I’ve had chairs pulled out from under me, twice.
Both times were in junior high. I even remember the names of the boys who did so: Robert Corrica, & later Bobby Dunbar. I’m sure they grew up to be model citizens who would be mortified to know they humiliated & injured an abused child with a neuromuscular disease. No reason was ever given for these betrayals of the trust that my chair would be beneath me when I sat. I was a good kid who skipped a couple of grades & had a funny accent. I guess that was enough.
And who can imagine why an adult would throw his own child at a wall? But there you are. I have hip & back problems that I’ve overcome quite magnificently considering I have fibromyalgia.
At least I thought I did, until I started personal training last Wednesday. Let me preface this with the simple, delightful fact that training is awesome. I enjoy it immensely. I get such a rush of endorphins from strength training that at Target I mistook a small Filipina woman for my friend Shelli (who is Italian) & ran over to hug her. She walked away from me very quickly.
Oh yeah, I also was picked up by a gust of wind on a mountain-top ice skating rink & deposited unceremoniously on my arse. I couldn’t walk for two months. What I’m saying is, I’ve fallen a lot. That’s not even counting fibro falls.
I hate falling.
The resulting injuries always make me need help. I hate needing help.
Even sans falls, people with fibro have problems with proprioception, so that in and of itself is problematic.
So imagine my shock to learn that my nemesis is the bench assisted squat. My trainers assure me I am not a pain in the ass (no pun intended), but I feel my poor guy ate through much of my session trying to teach me to sit without looking behind me. And he couldn’t do it. Not today. As a last ditch attempt, he gave me some homework where I basically have to practice touching the wall with my butt.
I wish I were kidding.
I went home and practiced. I successfully touched the wall with my butt from three inches away without bending at the waist or looking behind me with my shoulders back & chest out & with my weight on the balls of my feet 3 times.
I’m very proud of myself, cos the 4th time I about had a panic attack & had to stop.
I haven’t thought about Robert Corrica or Bobby Dunbar since I was 10. That was almost 29 years ago. You bet I remembered them tonight.
Yes, my lower back hurts, but I know this exercise will reduce the pain, eventually. My trainer asked how I pick up anything off the floor & I said “Gran pliés,” because hello, childhood ballerina. But gran pliés are not squats, & they don’t build muscle like squats, & also I need to stop turning my toes out so much.
What I failed to tell him is that sometimes the fibro pain is bad enough that if something ends up on the floor, hey, new cat toy.
This reminds me that I totally forgot to tell the trainer a thing about me that my roommate made me promise to remember. When we clean for a party, I overwork so hard that when we have the actual party, I’m in tremendous pain, dealing with fog, & don’t enjoy the party. I actually don’t remember why I had to tell the trainer that. I’ll reread this later & suss out the significance then. Maybe you’ll tell me.
So anyhow, I feel like a fearful failure, but I’m trying to do something about it, because that’s the only way to get better. I should ask him to just barely touch my arm next time so I know I won’t miss the bench. That’s a reasonable request, right?
God, I’m lame. SUCK IT UP, RED!
YOU GUYS! I touched the wall with my butt IN PROPER FORM 20 times today! Lenny Kravitz helped. It’s best not to ask. I CAN TOUCH THE WALL WITH MY BUTT!! Woo!