Knot Funny

The massage therapist dragged me through the wringer today -- and I'm old enough to know what that feels like!

I blamed the car show for killing my back. But other contributing factors included, but aren't limited to, running, sitting, lifting and oh, trying a new push-up regimen with Carter. That's a killer, even if we are easing into it. For me, one push up is more than I'm used to.

So my 15-minute chair massage turned into a 30-minute chair massage and the digger (that's what I'll call Ms. Deep Tissue Massage) said I could go for 2 hours! Sometimes it's just that bad.

In general, I can blame a 17-year-old license-less inattentive driver who ran me over 18 years ago yesterday, as a matter of fact. But he was sort of the icing on the cake. (Except I love cake and frosting so that is not a good analogy.)

By the time I was 20, I'd already been flipped off a motorcycle in an accident and been a passenger in 2 whiplash fender benders. I'd also ridden 20 miles on bumpy roads strapped to a backboard in an ambulance when I flipped out (flipped up, flipped over) in one of those silly banana-peel type mishaps.

So yeah, my back has its problems.

My chiropractor can probably thank me for putting his kids through college. And now I've got these Digger ladies on my payroll. Oh well, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

Amazingly, the minor lifting, twisting, standing too long and all that normal stuff aggravate my back. But it usually feels really good when I'm running. I have terrible running form to avoid jostling my backbone too much, but at least I'm out there! Just don't look at me.

Except when I cross the finish line. That's when I'm smiling and saying to my back: "You ain't the boss of me!"