Yesterday, for the first time in a month, my husband was home to take over parenting duties. This meant, of course, that I needed some excuse to lock myself in a room to do something more important (in my family’s perception) than merely trying to bathe or take a nap. So, I worked out.
I did, after all, have plans to eat a massive rib eye with a baked potato for dinner: something far more high-cal and high-fat than I’ve consumed in over a month. Burning additional calories beforehand seemed like a good idea. (And the steak, by the way, was fantastic!)
So, I shut myself in my bedroom and broke out one of my new step-aerobics DVDs. I hate those things: if I’m not tripping over my feet, I’m wincing at the way my sports bra seems to creep upward while everything else seems to tug downward. But I did it: I worked through the entire tape, and found myself afterwards surprisingly full of energy.
Why not a little yoga to unwind then, I thought. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
This morning, I ache everywhere, but nowhere near as much as in my thighs. This is most assuredly not a part of a 40-year-old’s body one wants uncooperative after a long night’s sleep when a swollen, 40-year-old bladder demands an immediate trip to the bathroom.
I’m fully aware that lactic acid is to blame, just as I’m also aware that one of the best ways of overcoming such pain is by working out again. Kind of the exercise equivalent of “the hair of the dog” hangover treatment.
But exercising yet again today is out of the question. My day is already overscheduled and, I confess, I’m a wuss. I’m leaning more toward a gentle solution like natural healing, the kind where a practitioner draws pain out of your body with physical touch therapy (which doesn’t actually involve touching at all and good thing, too, since that would most likely prompt me to tears at this point).
Actually, I’ve been giving the whole area of alternative healing much consideration lately. What better incentive to exercise than by promising myself I can indulge in a massage afterwards?
My husband, of course, has volunteered to act as my “healer,” although his qualifications are as dubious as his methods. See, when I mention “touch therapy” to him, he gets a whole different picture in his mind than the actual practice itself.
But, hey, his approach would probably be good for burning off a few calories, too!
Chubby Mommy