I Can Barely Move My Body

Morning Musing on Self Inflicted Pain

Oh Farts. Luvlies, Good morning-ish. I am writing to you from the floor of my living room. Yes, me – an adult – lying on the ground of my spotless apartment, with a computer on chest, because I’ve fallen and I can’t get up. Call me Mrs. Fletcher from this day forward. I can barely move after yesterday’s intense ballet class.

I completely fumbled the bag on post-class hydration and electrolytes replenishing… and now I’m paying for it.

Unlike many people, I don’t like to sweat. I do not use sweat as a measure of effort. A sweaty workout doesn’t mean you’ve pushed yourself harder. It’s the opposite for me. It usually means an organ (like my heart) is struggling or my nervous system is outta wack.

I have left many a non-sweaty pilates class, thinking ‘that was pleasant’…but came to find out it how unpleasant it actually was, because of not being able to reach for anything above hip height, without wincing pain days later. So I like to retain the water in my body for its own recovery.

Last night was rough. 30 mins of stretching, another 20 of gua shaing my legs, ending the 3am training session on the vibration plate… woke-up still unwell.

Don’t be like me. Drink all the water you can find. Add a pinch of salt … and stretch twice. Otherwise you’re gonna be lying on your back with your legs akimbo wondering, ‘Is it time to get a Medicalert bracelet?’.