The Pain Clinic is over and I get to say ‘good bye, good luck and good riddance’ to the other painful people… so now the tough stuff begins. They’ve developed a program for me designed to eventually build strength and flexibility in my somewhat fucked back. It was supposed to be a gym program, but because I’m having issues driving right now, they’ve redesigned the program to suit being done at home! Bonus… at least I won’t have to deal with panic attacks just to get to the gym and back.
Now I’m probably showing my age here, but every time I think of doing a gym work out I get this vivid mental picture of a rather young and extremely perky Olivia Newton John singing ‘Physical’… and she’s got that fantastic early 80s hairdo and one of those high cut 80s leotards and the quintessential 80s legwarmers with matching tricolour plaited sweatband !!!
Let’s get physical, physical
I wanna get physical
Let’s get into physical
Let me hear your body talk, your body talk
Let me hear your body talk
Usually I like Rammstein or something to exercise to – dangerous though that can be… as I learned this week. On Wednesday after I ripped the silly bint Tracey a new one, I set off power walking down by the river at the clinic and didn’t look up until I was about 2kms away. By which time I realized that my shins were absolutely killing me from the ridiculous pace of the music and subsequent effect on walking speed. Blame it on the Bint or blame it on the Benzin – either way I think I might have been better served with Olivia’s crappy pop workout mantra as more moderate exercise music over the German industrial metal. 😐
