I was going to write a brilliant post about the gorgeous sky at 5:50am today. The east looked like it was on fire. I've heard people use that phrase before but I never saw what that meant until today. Fraser Hall, at the very top of the hill on which KU is built, was outlined in an amazing orange glow that didn't fade to pink until it was halfway across the sky and nearly purple. That whole part of the sky was completely saturated with orange. In the west, the sky was just light enough to see half a rainbow. It was breathtaking. I've never
seen a sky like that. Ever.
Appropriately, when I left the gym, limping and panting to myself you just gotta make it home just make it home and you'll be okay just get home you can do this you just gotta make it home
, everything was gray and it was starting to rain.
Also, I started eating solid food again. My waist is back up an inch and a half after three days of eating solid food. An inch and a half. Three days. FUCK THIS INFLAMMATION BULLSHIT. I am so tired of dealing with this. So tired.