So now that old age is finally showing up in ways other than the lines on my face and the grey in my hair and my flabby underarms I'm in physical therapy for whatever it is I've done to my leg that makes my right thigh hurt when I put pressure on it by going upstairs.
The stronger pain killers help for walking and sometimes I even forget it - whatever it is - has happened, but the minute I go up a level - and there are plenty of different levels around this house - I'm reminded.
Anyway, after my two beginning appointments I was allowed into the gym like a big person today and had a go at the stationary bike and then a very weird machine - arc? - that supposedly is like cross country skiing. Leg lifts, hip extensions, these stretches, those stretches, another go at the piece of rubber that I put my feet into one by one while it's tied to something solid and I swing my legs about, and none of it hurts.
I'm still convinced it's from when Good Girl bit me soon after Pretty Boy George arrived, as I think that even I, in my advanced state of walking around oblivious to anything that doesn't involve myself directly, would have noticed if I'd suddenly injured myself in some way, but whatever it is it's been around now for three and a half going on four months.
Here endeth this extremely boring post.
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