As we had such a lovely time this weekend and I was feeling all rosy and grateful and humbled by my good fortune, I thought it would be bad form to mention my $!!#*& painful ankle in yesterday's post. So I didn't.
But after another 24h of discomfort and annoyance and this morning's visit to the physiotherapist to confirm that I have indeed incurred some 'muscular distress' I'm more than ready to have a little moan about it now.
Feck! And also; Ass!
Could the timing be any crappier, as I headed lusciously towards toned and svelte sexiness, to be told that I can't exercise for 2 weeks or so? Just after biting the bullet and joining the dreaded Curves, just as I'm simply loving yoga with a verging on pathetic teenage crush type adoration? Just as we get into a nice rhythm of evening mountain walks with the doggie?
All of which is proably to blame for said 'distress' now ...
Guess that mountain walk this weekend wasn't such a good idea. Ditto those brownies. And that cake. And those pears. And the cheese platter. And the two blocks (very restrained I thought) of chocolate I just ate to make myself feel better. Guess I better put up the Welcome Home banner for those 2 kgs I lost in the last couple of weeks. Hope they don't bring any buddies back with them.
Feck. Feck. Feck.
Oh and the gemmest of gems from my physio: 'Try and stay off your feet for the next few days".
One word response lady: t-o-d-d-l-e-r.