Screaming
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One third of the way through a long Bank Holiday weekend and I awoke this morning feeling like a cross between Edvard Munch's The Scream and that screeching emoji. To be more precise and to clarify, it was my muscles that were screaming though, not my vocal chords.
Despite knowing better, not only did I spend all day yesterday digging, lifting and bending in the garden but I totally overlooked stretching off afterwards. Away from a studio class, stretches of the quad, calf and hamstring, not to mention back and side bends, don't seem to feature in my regular routine. After 6 hours of hard labour they really must; the tragedy of course was that I only remembered this when I descended the stairs this morning, rigid and in agony.
One of the tribulations of my retirement is always that I want my body to do more than ever whilst caught in a never ending spiral of ageing and stiffness.
Fortunately the pain has eased, not least after deliberately extending my limbs and spine in all directions, and sufficiently to go out this afternoon and do it all again! A hot bath now beckons; I think I deserve it.
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