After writing the previous blog entry titled “Namaste,” I spent the week recuperating. I went to yoga on Thursday, but the pain didn’t move in until Sunday night.
I realized, after reading for a bit, that I couldn’t get out of my recliner without help. I inched myself forward to the edge, my back screaming all the while. My husband had to come to my aid. The same thing in reverse happened at bedtime.
The pain persisted all week. I couldn’t sit down to write because sitting just made my back crunch up in a most annoying way. The only activity I could manage pain-free was walking. So I did. Six miles a day for four days running. That tired me out enough to sit. But, again, sitting brought back the crunch.
On Friday, I walked to the chiropractor. By the time I reached his office, I could move freely. It’s like taking a car in with a noisy engine, only to find that the noise is no longer audible.
I still want to be flexible. I obviously want to be pain-free. So I’m typing this standing up. And I hope to return to Zumba this week. For some reason, the bouncing, twisting, and gyrating don’t bother me or my back. Maybe I’ll try water aerobics and will certainly re-introduce floor exercises. But I promise you that the word, the thought, the act of yoga will never again occur. It just goes to show you: you can't teach an old (downward) dog new tricks.
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