What was I thinking? Demonstrating a jig in high heels on a hard floor? One leap into second position and a muscle in my upper thigh groaned.
It was like this: my students were reading Laura Ingalls Wilder, the part where the grandma wins the jigging contest. They didn't know what a jig was. I thought I'd demonstrate.
Despite that rather sharp and sudden pain, I'd thought all I needed was a very hot bath. I'd feel okay by the end of the day.
But that slightly exploited muscle announces its painful presence every time I walk up stairs or try to run.
Actually that jig was more of a highland fling.
Massage? Blackroll? Red wine? Half a jar of Tiger Balm? Next ballet class swathed in sweats? Tincture of time?
Oh, that particular commodity, time, is in such short supply.
Tincture of time, a phrase divine.
ReplyDeleteThanks. Or a bunch of pelvic lifts . . .
ReplyDeletePost Hoc: I should have known. This was the tumor growing in my femur--at the time, it never occurred to me that what felt like a pulled muscle (at first) was anything other than that. So, ladies, God forbid you feel a pain somewhere near a bone a few months or years after you've been cured of breast cancer--get that pain checked out.
ReplyDelete