Greetings from my bed where I’ve been laid prostrate for the majority of the last 48 hours.
As some of you may know (despite me denying it to myself), I’ve recently turned 40. I thought this might come as a shock to anyone who’s encountered my youthful countenance before, but this wasn’t necessarily the case. In fact, when I changed my Facebook profile pic to one with an old-age filter on it for a giggle, nobody batted a bloody eyelid, and assumed that was actually me now.
This was the final straw, and like many mature youngsters, I decided to do something about it: I was going to get into THE SHAPE OF MY LIFE!
That’s right. Out went the McMuffins, and in came the porridge. Out went the chips, and in came the quinoa. Out went the beer, and in came the…well, Scotch (let’s not go too crazy right away; I’m not a monk). Either way, I’d pledged to my mates around the pub table that 2022 was going to be the year of Rob.
Like a phoenix from the flames, Rob 2.0 would not just be as fit as his younger self. 40-year-old me would be fitter, stronger and faster than that young upstart ever was. With that promise uttered, I lifted my stomach off the table it was resting on, and marched out of Wetherspoons, determined to transform my body.
One of my friends wisely suggested that I don’t go gung-ho straightaway, and instead .,/’/’//ĺ,k#;’k,h’;hj’;mhj’;.mk#’;##;#.,.
*This is where the morphine and diazepam cocktail hit, and I found myself alternating between sleep and being off my face for the next 6-7 days*
Welcome to the present day, in which you find me trying to figure out what scenic route my past pain-addled self was taking in order to get to the point of this post. My wife has just reliably informed me that over the last week or so of me on painkillers three times a day, all I’ve done is repeat myself over and over again and sleep. The poor thing has been juggling the 3 kids by herself whilst I rambled on about the same things again and again. It’s little wonder that I couldn’t finish this post.
Let’s rewind 48 hours before I started writing this post initially.
After spending days with a pulled muscle behind my shoulder blade, I was getting a little impatient that it hadn’t healed yet. For some reason I always seem to be tweaking it, and this time it had been pulled just from brushing my teeth (yup, it’s all extreme sports action here). I was frustrated and looking for answers.
I headed straight for YouTube, the great bastion of how-to videos. Taking a punt at which muscle I’d pulled, I searched for ways to fix it, and with a little effort, finally found one that seemed to describe all the same symptoms I have.
When a video starts with the words “now listen, I’m no physiotherapist or doctor, but…”, I’d like to think that I’d usually dismiss it and move on to the next vid. This farmer though (that’s right, that’s who I take my physio advice from now, it seems), claimed that he’d invented his own exercise that had completely alleviated all of his shoulder blade/back issues. I might’ve scoffed, but for the dozens upon dozens of grateful outpourings in the comments section. This shit had really worked for people! Some folk were even bemoaning how much money they deemed they’d wasted on normal medical advice for all these years.
The exercise in question? Well the guy just held his arms up like an imitation of a chicken, and violently swung them both behind his back “almost as if you’re trying to knock your elbows together back there” he said.
I tried it. It didn’t seem to do anything. Assuming that I hadn’t swung them back hard enough the first time, I wound my body up like a coiled spring and REALLY let rip and and.,/’/’//ĺ,k#;’k,h’;hj’;mhj’;.mk#’;##;#.,.
Greetings from my bed where I’ve been laid prostrate for the majority of the last 48 hours.
As some of you may know (despite me denying it to myself), I’ve recently turned 40. I thought this might come as a shock to anyone who’s encountered my youthful countenance before, but this wasn’t necessarily the case. In fact, when I changed my Facebook profile pic to one with an old-age filt…woah. Hold on, how long do morphine and diazepam stay in your system?
I’m always willing to suffer for your reading pleasure. Schadenfreude seekers should check out that time I became a movie extra.
Similarly, there’s the time that I had to referee a kids’ football match.
Or if you’re a kinder-hearted person, you might just want an injection of cuteness in your life. Check out how to read a baby’s mind.