Today was back exercise class. The session involves a series of warm-ups, followed by 12 individual exercises (which last for about 1½ minutes each), cool downs, relaxation and group discussion. The participants are at all varying degrees of disability/pain, so, you have me and a couple of other wrecks (who are at the bottom of the scale and can barely lift our legs, let alone get down onto the floor mat); and then you have the top echelon, those who can do aerobics and who just stop short of doing one-armed press-ups. Now, it doesn’t take much to bruise my self-esteem, so to see someone who resembles a personal trainer, marching on the spot (and in perfect time to the music as well, would you mind) at the rate of knots when I am struggling on the half-jacks is enough to send me hobbling for the nearest exit and the safety of my couch.
Relaxation wasn’t much better. We all had to lie on mats on the floor with 2 pillows and listen to a tape, whilst a therapist took us through a fantasy world of peace and tranquillity, birdsong, wild flowers, blue skies and rippling streams. Unfortunately, all I could think about was a) I am cold and uncomfortable; b) I got down here, but I’m not sure I’m going to get back up, and c) dear God, please don’t let that curry I had last night repeat itself, because the last thing I want to do in this world of peace and tranquillity, is let rip and break wind. Of course, this does not lend itself to a relaxing session at all and I was very glad when we left the fantasy world and gently brought ourselves back into the room. Thankfully, the curry behaved itself and I managed to get myself back upright in a dignified manner.
Group discussion came next. The young man doing the talk was obviously very keen on this programme and did his best with a whiteboard and a marker pen that had seen better days and got fainter by the minute (bit like me in that respect) to describe the difference between acute and chronic pain. It is difficult to keep to the subject when most people just want to talk about their own personal situation, but he did very well in the circumstances, although I am left with a nagging feeling that this is all controlled by the mind (this is not what was suggested by the way, merely what I was thinking).
The afternoon was spent at the hairdressers. “Do something!” I pleaded....”I feel like a down-trodden, mumsy, saddo”. The hairdresser worked his magic. It was painful sitting in the chair for an hour, but it was worth it. I can feel crap, but I don’t need to look it...
Today’s lemon rating: