Have you ever needed to use a walking stick?
Were you hurt? Or did you start going to the gym? I might need one, it was day two at the gym. What did you think? I wouldn’t write to you? I love writing to you.
It’s Friday, so I’m going to act like all the cool-popular kids and say… Yaay!It’s party night! Then, I’m going to slowly… tone down the pseudo excitement and try not to move too fast or try not to move at all.
Sigh. Age is catching up.
So, getting back to gym-talk. It was weight-training today,also known as instant-death-of all body parts. Each and every damn body part. I think I feel a movement in my arm, it could be some biceps sprouting up. No? Sigh.
I have a new trainer. He speaks in whispers and I pretend to understand what he’s saying. It’s simple, I look at him, nod, smile and hope that he isn’t talking about a funeral. Because, it would be plain weird to smile at that.
After a painful session of working on some machine, let’s call it the elevator, because we lift ourselves (it sounds like some philosophical stuff, but nah. This is painful) then some more exercise, it was all so blurry.
One hour later, I had wobbly legs and couldn’t stand still. But that wasn’t the trouble at all. I had to walk down a flight of stairs. I winced every single time, every single inch.
After what seemed like an eternity of hopping, tip-toeing and crawling to my car, I managed to sit inside.
I think my car feels sorry for me. There is always the right song waiting to be played for me.
As I started the car, one of Swedish House Mafia’s songs started playing.
Don’t you worry, don’t you worry, child.
See heaven’s got a plan for you.
Don’t you worry, don’t you worry now.
Okay… if you say so.