Okay, so we've already established that I'm mad lazy, right? I prefer to chill, sitting and reading, or staring out the window with a nice, steaming mug of caffeinated beverage before attempting arduous physical tasks such as light tidying or returning items to the library drop-box. The only unpaid workouts I attempt are long neighborhood walks in nice weather, and my paid workouts have been cut down to twice a week yoga with the senior set. My own mother laughs hysterically at the fact that I even became a fitness instructor. It doesn't gibe at all with my childhood persona: cute lil' chubby ol' couch potato.
So, seriously, what are the chances that I, of all people, would injure myself while strength training?
And yet, I did. I tried to copy some move I saw on a fitness video back in the spring of oh-seven, and then suddenly it hurt to lift my arm above my head to wash my hair in the shower. And because I'm stubborn like that, I kept teaching fitness classes twenty hours a week at one job, and lifting babies twenty hours a week at the other job until I was in such terrible pain on a regular basis that I acquiesed to wearing the embarassing sling my husband brought home from the drugstore and insisted I should sport in public until my shoulder healed.
Only, it didn't heal, at least not on it's own. Eventually I got health insurance and then physical therapy (conveniently sidestepping that whole "pre-existing condition" thing with deliberate vaguaries about when the injury occurred), and after six months of PT it still hurt sometimes and they told me there was nothing more I could do except live with it, unless I wanted to consult a specialist and consider surgery. At that point I was in my third trimester of pregnancy and the pain wasn't terrible, and so I lived with it, and over time it mostly went away. Mostly.
Until this past fall, when the pain came back with a vengeance. So now I've been to a specialist who offered me a cortisone shot, which I am scheduled to recieve this Friday. But in the meantime I've been lifting my son (who's most definitely in the running for cute lil' chubby ol' couch potato number two) with my good shoulder, until my good shoulder suddenly rebelled at all the attention my bad shoulder was receiving, jumped ship, and is now in the running for poor lil' owie, owie injured shoulder number two.
And so: Ooowww, you guys, my shoulders hurt reeeaaalllyyy bad! Ooowww! I haaate it!
I'll let you know if the cortisone shot does the trick. I have a terrible feeling that I'm going to have to have to take responsibility for my own stupid body and learn all about the whole stupid shoulder joint and the whole stupid rotator cuff and then be all proactive in the future about preventing further injury and building strength around the joint and all that crap. Ugh! My seniors at yoga tell me all the time: Getting old sucks. Don't do it. I assured them I wouldn't, and now look at me: going back on my word! So, see, I have to whine! If my shoulders are acting 65, my attitude needs to be 1 in order to average out to 33, and keep me at my real age. I'm going to be 34 next month, so expect me to grow out of whining like a 1 year old and into.....well, whining like a 3 year old. Good times ahead!